
aass_ 

Book vX):^6 



\86T 



THE HOUSEHOLD BOOK 



OF POETRY. 



<: ' ■ • THE 


HOUSEHOLD BOOK 


OF 


POETEY. 


COLLECTED AND EDITED 


BY 


OHAELES A. DAl^A. 


ELEVENTH EDITION— REVISED AND ENLARGED. 

• • • 


NEW YORK: 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 


443 & 445 BROADWAY. 


LONDON: 16 LITTLE BRITAIN. 


1867. 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by 

D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 

In tlie Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New Yorli. 



Enteked, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by 

D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 

In the ('lerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. 



PREFACE. 



TuE purpose of this book is to comprise ■within the bounds of a single 
^'olume whatever is truly beautiful and admirable among the minor poems 
of the English language. In executing this design, it has been the con- 
stant endeavor of the Editor to exei'cise a catholic as well as a severe taste ; 
and to judge every piece by its poetical merit solely, without regard to 
the name, nationality, or epoch of its author. Especial care has also been 
taken to give every poem entire and unmutilated, as well as in the most 
authentic form' which could be procured ; though the earliest edition of an 
author has sometimes been preferred to a later one, in which the alterations 
have not always seemed to be improvements. 

The arrangement of the book will be seen to be somewhat novel ; but 
it is hoped that it may be found convenient to the reader, and not alto- 
gether devoid of aesthetic congruity. The Editor also flatters himself that 
in classifying so many immortal productions of genius according to their own 
ideas and motives, rather than according to their chronology, the nativity 
and sex of their authors, or any otlier merely external order, he has exliili- 
ited the incomparable richness of our language in this department of litei'a- 
ture, quite as successfully as if he had followed a method more usual in sncli 
collections. 

That every reader should find in these pages every one of his favonte 



1- K E F A C E . 



poems is, perhaps, too much to expect ; but it is believed that of those on 
which the unanimous verdict of the intelligent has set the seal of indis- 
putable greatness, none, whetlier of English, Scotch, Irish, or American 
origin, will be foimd wanting. At the' same time, careful and prolonged 
research, especially among the writei-s of the seventeenth century, and in 
the current receptacles of fugitive poetry, has developed a considerable 
store of treasures hitherto less known to the general public than to scholai-s 
and to limited circles. Of these a due use has been made, in the confident 
belief that they will not be deemed unworthy of a place with their more 
illustrious companions, in a book which aspires to become the familiar 
friend and companion of every household. 



ADVERTISE >li:XT TO THE ELEVENTH EDITIOX. 

It is hoped that the re^-ised edition of this collection of poems, which is 
herewith issued, may not bo thought in any respect less worthy than its 
predccessore of the remarkable favor which the public has accorded to 
the work. In its preparation, the poetry produced during these eight 
years, both in this country and England, has been perused, and the 
observations of the numerous critics who commented upon the fii-st edition 
have been diligently consulted. Some pieces may now be missed which 
were formerly to be found in our pages ; but as their places are filled by 
others which are believed to possess greater merit, while tlie volume is con- 
siderably enlarged, it is presumed that these changes will not be disap- 
proved, especially as the system of arrangement and the general character 
of the collection remain imaltered. 

New York, August, 1866. 



—■-.-.— ^ -.— — ^ -^.—.^^^ 



INDEX. 



POEMS OF NATURE 



Address to the Nightingale 

Afar in the Dt'Si?rt 

Afternoon in February 

Airs of Spring 

Almond Blossom 

Angler 

Angler's Trjsting Tree 

Angler's Wish 

Angling, Verses in Praise of. . . 

April 

Arab to the Palm 

Arethiisa 

Autumn 

Autumn 

Autumn — A Dir^e 

Autumn Flowers 

Autumn's Sighing.. 

Bee 

Bem-y Pigeon 

Birch Tree . 

Black Cock 

Blood Horse 

Blossoms 

Blow. Blow, thou M'inter Wind. 

Bobolink 

Bramble Flower. 

Brier 

Broom Flower 

Bugle Song 

Canzonet — Flowers are Fresh. . . 

Chorus of Flowers 

Cloud 

Come to these Scenes of Peace. . 

Coral Grove 

CornSelds 

Cricket 

Cricket 

Cuckoo 

Cuckoo 

Cuckoo and Nightingale 

Cvnthia 

Batfodils 

Daffodils 

Daisy 

Daisr 

Dandelion 

Death of the Flowers 

Departure of the Swallow 

Description of Spring 

Dirge for the Tear 

Doubting Heart 

Drinking 

Dnip of Dew 

Evenin;; 

Evening. Ode to 

Evening Star.... 

Evening Wind— Spirit tht 
breatliest 



:[ 



Paee 

Richard Bat'niield 51 

TJimnn-t Priiigle.,. 75 

Longfellow 113 

Thomaa Carew.... 10 

Ediciii Armild..... 13 

John ChalA-hill..... 20 

T. T. SioddarU 20 

Imak Walton 22 

Wotton 21 

John Keble 12 

Bamrd Taylor.... 73 

Shelley 29 

Hood 97 

KealH 96 

Shelleu 96 

Mrft. South ei/ 93 

T. B. Read.. 97 

Vartgkan 70 

Willie 67 

Lowell 65 

Joanna Baillie. .. 29 

Barn/ Cormcall.. . 76 

HerHck 85 

Shakefipeare llO 

Thomas LTill 22 

Ehenezer Elliott. ... 41 

Landor 42 

Mtiri/ ITotcitt 40 

Tennynoii 100 

Oamoens 43 

Leinh IIu tit 44 

Shellef/ 77 

Boiolen 5S 

Percival So 

Mary HoiciU. 92 

Vr. a Bemntt 107 

Coioper 107 

John Loffan 23 

Wordmcorth 23 

Chaucer 23 

Ben Jonson 104 

Wordsworth So 

TTerrick 35 

MontQomery 87 

Wordsworth 38 

Lowell 42 

Bn/ant 93 

William LTowitt. . 107 

Lord Surrey 10 

Shellejt 113 

Miss Procter 107 

Anaereon 78 

3/arvell 14 

Terim/son 101 

Collins ]02 

Campbell 102 

Bryant 101 



Patre 

103 

lOS 

91 

3 

43 

45 



Evening in the Alps Montgomery 

Fancy KeatA 

Fidelity Wordeicorth 

Flower and Leaf Cfiaiicer 

Flowers Hood 

Flowers Longfellow 

Flv Vincent Bourne 72 

Folding the Flocks Beaumont tC- Fletcher 100 

Fountain Lmcell 80 

Fringed Gentian. Bryant 92 

Garden Marrell 53 

Garden Cotcley 59 

Gmsshopper T.ovel<tce 6S 

Grasshopper Anaereon 68 

Grasshopper and Cricket Leigh Hunt 70 

Grasshopper and Cricket Keats 69 

Grasshopper, Chirping uf W<ilter Harte 69 

Green Linnet , Wordsworth 28 

Greenwood W. L. Boicleti 58 

Grongar Hill John Pi/er 98 

Gulf- Weed T. (V. Fenner 84 

Hampton Beach Whittier 85 

Harvest Moon ff.K. White 105 

HollyTree Southeij 110 

Humble Bee Emerson 70 

Hunter of the Prairies Bryant 94 

Hunter's Song £an-r/ Cornwall.. . 93 

Husbandman Johti Sterling 92 

Hymn in the Vale of Chamouni. Coleridge 114 

Hymn to Pan Keats 64 

Hymn to the Flowers Horace Smith 46 

Influence of Natural Objects Wordttworth 113 

Inscription in a Hcrmitaire Thomas Warton... 62 

Invocation to llain in Summer.. W. C. Bennett 77 

Ivv Green Charles Dickens. . . 08 



July 

Lark 

Latter Rain 

Lion and Ginitfe. . 

Lion''s Hide , 

Little Beach-Bird 

Little Streams Mary Howitt 

March Wordsworth 

May Perciral , 

Meadows Herrick 

Midges dance aboon the Burn. .. Bohert Tannahill 

Midnight Wind Motherwell 109 

Moan, moan, ye Dying Gales Henry Keele 63 

Moonrise Ernest Jones 

Morning S'lakespeare 

Morning in London Wnrdi^worth , 

Mother Nightingale ViUegas 

Mountain Daisv Bttr^M 

My Heart's in the Highlands... . Bums 

Nature Jones Vf'ry . 

Nature aud the Poets Keats 47 

Night is nigh Gone Alex^ Montgmnery. 16 

Night SheUey.... 104 



John Clare 57 

Lfogg 19 

, Jones Very 97 

Thomas Pr ingle.. . 74 

Freilif/rath 73 

P. U. Dana 84 

31 
13 
15 
91 
79 



104 

18 
16 
55 
36 
95 
83 



INDEX. 



Pneo 

Nlislit Srnnco WiUe 100 

NiKhtlnftnlo Milton 61 

Nl^'hlinp\li) lyriimmond f>l 

N'lBlilinCTli- Coleridge M 

NiL-litlnsralo Gil Ticente 55 

Nifflitiiiu'iilo Mtiria Vijtucher fif) 

Niflitliii;ak' iinil (lie Dove Wordnrorth M 

N lu'hUni-nU'a D.'piirture Charlolle Sm ith .... r>fi 

NiKlitliii.iil.', (Wo to KeaU 52 

NlghtS.illt' Claudius inii 

North Wind />. .V. Miiloi-i- lit 

Novombcr llnrtleij <'oleridge.. US 

(twl , Anontjiuoiiit. KM) 

p-iii Beaumont it FleteJter i>5 

I'hilomcln Matthew Arnold... 63 

Prlnirosos, with Morning Dow.. J/errici' S.'j 

Quuatlon Sliellei/ S!i 

Itftin on tho Koot" Anonymous 77 

Kcdbreiist Drummond 113 

lUHiri'incut CliorU's Cotton 02 

Ketiirn of Spring Pierre lionsard.... 10 

ElVO <iu Midi Hose lerri/ M 

Kliodora Emerson 8ti 

Hobln Ecdbreast AHingham 90 

Koso Waller « 

Sabbath Morning. I^yden 17 

Son Barry Cornwall... 81 

Sea— In t'ldm Barry Cornwall... 84 

Soawood Lonafellow 8!) 

Pcnecn Lake PervivaL 86 

Skvhirk Slielley IS 

Small Celandine WordsicoHh 34 

Snow-Storm Kmerson Ill 

SonK for September T. W. Parsons 'JO 

Son: for the Seasons Barry Cornwall... 11» 

Sons— (1n May Morning Milton IS 

Song— Phtebna Arise Drummond 14 

Song to Mav Lord T/iurlow l."! 

Song— The 'Ijiik Jfartley Coleridge. I!) 

Song — Pack Clouds Awnv Tliomas I/ei/wood... 20 

Song— See, oh See '. Lord Bristol 28 



Paea 

. 82 
89 
5S 
Oli 



105 
U2 



13 



Song of the Brook Tennyson 

Song of Spring Edward Yout. 

Song — The Greenwood Tree l^hakespeare.. . 

Song of Wood Nymphs Barry Cornwall.. . 

Song of the Sunimer Winds George Darley. t'.» 

^°?S;;,'y;™^^;n,vs^v.-.:: [^""y*- i"" 

Sonnel — Autumn Moon Thnrloiv 

Sonnet — Tom Bird thiU Imuntod ( rp, ,,,j^.,„ 

tho Waters of Lake Lankon. . f ^ "'" '^^'^ 

8pieo Tree Jbfin Sterling,. 

Sjirinfi Anttereon 

Spriuj: Bf (turn out i& Fktehtr 15 

Siirin<r Teiitii/son 11 

Storm Sonfj Bayard Taylor S'2 

Stormy IVlrel Barry Cornwall. . . ^\ 

Summer Lonaiugs McCarthy ].") 

SuinnuT Months Mothencell IT 

Summer Woods Manf Hoiritt Ofi 

Tiffer William Blake 7.S 

'Tis the Last Koso of Summer.. Moore 1*4 

Trailini: Arbutus Jfose Terry 80 

Twilight Lonafelloic S3 

Uscfiil Plou^rh Anonymous 63 

Violets I/erricA- 34 

Violets W. W. Sfori/ 48 

Voice of the Grass Sarali L'i'h^'fts 5T 

"Wnnderln:; "Wind J/rj*. I/cmatts 79 

Waterfowl Bryant 56 

Water I The Water Motherwell 81 

West Wind, Ode to Shelley SO 

Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea... A. Cunningham.,,. 82 

When the Houndsof Spring. ... Sir/nhurne 11 



Philip Freneau .... 41 

Mrs. J/emain> 67 

T. B.li€ad log 

Ilolty 112 

Woods in Winter Longfellow 110 



Wild Hoiievsueklc. 
Willow Son;;.. 
Win.lv Nisht. 
Winte 



Yarrow Unvisited. 
Yarrow S'isited. 



Wordsivorth 87 

Wordsworth S.^ 



Yarrow Kevisiled Wordsworth . 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



Adopted Child 

Angel's Whisper 

Annie in the Gmveynnl. 

Baby May 

Baby's shoes 

Ballad of the Tempest.. . 
Bovhood . 



Casjt Wappv 

Child and the Watcher 

Child Asleep 

Childhood 

Child in the Wilderness 

Child l>raving 

Children.". 

Children in the Wood 

Children's Hour 

Choo.sing a Name 

Christening 

Panae 

Fairy Child 

For Charlie's Sake 

Ganihi'Is of Childrou 

(:ips\ "s .Malison 

HerVhes arv Wild 

Idle Sl'iephenl Hoys 

I Kemeniber, 1 Uemember. ... 

Kitten and Falling Leaves 

Lady Ann ItothwelTs Liunent. 

Little Hell 

l.lllleU'.aek Hov 

l.ilUe Hov nine 

Little Children 

Little I!ed Khilngllood 

Loss and Gain ; 

Luey 

Lucy Gray 



Mrs. //emails. .. 

S. Lover 

Mrs. Gilnian 

II'. C.Bennett... 

W. C.Bennett... 

J. r. Fields 

li: AIMon 

/). .1/. .l/oiV 

Mr.t. Browning. 

Madame de Surpille 

C. Lanih 

Coleridge 

/I. A. Willmott 

Landor 

Anonymous 

, Longfellow 

M. /.amh 

C. /.amli 

. Siinonides 

John Aiister 

. J. W. Palmer 

. G. liarley 

. C. Lamb 

. Wordsworth 

Worilsicorth 

. //ood 

. Word.-*icorth 

. Anoniftnons 

. T. West wood 

. W. HIake 

. Anonymous 

. MariJ //oiritt 

. X. E. Liinilon 

. A'o*'<i Pern/ 

. Wordsitflrth 

. WordsicortA 



158 
122 

l.W 
llil 
KVl 
l.W 
1.52 
1159 
V>2 
I'iS 
l.\5 
1<4 

leo 

130 
1411 

1'20 
120 
l.'>2 
127 
171 
ISS 
125 
152 
136 
1,50 
123 
15t 
l.\S 
150 
137 
1.35 
138 
171 
101 
154 



Lnllabv Tenni/son 110 

Alornifi; Glory Mrs. 'Lowell il'A 

M. .Hut's lle..ft Mrs. Xorton 131 

Motlier's Hope /,. Blanchard 131 

Mother's Love T. Burhidge 133 

My Child J. Pierpont 170 

My Playmates Anonymous Iti2 

t>n a DistJini l*rospect of Kton.. Grai/ 148 

Oil the Death of an Infant P. Stnifs ICl 

On the I'ietniv of an Infant Leonidas 12.5 

(l]>en Window L.ongfetlow 168 

Pet Iamb Wordsworth 13.3 

Philip, my Kins P. M. Miilock 121 

I*ied Pi per of Uamelin B. Brme^ning 180 

Keeoneiliation Tennyson 172 

Saturday .Vfternoon Willis 143 

Sehoolniistress Shenstone 144 

She Came and Went Lowell 163 

She|dierd Hoy L. K. London 187 

Three Sons /.Moultrie If4 

Thronodv Kmerson 100 

To n Child //ood 125 

To a Child J. l/terllng 130 

ToaChild Anonymous 1611 

To a Child during Sickness.. .. /.. /hint 127 

To a Sleeping Child J. Wilson 129 

To Ferdinand Seymour Mrs. Xorton 121 

To George M....' T.Miller 182 

To 11.0 Wordsworth 1'2S 

To, I. II /,. //lint 126 

To my Daughter //ooil WS 

T'nder my Window 71 Westicoml 1,56 

Visit tH>m St. Nicholas C.C.Moore 142 

We are Seven Wordsworth 1 ,57 

Widow and Child Tennyson 1T2 

Willie Winkle 11': Miller I'.'O 



INDEX. 



POEMS OF FRIENDSIIIP. 



And <loth not a fleeting like this 

AiiM I.nir.' Svnc 

r.;illn<l of iinuillnbnlsse 

t'lipi- Coit;i^'i' nt Sunset 

Chiinipairnc Kosi 

Cliristmas 

Conio. Seinl round tho "Wine 

Kiirlv rrioiidsliip 

Farcwtll ! lint whenever. 

Fill t!i.' liiunnor Fulr 

Kiro of nritt-Wnod 

Friend of my Soul 

From "In Riiinoriam." 

Give me Ilu' Old 

How Stands tho Glass Around. . 

.Tuttnr 

Journey Onwards 



Putre 

Moore ISfi 

Burns 102 

Thackeratf ISO 

W. B. Gfazier Is'i 

J. Keni/oii 1^5 

Wiffier 1fl.'> 

Moore 1^7 

Pe Vere l".") 

Moore ISS 

Moore ISO 

Lon(tfeUmi: ISt 

Moore .. 188 

Tennyson 17;^ 

R. If. MesKi tiger.... 1?4 

Anon '/ til o us 187 

/.07{/h Hunt 180 

Moore 194 



^r«hojrfln V Tree 

Niffht ar'Sen 

Oh Fill the Wine-cup High 

Old Faniilinr Faces 

Pa;inat:o 

Qua t'lirsurn Vcntiis 

Saint Peray 

Sonnets 

Sparkling and Brtjrht 

Stanziis to Aufrwstn 

To 

To Thomas Moore 

Wc have been Friends Together 

What mifflit be Done 

When shall We Three Meet I 

Atrain f 

Wreathe the Bowl 



Thnckerny 194 

/,. E. Litn'iion 102 

n. F. WiUUtmH.... 190 

i\ Linnh 1^2 

Uhhftul ISO 

A. Ih Chufrh ISl 

T. W. Parmns 191 

Shnhecpearfi 175 

r. F. Ilofman 1S4 

BtjroH 183 

H. W. S'peticer 1^ 

Bwon 189 

Mm. Xorton 1S8 

C. Mackatj 106 

Anonymous 175 

Moore 163 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Absence Mrs. KemhU 

Aildress to a Lady Burns 

Ahl How Sweet itis to Love. .. J>ry<fen 

Allan Percy Mrs, Norton 

Annnbel Lee K A. Poe 

Annie Laurie Anonymous 

Annoyer jV". P. Willis 

Ask me no more Tennyson 

At the Cliurch (?nte Thackerai/ 

Auld Itotiin Oray Lady A. Bttr-nard. 

Aux Unlii.ns B. B. Lytton 

AwakenitiL' of Endyraion L. E. London 

Rallad— it wan not "in the Winter /food 

Batl;i<l—Sif;h on. Sad Heart /food 

Beauty Clear and Foir. Beaum(mt tfe Fletcher 

Bertha in the Lane 3frs. Brotcning 

Blost as the Immortal Gods Sappho 

Blissful Day Bums 

Bonnie Leslie Burns 

Bridal of Andajla Anonymous 

Bridal Song Milman 

B'ook-sido Milnes 

Burial of Love Bryant 

('a' the Yuwos to the Knowcs. . Burns 

Canzonet T. Watson 

Castara Jfabington 

Changes 7?. 5. Itjtton 

Cheat of Cupid Anacreon 

Chronicle Coialey 

Come Away, Death Shakespeare 

Come info the Girden, Maud.... Tennyson 

Comini; Tlitouuh the Bye Anonymous 

Crabhid .\k;v and Youth Shakespeare 

Cupid and Campaspo J. Lyly 

Day-dream Tennyson 

Deceitfulness of Love Anonymous 

Discourse with Cupid Ben Jonson 

IH-il^im Beturned T. Careio 

Dream Bt/ron 

Karn.st Suit Sir T. Wyat 

Kpiili:iI;MniMU Spenser 

K|.iltial:uiiiuin Brain^rd 

Kvf of St. A^'ncs Keats 

JCvi'lyn Hope B.Browning 

Kxruse M. Arnold 

K\<(|nies T. Stanley 

Fair Ines ffood 

Fairest Thiuir in Mortal Eyes... Charles of Orleans. 

Farewt'll to Nancy Burns..'.. 

Fireside iV. Cotton 

Florence Vane p. p. Cooke 



277 
2C,2 

ai3 

8 IT) 
2(12 
2S2 
200 
270 
8nfi 
S17 
875 
272 
2S7 
2-1 <> 
807 
257 
834 
263 
226 
824 
272 
822 
260 
240 
24S 
813 
2S1 
278 
253 
268 
2S4 
279 
245 
227 
2S1 
245 
250 
2S8 
244 
824 
880 
220 
816 
812 
254 
263 
822 
260 
832 
814 



Fly not yot Monre 

Fly to tlu' Desert Moorf 

Forsaken Mermiin M. Ariiohl 

Friiir of Orders Gmy Bithop Percy 

r.irl of Ciidiz Bi/ron 

Oo where Gh.ry Wails Thee Monr6 

r.rooinsinan to his Mistress Parftovti 

Health K. O. Phif-net/ 

Henr. ye T,inlios BenumotU tt FUtcJier 

Here's a Health Bum« 

Hermit Gf>I(f smith 

lliL'hlanrl Miiry Bitrtm 

Tf I Desire witli Pleasant Sonffs. T. Burbirtffe 

If then wert by my Side, my Love /Mter 

Id a Year A'. Brmrnhifj 

IndifTerei:ee ^f. Amohi 

Irish Melody I>. F. M'Ciirtii 

It mifrht liave been ir, /'. Wiffanii^oii . 

Jeanie Morrison Motfienreft 

Jenny Kirsed Me L. Ihnit 

Joek'ot Ilazeldeim f^ir W.Scott 

John Anderson BtiriiJi 

Kulnasatz, iny Kelndeer Avonjimoun 

Ladv Clare TennuHon- 

Laodamift Wordtncorth 

Lass of llallochmyle Bitrns 

Letters Tennj/tton 

Lines to an Indian Air Sfiettft/ - 

Loehinvar Sir W. Scott 

Loeksley Hull Temitfttoii 

Lord Lovel Ationmnons 

Love Colerittgc 

Love in the Valley O, MereftWt 

I,ove is a Siekncse Daniel 

Love Not Mrfi. Norton 

Love Not Me AnonymouH 

Love Sons G. Darleij 

Love Unrequited Anoni/moit^ 

Lovely Mary Donnelly Aitinnham 

Lover to the Glow-worms Miirretf 

Love's Lft-it Messages T. L.Beddoeii 

Love's Philosophy Siielletj 

Maicl of Athens, ero wo Part Bijron 

Maiden's f'hoico AnnnymoxM 

Maid's Lament Landov 

Mariana in the South. TennyHOn 

Maud Muller Whiltier 

Milk-maid's Honir Marlowt 

Milk-maid's Mother's Answer, .. Sir W. Itnlfioh 

Miller's Daughter Tennyunn 

Minstrel's Song Chatitrtvn 



2S0 
204 
SIO 
213 
250 
264 
277 
273 
246 
260 
216 
316 



331 
•2112 
31 -i 
•266 
■Jill 
302 
2S6 
•i« 
334 
•257 
236 
319 
261 
•237 
•257 
284 
205 
■210 
L"2!> 
•235 
248 
323 
■253 
2T4 
2S6 
265 
247 
322 
253 
253 
2S0 
2,S6 
203 
808 
2S.t 
25t 
271 
814 



INDEX. 



Misconceptions 

Mrs. Eliz. Wheeler 

MoHvCarew 

My T)cnr and Onlv Love 

My Ileiil is like to rend, 'Willie 

Mv T,ove 

M'v I.OTclias Tall<ed 

Mv ■Wife's a WinsiiuieWee Thing 

Nic'lil-Piece 

Not Ours the Vows 

Nun 

Nut-l>ro\vn Maid 

Ofa'theAirts the Wind can Blaw 

Oil. Paw ye the Lass 

Oil. Tell me, Love 

Oh. that 'twere possible 

Old Story 

One way of Love 

Orpheus to lieasts 

Panelory's Wooinjr Sonj; 

Phillida' and C.irydon 

Philomela's Ode 

Poet's Bridal-Dav Sons 

Poet's Song to his Wife 

Portrait 

Red. Ked Kose 

Kohin Hood and AUen-a-dale. . . 

Ilorv O'More 

P.ofKlie 

Hose and the Gatintlet 

Knlh 

Seaman's Happy Ketum 

Serenade 

Serenade 

Serrana 

Shall 1 Tell 

Slie is a Maid of Artless Grace. . 

Sheplierd's Eesolution 

Sir rauline.. / 

Pon?— .V WcHry Lot 

Sons — Ask uie no more 

Pons— Day in Meltina Pur]ile. . . 

Hone- — Gather ye Eose-buds 

Soul' — How Delicious 

Soni: — Love me if I Live 

Sontr— My Silks and Fine AiTay, 

Son;: — Sint: the Old Song: 

Sons— The He.ath this Night. .. . 

Souff— To thy Lover 

Sons — Why so Pale 

Sonnet— I "know tliat all 

Sonnet— If it be True 



Pnee 

7?. Sro^minff 2P7 

mrHcS: 24T 

Inrer 2?* 

Montrose 255 

Mothericell »>S 

/.oiceH an 

Tennyson S-'iO 

BiiTnti 8.31 



Ilen-iel- 249 

B. Barton 830 

L.nimt 279 

Anont/moun. 204 

Bum's 2(51 

B. Byan 20:) 

Anovymovs 272 

Tt^mi'ymti 800 

Ar.oyiymous 232 

II. Bromiing 2R7 

LoreUiee 299 

G. Fhtcher 248 

N. Breton 243 

7?. (ireeiie 2,^2 

A. Ciivvrnilham — 333 
Bnrry Corntcall... 834 

Anacreon 273 

Bum 261 

Anonymous 211 

Lorer 2*3 

W.AIhton 274 

J. Sterling. 804 

7/00(7 209 

Anonymous 219 

7/oorf 270 

K ('. Pinckney..... 270 
J.ope de MenOoza.. 230 

W.B'oinie 241! 

Gil Vicente 270 

Wit/ier 2S0 

Anwiymous 199 

Hir W. Scott 294 

Care^e IWl 

Marin Brooks 276 

llen-ick 824 

Cnmphen 278 

Barry Cornwall. . . 260 

, W. Blake 812 

7>« Vere 275 

Sir TK Svott 2.':9 

Crashaw ^IXA 

. Sir J. Surkling S.M 

, Drummoufl 241 

, Michael Angela 241 



Sonnet — Since There's no Help 
Sonnet— The Doubt which ye 1 Snen. 
Misdeem S 



FR?e 
Drayton...:. 286 

328 



ser . 



Michael Angela... 

Michael Angelo. .. 

Worfimrorth 

Shakespeare. 



258 

241 
301 
238 
240 
242 
215 



274 

801 

282 

, 310 

262 



Sonnet— The Mi^litof one F.air / 

Face .' < 

Sonnet — To Vittoria Colonna. . 
Sonnet— Why art Thou Silent . 

Sonnets 

Sonnets Sir P. Siilnei/.. 

Sonnets from the Portuguese... Mrs. Brovning. 

Spanish Lady's Love Anonymous 

Speak. Love Beavmoytt it Fletcher 246 

Spinning-wheel Song J. F. Waller 231 

Stanzas." Byron 2S6 

Stanzas for Mnsic 7!?/) ok 260 

Summer Days Anonymous 209 

Super'.tition J. Xorris 2.51 

Sweet William's Farewell Gay 21 8 

Sylvia G DarUy 274 

Take, Oh Take those Lips Awuy Shakespeare 

and J. Fletcher. 

The_^ Bloom bath Fled ^-^^y \ Mothermll 

Cheek. Marv i 

The Dule's i' this Bonnet o' Mine E. Waiiqh 

Then Bose Terry 

Thou hast Yo-wed by thy Faith . A. Cunningham . . 

To Shelley 268 

To Wordsiro^^th 272 

To Althea— From Prison I.orelace 260 

To Celia Philosti-atus 245 

ToLucasta lorelace 249 

ToLueasta Lorelace 2.''0 

To Mary in Heaven Burns 317 

ToSarah Drake 8.38 

Tomb T. Stanleii 2.5S 

TooLkte Ji.M.Mulock. 819 

Triumph of Charis Ben Janson 244 

Truth's Integrity Anonymous 212 

Waly, Waly Anonymous 302 

Watch Song Anonymous 2.32 

We Partedln Silence Mrs. 'Cra uford 292 

'Welcome Thomas ftaris 267 

Welcome. Welcome W. Broiene 256 

Were I but his own Wife Mary Douning.... 267 

When we Two Parted By?'on 291 

White Kose Anonymous 244 

Widow Machree lorer 285 

Winifreda Anonymous 823 

■n'ish Pagers 331 

You Meaner Beauties iro«o»i 247 

Yoniig Beiehan and Susie Pj-e.. Anonymous 20S 

Zara's Ear-rings Anonymous 230 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



American Flap 

Ballad of Afjincourt 

Ran nock -Burn 

Barbara Frit-tchie 

Battle-Field 

Battle of the Baltic 

Black Beffimcnt 

Boadicea. 

Bonnets of Bonnie Dundee 

Border Ballad 

Broadswords <if Scotland 

Biill-FiL'lit of Gazul 

Camenmian's Bream 

Carmen Bellicotum 

Cnpabianca 

Cavalier's Sons 

Charffc of the Light Brigade at ) 

Balaklava.... f 

Charlie is my Darling 

Chevy Chase 

Covenanter's Battk--Cha"nt 

Destniction ot Sennacherib 

Excelsior 

(jftlliint Grahams 



J>roA-e 370 

3f. Drayton 852 

BurtiH SfiS 

Whiitier P81 

£ri/avt 880 

CowpheH aSfi 

G. IL Boker 8*2 

Cowper 3JC 

,SV/' W. Scott 8P8 

A/r Tr. Seoit 8(10 

J. G. Lockhart 271 

AnfmymouB 871 

J. TlyRfop 862 

G. It McMttsUr ... 877 

Mi-H, Ilt'many 8S7 

Mothencetl 358 

Tennyson 8S4 

Anonymous P66 

Anomjnwun 8^9 

Mothertcell 8fil 

Byron 844 

Lonat'iifoip 893 

Anotiymovs 866 



Give a Bouse 

Ood Pave the King 

llnme, Hame. Hanie 

Hnrmodious and Aristogeitcm . 
Harp that once through Tara's ( 

Halls {■ 

Here's a Hcalih to them thafs ^ 

awa' ( 

Here's to the King, Sir 

Hohonlinden 

lloratian Otic 

Horatius 

H.iw they Brought the Good { 

News from Ghent to Aix. .. ( 
Incident of the French Camp. . . 

Indian Death-Song 

Indian Death-Sonit 

It is Great for our Country to Die 

Ivry 

Kenmiire's On and Awa' 

Landinc of the Pilgrim Fathers. 

Lconidas 

LocliaVer No More 

Lochiors "Warninff 



i?. Browning 856 

Anonymous S73 

A. Pnnningham. , . 370 
CaUisiratua 345 

Moore 372 

Burns 367 

Anom/movs Sfio 

Camphell 8?3 

Marrelf 85S 

Macmday 837 

B. Brmrn ing 378 

B. Brmrnino 383 

Anne Ilvnfer 375 

."^ckifler 375 

Perciral 845 

3(iicavtay. 355 

Bums 866 

Mrs. Ilemans 376 

CroJy 346 

Allan Rnmsay 865 

Camphell 367 



INDEX. 



>farco IJozznris 

Memory of the Bt-ud 

Monterey 

Sly Ain Countree 

Nnsehy 

O Mother of n Mighty "Rtice 

Ode — How Sleep the Brave 

Ode — Wh,it Constitutes a Stitc. 

On a Bust of Dante 

On a f^ermou against Glory 

On Phintins Arts and Learn- I 

ins: in America I 

Our State 

Peace to the Slumberers 



Pnee 

JIalleck 8s9 

J. K.Inqram SSW 

C.F. ITofmim 381 

A, Cuntiinghttm.. . 871 

Jfacnufat/ 357 

Bryant 879 

Co'llhia 372 

«/■ W. Jones Sill 

T. W. Parsons 892 

Afrenmle 892 

Berl-eleij 376 

Whittier 8S0 

Moore 372 



Pericles and Aspasia O. Crohj 

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu Sir W. Scott . 

Prince Eugene Anonymmts.. 

Sea FiErlit , . Anonymous. . 

Shan Van Vocht Anonymous. . 

Sonnets Milton 

Sonnets Tfordu worth. 

Song Moore 

Song of Marion's Men Jin/ant 

Song of the Greek Poet Byron 

Star-Spangled Banner F. S. Key 

Wa?'s me^for Prince Charlie W, Glen 

When Banners are Waving Anonymous. . 

Tc Mariners of England Campbell 



Patro 

. 846 

. 869 

. 354 

. 8S6 

. 373 

. 860 

. 891 

. 871 

. 377 

. 88S 

. 37S 

. 870 

. 361 

. 884 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



Battle of Limerick 

Cologne 

PeviPs Thouirhts 

Diverting History of John Gilpin 

Dragon of Wantley 

Eh-gv on the Death of a Mad I 

Dog i 

Elegy on Mrs. Mary Blaize 

Essence of Opera 

Faithless Kelly Gray 

Faithless Sally Brown 

Farewell to Tobacco 

Friend of Humanity and 1 

Knife-Grinder f 

Good Ale 

Groves of Blarney 

Hag 

Heir of Linn<! 

Hypochondriacus 

Irishman 

Jovial Beggar 

Lady at Sea 



TTiacl-eray 436 

Coleridge 423 

Coleridge 423 

Omtper 416 

Anonymous 400 

Goldsm iih 405 

Goldsmith 419 

Anonymous 426 

Hood 429 

Hood 430 

a Lamb 427 

O. Canning 425 

j.stm 401 

R. A. MilUken ^^o 

Hey^rick 424 

Anonymous 397 

C. Lamb 427 

W.Maginn 435 

Anonymou8 401 

Hood 431 



Malbrook 

Massacre of the Macpherson 

Mr. Molony's Account of the I 

Ball f 

Molony's Lament 

Old and Toiing Courtier 

Rail 

Kapc of the Lock 

Receipt for Salad 

St. Anthony's Sermon to the (^ 

Fishes f 

St. Patrick of Ireland, my Dear. 
St. Patrick was a Gentleman. . . . 

Sir Sidney Smith 

Song of One Eleven Tears in (^ 

Prison 1 

Take thy Old Cloake about Thee 

Tam O'^hanter 

Twenty-eight and Twenty-nine. 

Vicar 

Vicar of Brav 

White Squall 



Anonymous 403 

W. E'.Atjtmtn 420 

TJiaekeray 428 

Thackeray 4-3T 

Anonymous, 404 

G. it: Clark. 489 

Pope. 406 

Sydney Smith 426 

Anonymous 440 

W. Maginn 434 

IT. Bennett 433 

T.Dibdin 419 

G. Canning 425 

Anoni/7nou8 402 

Burns 421 

W.3T. Praed 448 

y\r.M.Praed 443 

Anon^imous 441 

Tliackeray.. 431 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Bonnie George Campbell 

Braes of Yarrow 

Break, Break, Break 

Bri vial Dirge 

Bridal Song and Dirge 

Bridge of Sighs 

Burial of Sir John Moore 

Calm is the Night 

Castle by the Sea 

Child Noryce 

Coronach 

Cruel Sister 

Death-Bed 

Death-Bed 

Dirge 

Dirge 

Dirge 

Dirge 

Dirge 

Dirge for a Young Giri 

Dirge in Cymbeline 

Dirire of Imogen 

Dirge of Jepbthah's Daughttr. 

Duwie Dens of Yarrow 

Dream of Eugene Aram 

Edward. Edward 

Elejry on Captain Henderson. . 



Anonymous 45R 

William- RamiltoTi. 452 

Tennyson 525 

Barry Comicall.. . 514 

T, L.B€ddoe8 513 

Hood 498 

Charles Wolfe 517 

Henry Heine 522 

Vhland 522 

AiioJiymmis. 44S 

Sir W. Scott 509 

Anoni/nious 454 

Hood'. 502 

J. A^drieh 503 

Tennyson 510 

W. S. Roficoe 512 

T. L. Beddoes 512 

C. G. Eastman 513 

Mrs. Hemans 514 

.;: T. Fields 513 

Collins 512 

Shakespeare 510 

Hennck 511 

Aiwnymoua 451 

Hood... 487 

Anonymous 456 

Burns 507 



Epitaph on Elizabeth L. H 

Fair Annie of Lochroyan 

Fair Helen 

Fishermen 

Fishing Song 

Funeral Hymn 

Ganr. were but the Winter Cauld 

Hester 

How's my Boy? 

Hunter's Vision 

Ichabud 

Inchcape Piock 

In Remembiance of the Hon. ) 

Edward Ernest Villiers j 

Ipbigenia and Agamemnon 

King of Denmark's Kide 

Lament 

Lament 

Lament of the Irish Emigrant. . 
Lament of the Border Widow .. . 

Lamentation for Celin 

Last Journey 

Lord Randal 

Lord ITUin's Daughter 

Los-t Leader 

Lycidas 

Mariner's Dream 



BenJon.'ion 515 

Anonymous 449 

Anonymous 459 

C. JKingsley 475 

Pose Terry 524 

n.Mallett 508 

A. Cnnnin-gham- . . . 509 

C.Lamb 503 

SDobell 4S5 

Bn/ant 491 

Whittier olo 

Souihey 4S2 

Henry Taylor 50(5 

Landor, 473 

Mrs. Korion 4H0 

Shelley 521 

Shelley 521 

Lady Dnfferin 497* 

Anonymous. 45S 

Anonymous 473 

Mrs. Southey 501 

Anonymous 45ii 

Campbell 481 

Brooming 51ft 

Milt07i 504 

W. Bimond 4b4 



INDEX. 



May Queen 

Mother and Poet 

Mother's Last Sons: 

Nymph Complaining for the I 

Deatli of her Fa^'n f 

Oh ! IJreathe not his Name 

Oh! PnaJched awav 

On the Death of George the { 

Third ( 

On ttie Funeral of Charles the ) 

Firyr i 

On tbi' Lo'is of the Eoyal George 

Pmil-ci's Death-bed 

raiip' r's Drive 

Peaer ! What do Tears Avail ?. . . 

Phftntom 

Poet's Epitaph 

Prisoner of Chillon 

Rare Willy Drowned in Yarrow 
Sea . 



Pape 

Ten7iyfton 492 

Mr/t. BrMvnirtff 52*2 

Maity C&nncall... 499 

Marvell 496 

Moore 509 

Byron 509 

H.Smiih 517 

W. L. Soiclcs 516 

Coirper 4S2 

Mrs. Southey 500 

T. Noel 502 

Barry CornicnU... 503 
B(iv<ir(J Taylor.... 514 

E. Ellioit 520 

Byron 476 

Anonymous 453 

R.H.' Stoddard:... 4S0 



Sir Patrick Spens 

Sno\v-?torm 

Softly Woo Away her Breath... 

Sohrab and Kustum 

Solitude 

Sone — Mary, eo 

Pong — Yarrow Stream 

Song of the Shirt 

Song of the Silent Land 

Stanzas to the Memory of I 

Thomas Hood ) 

The Moou was a-waning 

Tom Bowling 

Twa Brothers 

Twa Corbies 

Very Mournful Pallad 

Wai-den of the Cinque Ports 

When I Beneath 

Wreck of the Hesperus 

Young Airly 



Pntre 

Anonymov^ 447 

a G. Eaiitman 490 

Barri/ Cornwall... 491 

M. Arnold 460 

//. K. White 521 

C. Kingnley 4r)9 

J. Logan 454 

I7ood 499 

Sails 500 

B. SimmoTis 519 

J. ITong 486 

a Dihdin 4^6 

A nonymous 457 

Anonymnva 458 

Anovymmts 474 

Longfellmc 518 

Motliet^cell 520 

Zonp/ellmc 483 

Anonymous 4S9 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Ariel's Songs Sfiakespeare 553 

Cc.miiB ". Milton 556 

Culprit Fay J. R- Drake 542 

Djinns ' Victor Hugo 589 

Fairies W. AUhigliam 550 

Fairies' Farewell Jf. Corbett' 550 

Fairies of the Caldon Low Mat^ Hoicitt 541 

Fairies' Song Anonymovs 535 

Fairy Queen Anonymovs 584 

FairySong Keats 585 

VairV Thorn Ferguson 58T 

Gri-en Gnome R. Bvchan>t,n 551 

Hvlas Bayard Taylor,... 569 

Kilm.ny Hogg 587 

Kini_' Arthur's Death Anonymmis 529 

KuMa Khan Coleridge 584 

La Bt'lle Dame Sans Merci Keats 53t> 

Lady of Shallott Tennyson 554 



Legend of the Stepmother 

Lorelei 

Merry Pranks of Robin Good- I 

Fel'low f 

Midniirht Review 

Oh ! Where do Fairies Hide ) 

their Heads ? ( 

Raven 

Rhcecus 

Rime of the Ancient Mariner . . . 
Song — A Lake and a Fairy-boat. 

Song — Hear, Sweet Spirit 

Song of Fairies 

Song of the Fairy 

Thomas, the Rhymer 

Water Fay 

Water Lady 

Wee, Wee Man 



K.Buchanan 58S 

K Heine 553 

Anonymous 533 

Zedlits 574 

T.If. Bayly 542 

Poe 584 

Lowell .. 572 

Coleridge 575 

Knnd ... 554 

Coleridge 553 

Bandolph 536 

Shakespeare 535 

Anonj/mons 531 

J/, mine 553 

Ilood 553 

Anon/ymous 583 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Abon Bon Adhem 

Adilress to the Mummy at 1 

Belzoni's Exhibition f 

Age of Wisdom 

.\lexander''s Feast 

All Earthly Juy Returns in Pain 

Allegro. L* 

An Old Poet to Sleep 

Angel in the House 

Arianiiiore 

Arsinal at Springfield 

Baechus 

Bnld.r 

j;;trrl;iy of Ury 

B;iiili' of Blenheim 

Be Patient 

Bells 

Bells of Shandon 

Bucket 

Burns 

Burns, At the Grave of 

Canadian Boat Song 

Cliarade '. , 

Contented Mind 

Contemplate uU this Work.... 
Cotter's Saturday Night 



L,Hunf 599 

Horace Smith.. 



597 

Thackeray 68S 

I>ryden 623 

William Dunbar . . 593 

Milton 601 

W.S. Lnndor 720 

Z. Htint 723 

Moore 701 

Long_felloic 605 

Emerson 679 

Anonymous 5i'6 

Wkitiier 594 

Southey 604 

R. C. Trench 704 

E.A. Poe 621 

F. Mahony 620 

S. Woodicorth 606 

Whittier 6.">:? 

Wordsworth 651 

Mooj-e 629 

Priied 656 

J. Sylvester 665 

Tennytio7i 702 

Bu/vi's 707 



Cowper's Grave 

Crowded Street 

Death of the Virtuous 

Death's Final Conquest 

Deiection — An Ode 

De'light in Disorder 

Desei ted Village 

Eaehand All 

Egyptian Serenade 

Elesry written In a Country ( 

Chureh-Yard f 

End of the Ploy 

Epitaph on the admirable Dra- I 
matic Poet, W. Shakespeare. ( 

Exhortation 

Fisher's Cottage 

Footsteps of Angels 

Forging of the Anchor 

Fountain 

Garden of Love 

Good-Bye 

Good Great Man 

Grave of a Poetess 

Greenwood Shrift 

Guy 

Hallowed Ground 



Mrs. Broicning 645 

Brya/nt 676 

3[r8. Barbauld TSl 

J.Shirley 718 

Coleridge 686 

Kerrick 630 

Goldsmith 614 

Emerson 705 

G. W. Curtis 629 

Gray 731 

Thackeray 691 

Milton 638 

Shelley 660 

I/eine 598 

Longfellow 726 

S. Ferguson 602 

Wordmn&rth 675 

W. Blake 706 

Ewerson 677 

Coleridge 697 

Thomas ^filler. .... 655 
K. <& a Southey.... 721 

Emerson 6Tj 

Campbell 710 



INDEX. 



xiu 



Page 1 

ITnppv Life Wotton 711 

Happr Vallev T. Miller 700 1 

Harmosan R. C. Tienck 595 

Heuveuly Wisdom J. Lao an 713 

Hebe Loirell 630 

llonoo all yuu Vaia Xi^W^i'S,, . .Beaumont <& Fletcher GS5 

IKriniono Barrv Cornwall .. . fi32 

}[cr:iiit Beattie 718 

H'HiLSt Poverty Burns 702 

Human Frailty Cowper 697 

llvmn to Intellectual Beauty.. . Shelley 673 

Hvmu of the Chorcb-Yard J. Belhune 728 

I am a Friar of Orders Gray J. O'Keefe GR3 

If that were True Frances Broicn. . . . 703 

Infliu-noe of Music Shafcespeare 625 

I^ it Come? Frances Brown 703 

KiiiL' Death Barry CoimwaU. . . 723 

Kini; llobert of Sicily Lonqfelloio 724 

Last Leaf O. W. Holmes 6S9 

Life Barry Cormcall. . . 723 

Life //. Kind 727 

Life and Death Anonymous 720 

Lit'Iit of Stai-8 Londfellow 716 

Lines on a Skeleton Anonymous 72S 

Line'^ on the Mermaid Tavem.. Eeats 639 

Lords ol Thule Anonymous 593 

Losses Frances Broicn.... 696 

Lost Church Uhland 706 

Lve,The Anonymous 666 

Man G. Herbert 712 

Man's Mortality S. Wasiell 727 

Means to attain Happy Life Lord Surrey. 661 

Memory Landor 690 

Minstrel Goethe 657 

Mother Margery G.S.Burleigh 636 

Mn^ic W. Strode 625 

Miitubility... Shelley 694 

'■My Days among the Dead."... Southey 723 

Mr Minii to me a Kingdom is... W. Byrd. 669 

XiLrbt Habinffion 716 

Xo Mure A. H. dough 694 

Nymph's Sons Wither mi 

(.)dt-— Bards of Passion Keats ti<iG 

Ode — Intimations of Immor- 
tality 

Ode— To Himself BenJonson 640 

Ode on a Grecian Urn Keats 660 

ode to Beauty Emerson 671 

Ode to Dutv Wordfiirorth 695 

Oh the Pleasant Days of Old.. Frances Broicn.... 699 

Old Maid Mrs. Welby &J5 

On a Lady Singing T. W. Parsons. 62S 

On Anacreon Antipater 633 

On Chapman's Homer Keats 654 

On the Death of Burns W. Roscoe 650 

On the Keceipt of my Mother's ( ,,„ „ ^^t 

Picture... f <^^'^P^f 607 

One Gray Hair Landor 689 

Over the River Xancy A. W. Priest IZ^ 

Passions — An Ode Collins 625 

Peuseroso, II Milton 663 

Petition to Time B<irry Cormcall... 692 

Poet's Thou;,'ht Barry Coiviicall... 657 

Poor Man's Song Anonymous 679 

Problem Emerson 707 

Proud Maisie is in the "Wood. . . Sir W. Scott 633 

Psalm of Life Longfellow 722 

lieply J. Norris 665 

Kesolution and Independence... Wordsworth 653 

Robin Hood Keats 608 

Seed-Time and Harvest Whittier 718 

Shakespeare J.Sterling 639 

She Walks in Beauty Byron ^\ 

"She was a Phantom of Delight." Wordsworth 634 

Shepherd's Hunting Wither. 640 



'i Wordsworth 713 



Sir Marmadnke 

Sit Down, Sad Soul 

Slave Singing at Midnight 

Sleep 

Sleep, The 

Smoking Spiritualized 

Soldier's Dream 

Solitary Keaper 

Song — Down lay in a Nook 

Song — O Lady, Leave 

Song — Oh say not that my Heart 
Song — Karely, Earely comest ( 

Thou j" 

Song— Still to be Neat 

Song — Sweet are the Thoughts.. 
Song — Time is a Feathered 1 

Thing f 

Song — What Pleasures have ( 

Great Princes j 

Song of the Forge 

Sonnet— Of Mortal Glory 

Sonnet— Sad is our Youth 

Sonnot— The Nightingale is ( 

Mute.. f 

Sonnet — 'Tis much immortal (^ 

Beauty j 

Sonnet — Who Best can Paint. . . 

Sonnets 

Sonnets 

Soul's Defiance 

Stanzas— My life is like a * 

Summer Rose \ 

Stanzas— Thought is Deeper 

Steamboat 

Strife 

Sunken City 

Sweet is the Pleasure 

Sweet Pastoral 

Tables Turned 

Temperance; or the Cheap J 

Physician f 

Thanatnpsis 

The Sturdy Rock, for all his I 

Strength f 

The Winter being Over 

There are Gains for all our Losses 

There be Those 

Those Evening Bells 

Time's Cure 

To a Highland Girl 

To a Lady with a Guitar. 

To Constantia Singing 

To Macanlay 

To Mistress Margaret Hussey... 

To mv Sister 

ToPerilla 

To the Lady Margaret 

Traveller 

Two Brides 

Two Oceans 

Uhland 

Upon Julia's Recovery 

Vanity of Human Wishes 

Verses, supposed to be written ) 

by Alex. Selkirk ( 

Victorious Men of Earth 

Village Blacksmith 

Vii-tuo 

Vision, The 

Waiting by the Gate 

White Island 

Who is Sylvia? 

Why thus Longing? 

Woman's Voice 

■World, The -.... 



Pnce 

Colmnn the younger 688 
Barry Cormcall. . . 723 

Longfellow 719 

J. Dowland 720 

3Ir8. Browning 719 

Anonymous 679 

Campbell 604 

Wordsirorth 6:^3 

Hen/'y Taylor. 6S5 

Hood 632 

a Wolfe 695 

Shelley '. . 673 

BenJonson 630 

P. Greene 665 

Anonymous G93 

W.Byrd 666 

AnoTiy7nous 601 

Drujnmond 727 

Aubrey de Vere... 693 

Thvrlow 655 

Thurlmo 630 

Thurlow 655 

Drutnmond 670 

Milton 697 

Lavinia Stoddard. 693 

R. U. Wilde 694 

C. P. Cranch 674 

O. W. Holmes 600 

Tennyson 71S 

Mnller 677 

J. S. DwigJtt 674 

N. Breton 671 

Wordsworth 675 

Crashaw 675 

Bryant 729 

Anonymous 717 

Ann Collijis 670 

P.H. Stoddard.... 693 

B. Barton 705 

Moore 623 

Anonymous 692 

Wordsworth 632 

Shelley 627 

Shelley 623 

Landor 656 

SK-elton. 631 

Whittier 6;J4 

Herrick 669 

Daniel 667 

Goldsmith 603 

R. H.Stoddard.... 634 

J. Sterling 693 

W. A. Butler 054 

Herrick 633 

Samuel Johnson . . . 030 

Cowper 599 

J Shirley 605 

Longfellow 600 

G. Herbert 717 

Burns 647 

Bryant 690 

Herrick 699 

Sfiakespeare 631 

Harriet Winslow... 696 

E Arnold 629 

dones Very 704 



INDEX. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Paffe 

All Well n.Bmmr 792 

Battle soDgof GustaTHS Adolphns ^i(en*i(r(7 77o 

Bee, The Yduqhan i39 

CiiU, The Herbert 754 

Centennial Ode J. Pierpmii i74 

CharitT •'^ Manliinmeri/.... 7i8 

Charity and Humility Jlenry ilore 760 

Chorus Mi/man 809 

Christmas Tenni/son 765 

Christmas Hynm A. Dommett 765 

Coir.e unto Me Jllr«. Biirbauld .... 769 

Coniplaimcg Herbert , 757 

Creator and Creatures Wattti 805 

Darkness is Thinning St. Gregory 787 

Dead Christ Mm. Howe 764 

Death C. WeaUy 784 

Dedication of a Church Dnimmnnd 771 

DeliKht in God Only F. Qiiarles 812 

Desiring to Love C. Wexleij 779 

Dirse Crolij 7.S4 

Divine Ejaculation J. Qiiarles 810 

Divine Love Tersleegen 779 

Dyins Christian to his Soul Pope 781 

Kach Sorrowful Mourner Prudentius 736 

Eariy Rising and Prayer Voughan 737 

Easter Herbert 76'2 

EaaterHvmn T. Blackburn 752 

Elder Scrijiture KeMe 740 

Emigrants in Bermudas Mnrvell 767 

Epiphany Heber 746 

" Eternal beam of Light Divine '' C. We-slei/ 761 

Evening , Anonymoits 743 

Example of Christ Watts 759 

Exhortation to Prayer Margaret Mercer .. 776 

Easting F. Quarles 76S 

Feast, The Vaiighari 756 

Field of the World J- Montgomery 774 

Flower, The Herbert 757 

For a Widower or Widow Wither 785 

For Believers C. Wesley 778 

For N«w-Tear's Day Hoddridge 740 

'•Friend of AH" C. Wesley 762 

Fnt\ire Peace and Glory of the I cicncner 791 

Church I ^ 

Gethsemane Joseph Hart 750 

Gcthsemane J.Montgomery 751 

God Herzharin 814 

God in Nature Doddridge 740 

God is Love Anonymous 808 

Ood's Greatness Breithaupt 813 

*'the'sai^tr'''^^"°^ Light of | poddndge 787 

Heaven Jeremy Taylor 791 

Heavenly Canaan Watts 788 

" How Gracious and how Wise " Doddridge 808 

Humility J. Montgomery 770 

Hymn— Brother, thou art Gone. Milman 7.S3 

HjTDn— Drop, drop, slow Tears. P. Fletcher 761 

Hymn — From my Lips in their ( St. Joannes Da- 

'Delilement ( mascenus 752 

Hymn for Anniversary Mar- I w,<j.. -.|, 

ri.age Davs ( 

Hymn from Psalm CXLVIII... Ogilvie 802 

"STc^r"""'"'""'^^''"''""*!- ^''*''«"' 804 

nvmnofPraise Tersleegen 794 

Hymn of the Hebrew Maid Sir W. Scott 767 

Hymn— When all Thy Mercies. Addison 804 

Hymn— When Gathering Cbmds Sir li. Grant 763 

Hymn — When our Heads Milman 763 

^K"^'^^''^'''"^*''*'"'^^^! ^'^^'^'>'^ "^ss 

Hymn— When the AnffflB K.Breton.. 777 

I Jtiuruey tlirough a Desert.... AnomjmouH 753 

In a clear, etairy Night Wither 743 

■ Is this a Time to Plant and f xehle 7"ft 



Build '^ 
Jesus Ji^icton. 



75S 



Pace 

*' Jesus, Lover of my Soul"..... C. Wesley 760 

'■Jesus, my Strength " C. Wesley 760 

"Jesus shall Reiioi" Waits 749 

Joy and Peace in Believing Coicpe.r 773 

Laoorer's Noon-day Hymn Wordmcorth 767 

Light Shininir out of Darkness. . Coicper 805 

Lines on a Celebrated Picture... C. Lamb 74ft 

Litany Sir R. Grant 762 

Lilany to the Holy Spirit Herr-ick 780 

Little While , Bonar 787 

Living by Chri?t Gerhard 761 

Lord, the Good Shepherd J. Montgomery — 704 

Mary Tennyson- 777 

"Mark the soft-falling Snow".. DoddHdge 741 

Martyrs'Hymn Lidker 775 

Messiah Poj^e 747 

My God, I love Thee St. Fran. Xavier. . . 753 

New Jerusalem Anonymous 788 

Ode — The Spacious Firmament Addison 741 

Odor Berhert 755 

Oh Fear not thou to Die Anonymous 780 

'■Oh vet we trust" Tennyson 776 

On^aPrayer-BookscnttoMra. ^ ji^ Orashaw 772 

On Another's Sorrow W. Blake S07 

On the Morning of Christ's j. j^^.^^ ^^g 

Nativity I 

Passion Sunday Fortunatits 750 

Peace Vaughan 791 

Philosopher's Devotion Henry More 738 

Poet's Hymn for Himself Wither 795 

Praise Wither 705 

Praise to God Mrs. Burba uld .... 793 

Prayer, Living and Dying Toplady 75S 

Priest, The J^. Breton 771 

Psalm XIII Davison 796 

PsalmXVIII SfernhoM 796 

Psalm XIX Watts 797 

Psalm XXIII DO'Vison 797 

Psalm XXIII MerHck 798 

Psalm XXX Danisoti 793 

Psalm XLVI Watt^ 799 

Psalm XLVI Luther 799 

Psalm LXV Watts 800 

Psalm LXVI Sandys 800 

Psalm LXXII W^uUs 801 

Psalm XCII Sandys 801 

Psalm C Tate and Brady... 801 

Psalm CXVII Watts 803 

Psalm CXXX P.Fletcher 803 

PealmCXLVIII Sandys 803 

Eeisn of Christ on Earth J. Montgomery 749 

Resianation Chatierton 808 

Search after God T. Hey wood 8o6 

Sonnet — In the Desert Anonymouft, 764 

Sonnet— The Prayers I make... 3fichael Angela 794 

Sonnets *. F. Quarle.-< 757 

Spirit Land Jones Very 738 

Stranger and his Friend J. Montgomery 755 

St. Peter's Day Keble 766 

They are all gone Vaughan 786 

Thou art gone to the Grave Heber 7S3 

"Thou, God, seest Mo" J. Montgomery.. . 811 

"Thou. God. unsearchable" C.Wesley 813 

'^tTcSme'^*'"*'^'''''""''^'™'^!- 'T. Montgomery... . 813 

To keep a true Lent Herrieh 768 

True use of Music C. Wesley 773 

Twelfth Day, or the Epiphany. . Wither 748 

Universal I'rayer , . Pope, 810 

Valediction Richard Ba.rter... 781 

Veni. Creator St. Ambrose 7J.'3 

Walking with God Cowper 807 

Watchman's Report J. Boiering 759 

Weeping Mary Neicton. 751 

What isPraver? J. Montgomery — 775 

Wilderness Transformed Doddridge 793 

Wrestling Jacob C. Wesley 754 



INDEX OF AUTHORS, 



Page 

ADDISON", JOSEPH. 

Horn iu Wiltshire, Ene., May 6, 1675; died in Lor., June 17, 
1719. 

Ode — The Spacious Firmament 741 

Hymn— When Kisinp from the Bed 7S3 

Hymn— When all thy Mercies 804 

Hymn — Hou' are thy Servants 804 

AKENSIDE, MAEK. 

Bom at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Nov. 9, 1721 ; d. June 03, 1770. 

On a Sermon against Glory 392 

ALDRICn, JAMES. 

Born in Orange Co., N. Y., July 10, ISIO. 

ADeath-bed 503 

ALLINGHAM, WILLIAM. 

Born in Ireland; lived at Ballyshnnnon; published '*The 
Music Master, and Day and Night Songa." London, 1655. 

Robin Redbreast 90 

Lovely Mary Donnelly 265 

The Fairies CoO 

ALLSTON, WASHINGTON. 

Bom in S. C, Nov. 5, 1779 ; d. nt Ctimbridge, MasB., July 9, 1843. 

Boyhood 152 

Rosalie 274 

ALTENBUEG, MICHAEL. (German.) 

Born in Thuringia in 15S3 ; died in 1640, 

Battle-Song of Gustavns AdoIphuB. (Anony- 
nioua translation.) 775 

AMBROSE, ST. (Lattn.) 

Bom at Treves, A. D. 310 ; died at Milan, April 3, 397. 

Veni Creator. {Dri/deiVs paraphrase.) 793 

ANACUEON. (Greek.) 

Born at TeoB, Greece; died there 476 B. c. 

Spring. (Jfoore's translation.) 13 

The Grasshopper. {Coicleifs translation.) 6S 

On the Grasshopper. {Coicper^s translation.). 69 

Brinkintr. {Cowleifs translation.) 78 

The Portrait. {IIai/''s translation.) 273 

Clieat of Cupid. (llerrick''8 translation.) 281 

ANGELO, MICHAEL. (Italian.) 

Born In Tuacany, March 6, 1474; died in Rome, Feb. 17, 1563. 

Sonnet. {J.K Taylor's traihslatton.) 241 

Sonnet. ~()I': Wardf!Worfh\-< trans/, rtion.) 241 

Sonnet. {J. E. Taylor\'i traii.shi/iniK) 25S 

Sonnet. {S. Wordswarth's translation.) 794 

ANSTER, JOHN. 

Bom in Ireland about 1795; is Professor of Civil Law in Trin- 
ity College, Dublin. 

The Fairy Chi M 127 

ANTIPATER OF SIDON. (Greek.) 

Lived in Greece about 100 b. c. 

On Anacreon. {^T. Jloore's translation.) 633 

ARNOLD, EDWIN. 

Son of Dr. Arnold of Rugby ; brother of Matthew Arnold. 

Almond Blossom 13 

Woman's Voice 629 



Page 
ARNOLD, MATTHEW. 

Born at Laleham, Eng., Dec. -4, 13QS; elected Professor of 
Poetry at Oxford in 1657. 

Philomela 53 

The Forsaken Merman 81 

Excuse 812 

IndiflFerence 312 

Sohrab and Eustum 460 

ATTOTJN. WILLIAM E. 

Born in Fifeshire, Scotland, in 1613; died Aug. 4, 1866. 

Massacre of the Macpherson 420 

BAtLLIE, JOANNA. 

Born in Lanarkshire, Scotland, in 1762; died at Hampatead, 
near London, Feb. 23, 1861. 

The Black Cock 29 

BARBAULD, ANNA L^TITIA. 

Born in Leicestershire, Eng., June 20, 1743; died near Lon- 
don, March 9, 1805. 

Death of the Virtnons 731 

" Come unto Me." 7.'i9 

Praise to God 793 

BARNARD, LADY ANNE. 

Born in Scotland, Dec. 8, 1750; died May 8, 1855. 

Auld Robin Gray 896 

BARNFIELD, RICHARD. 

Born in Staffordshire, Eng., in 1574 ; died about 160C. 

Address to the Nightingale 51 

BARTON, BERNARD. 

Bom near London, Jan. 31, 1734; died Feb. 19, 1849. 

Not ours the Vows S30 

There be Those 705 

BAXTER. RICHARD. 

Bom in Shropshire, Eng., Nov., 1615; died Dec. 8, 1691. 

Valediction 781 

BAYLY. THOMAS HAYNES. 

Born in Bath, Eng., in 1797; died in 1839. 

Oh! Where do Fairies hide their Heads? 542 

BEATTIE, JAMES. 

Bora in Kincardineshire, Scot., Oct. 20, 1735 ; died Aug. 18, 1803. 

The liermit 713 

BEAUMONT and FLETCHER. 

\\ ere connected as writers in London from about 1605 to IGIS. 
Francis Be!\uinonl, b, in Leicestershire in 1566 ; d. March 9, 1616 ; 
John Fletcher, b. in Northamptonshire is 1676; d. iu Lon. in 
1625. 

Spring 15 

To Pan 65 

Folding the Flocks 100 

Hear. Ye Ladies 246 

Beauty Clear and Fair 246 

Speak, Love 246 

Hence all you Vain Delights 685 



XVI 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Page 

EEDDOES, THOMAS LOVELL. 

Uom near Brietol, Eng., lu 1809; died in Germany in 1849. 

Love's Last Messages 321 

Diw 512 

Bridal Song and Dirge 513 

BENNETT, HENKY. 

Born in Cork, Ireland, about 1785. 

St. Patrick was a Gentleman 433 

BENNETT. WILLIAM C. 

Lives in London. 

Invocation to Kain in Summer 77 

ToaCricket 107 

Baby Mav 1 1!' 

Baby's Shoes IW 

BEPKELET, GEORGE. 

Horn at Kilcrin, Ireluiid, Marrh 12, 1684 ; died, bishop of 
CI yne, Jan. 13, 1753. 

On the Prospect of Planting Arts and Learning 
in Am'.'rica 376 

BETIIUNE, JOHN. 

Bom in Fifeshire, Scotland, in ISlC; died Sept. 1, 1839. 

Hymn of the Church-yard 728 

BLACKBURN, THOMAS. 

Author of " llj-mnsnnd Poems for the SicJt and Suffering." 

Easter Hymn 752 

BLAKE, "WILLIAM. 

Born ill London, Nov. 58, 1757 ; died Aug. 1?, 1828. 

The Tiger 73 

The Little Black Boy loit 

Song 312 

The Garden of Love 70t! 

On Another's Sorrow '. S07 

BLANCHARD, LAMAN. 

B.irn at Great Yarmouth, England, May 15, 1803; died Feb. 
5, 1^5. 

Mother's Hope 131 

BOKEIi, GEORGE HENRY. 

bora in Philadelphia in 18^3. 

Black Regiment 8S2 

BONAR, HORATIUS. 

Bora in Scotland about ISIO. Rliniatot of the Free Church 
in Kelso. 

A Little TVhile 7S7 

All Well 792 

BOURNE, VINCENT. 

An uflhi-r in Westminster School; bora about 1695: died 
Dec L', 1747. 

Th e r ly 72 

BOWLES, WILLIAM LISLE. 

Horn in Norlhsimptonshlre, Sept. 24, 1102: died April 7. 
1850. *^ ' 

The Greenwood 58 

Come lo these Scenes of Peace 5S 

t)n the Funeral of Charles the First 510 

BOWRING, JOHN. 

Born iu Kxelir, England, Oct 27, 1792. 

Watchman's Report 759 

BRAINARD, JOHN G. C. 

Born at New London, Conn., Oct, 21, 1796: died Sept 26. 

lSi'8. *^ ' 

Epithalnminm 880 

BREITHAUPT, JOACHIM JUSTUS. 

Bijrn in Htmover in 165S; died March Ifi, 17;i2. 

God's Greatness. {John M'esh!/''8tra}i8latio7i,) 613 

BRETON. NICHOLAS. 

Born in England in 1555 ; died iu 1624 

Phillidaand Corj-don 243 

A Sweet Pastoral G71 

Priest [ 771 

Hymn 777 

BRISTOL, LORD. (George Digby.) 

Born in Mndrid iu 161i; died at Chelsea, March 20, 1676. 

Song » o§ 

BROOKS, MARIA. 

Born at Medford, Mass., obout 1795 j di«d in Cuba, Nov. 11, 1M5. 

Song 270 



Page 

BROWN, FRANCES. 

Born iu Ireland, June 16, I8I3 ; died in IS&l. 

Losses 690 

Oh I the Pleasant Days of Old 099 

Is it Come? 70.3 

H that were True 703 

BROWNE, WILLIAM. 

Bom in Devonshire in 1590; died in 1645. 

Shall Itell? 246 

Welcome, Welcome 256 

BROWNING, ELIZABETH BARRETT. 

Born in Lon.lon in 1809 ; dii.-d in Florenci-, July 29, 1361. 

The Child and Watcher 122 

Sonnets from the Portuguese 242 

Bertha in the Lane 807 

Mother and Poet 522 

Cowper's Grave 045 

The Sleep 719 

BROWNING, ROBERT. 

Bora near London in 1Sr2. 

I'ied Piper of Hamelin 189 

Misconceptions 287 

One Way of Love 2ST 

In a Year 292 

Evelyn Hope 816 

Give a House « 856 

How they brought the Good News from Ghent 

to Aix 378 

Incident of the French C'amp 883 

The Lost Leader 616 

BRYANT, WILLIAM CULLEN. 

Born in Cmoniinjrttin, Muss., Nov. 3, 1794 

To a Waterfowl 515 

The Frinsed Gentian 93 

Death of the Flowers 98 

The Hunter of the Prairies 94 

The Evening' Wind 101 

Burial of Love 323 

Song of Marion's Men 877 

Oh! Mother or a Mighty Ilace 879 

Tlie Battle-field 880 

Tlie Hunter's Vision 491 

The Cro«-ded Street 676 

Waiting by the Gate 690 

Thanatopsis 729 

BUCHANAN, EOBEET. 
Born in Scotland ntiout 1S35. 

Green Gnome 5.51 

Legend of the Stepmother 5SS 

BUEBIDGE, THOMAS. 

Born in England ; published " Poems, Longer and Shorter." 
London, 183S. 

Mother's Love 138 

If I desire with Pleasant Songs 2$3 

BURLEIGH, GEORGE 8. 

Born «t Phiiufield, Conn., March 26, 1S21. 

Mother Margery 636 

BURNS, ROBERT. 

Born near Ayr, Scotland, Jan. 35, 1759 ; died July 21, 1796. 

To a Mountain Daisy 36 

My heart's in the Highlands 95 

Auld Lang Syne 193 

Here's a Health to Aue 2110 

Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes 260 

Farewell to Nancy 260 

Of a' the airts the Wind can Blaw 261 

Red, lied Rose 261 

Lass of Ballochmyle 2til 

Address to a Lady 263 

Bonnie Leslie 263 

Highland Mary 316 

To Mary in Heaven 317 

Mv Wife's a Winsome Wee Thing 381 

Blissful Day 334 

J ohn Anderson 834 

Bannoek-liurn 355 

Kenmure's on and Awa' 366 

Here's a Health to them that's Awa' 867 

T.-im O'Shanter 421 

Elegv on Captain Matthew Henderson 507 

The Vision 647 

Honest Poverty 702 

The Cotter's Saturday Night 707 



Page 
BUTLER, WILLIAM ALLEN. 

Born in Albany, N. Y., in 1825. 

Uliland 654 

BYUD, WILLIAM. 

An English musical composer — lived about 1600. 

Snn^ 6fiG 

My minde to Me a Kingdom is 669 

BYRON, LORD. 

Born in London, Jan. 29, 1788 ; died April 19, 18-24. 

Stanzas to Augusta 1S3 

To Thomas Moore 188 

Maid of Athens, ere we Part 25S 

Girl of Cadiz 2.')9 

Stanzas for Music 260 

Stanzas— Oh, talk not to me 2S6 

The Dream 2SS 

When we two parted 291 

Destruction of Sennacherib 344 

Sons of the Greek Poet 3SS 

The Prisoner of Chillon 476 

Oh, Snatched away in Beauty's Bloom 509 

She Walks in Beauty 631 

CALLISTRATUS. (Greek.) 

Livtd in Greece about SOU e. c. 

Harmodiusand Aristogeitoa. {Lord DenmarCa 
translation.) 845 

CAMOENS, LUIS DE. (PoRTForESE.) 

Born io Lisbon about 1524; died in 1579. 

Canzonet. {Lord Sirangford''8 translation.). 43 
CAMPBELL, THOMAS. 

Born in Glasgow, July 57. 1777; died at Boulogne, June 15, 1844 

To the Evening Star 102 

Sonff 278 

Loehiel's Warning 367 

Hohenlinden 883 

Ye Mariners of England 884 

Battle of the Baltic 8S5 

Lord Ullin's Daughter 481 

The Soldier's Dream 604 

Hallowed Ground 700 

CANNING, GEORGE. 

Born in London, April 11,1770; died at Chiawick, Aug. 8, 1827. 

Friend of Humanity, and the Knife-Grinder. . . 425 

Song of one Eleven Years in Prison 4:i5 

CAREW. THOMAS. 

Bom in Devonshire, England, in 1539 ; died tn 1639. 

The Airs of Spring 10 

Disdain Returned". 250 

Song •ii52 

CHALK HILL, JOHN. 

A friend of Izaak Walton ; lived in the 17th century. 

The Angler 20 

CIIATTERTON, THOMAS. 

BL>m at Bristol, England, Nov. 20, 1752; killed himflolf, Aug. 
25, mo. 

Minstrel's Song 814 

The Resignation 808 

CHAUCER, GEOFFREY. 

Bom in Lond^^n in 1328 ; died Oct 25, 1400. 

Flower and the Leaf 3 

The Cuckoo and the Nightingale 23 

CLARE, JOHN. 

Born iaNurthamptonsliire, England, July 13,1793; died in 186 1. 

July 57 

CLARK, GEORGE H. 

Livi's at Hartford, Conn. 

The Rail 439 

CLAUDIUS, MATTHIAS. (Gekman.) 

Born near Lubeck, Germany, in 17-i;J ; died in 1815. 

Night Song. (C. T. Brooks's translation.) 106 

CLOUGH, ARTHUR HUGH. 

Born in Liverpool, Jan. 1, 1819; died in Florence, Nov. 13, 18C1. 

Qua Cursum Ventus 182 

No More 694 



Pag« 

COLERIDGE, HARTLEY. 

Bom near Bristol, En-., Sept. 19, 1796; died Jan. 19. 1W9. 

Song— The Lark 19 

November ii8 

COLERIDGE. SAMUEL TAYLOR. 

Burn in Devonshire, Eng., Oct 21, 1772; died July 25, 1834. 

The Nightingale W 

Hvnin, before Sunrise 114 

The Child in the Wilderness 124 

Lnve 229 

Cologne 423 

Devil's Thoughts 423 

Song — Hear Sweet Spirit 552 

Rime of the Ancient Mariner. 575 

Kubla Khan 584 

Dfr-jection : an Ode OsO 

The Good Great Man 097 

COLLINS, ANN. 

Lived in England about 1650. 

Winter being Over 670 

COLLINS, WILLIAM. 

Born at Chichester, England, Dec 25, 1720; died in 1756. 

Ode to Evening 102 

Ode— How Sleep the Brave 373 

Dirge in Cvmbeline 512 

The Passions 625 

COLMAN, GEORGE, "The Younger." 

Bom in Loudon, Oct. 21, 1762 ; died Oct 26, 1836. 

Sir Marmaduke OSS 

COOKE, PHILIP PENDLETON. 

Born at Martinsbnrg, Va., Oct. 26, 1816; died Jan. 20, 1350. 

Florence Vane 314 

CORBETT, RICHARD. 

Born ia Surrey, England, in 1582 ; died in 1S35. 

The Fairies' Farewell 550 

CORNWALL. BARRY. (B. W. Procter.) 

Bora in Wiltshire, Eno-Iund, ahnut 1798. 

Song of Wood Nymphs 66 

The Blood Horse 76 

The Sea 81 

The Stormy Petrel , 81 

The Sea— In Calm S4 

The Hunter's Song » 95 

A Song for the Seasons 113 

Song — Love me if I Live 266 

Poet's Song to his Wife 3:H 

Snt'tlv Woo away her Breath 491 

The Mother's Last Sons 499 

Peacel What do Tears "Avail? 503 

Bridal Dirge 514 

Hermione 632 

Poet's Thought 657 

Petition to Time 692 

King Death 722 

Sit down. Sad Soul 723 

Life 723 

COTTON, CHARLES. 

Born in Derbvshire, England, in 1630 ; died in 1687. 

The Retirement 62 

COTTON, NATHANIEL. 

Bom at SI. Albana, England, in 1721 ; died in 1788. 

The Fireside 332 

COWLEY. ABRAHAM. 

Born in London in 16IS ; died July 28, 1667, 

The Garden 59 

The Chronicle 278 

COWPER, WILLIAM. 

Bom in Hertfordshire, Eng.,Nov, 15, 1731 ; died April 25, 1800. 

The Cricket 107 

BoaiUcea 346 

Divert in<; History of John Gilpin. 416 

On the Loss of the Royal George 482 

Verses, supposed to be written by Alex. Selkirk 599 

On the Receipt of my Mother's Picture 607 

Human Frailty 697 

Joy and Peace in Believing 778 

Future Peace and Glory ol^ the Church 791 

Lisht Shining out of Darkness 805 

Waiting -with God 807 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



CIUNCU, CnRlSTOPIIER TEARSE. 

Uor.i ill AI«xunJii», I>. C, M.ircli 8, 1813. 

Slaiizas— Thoiigbt Is Dc-cpcr 



P«g» 



CRARIIAW, inCHAUD. ^. ^ . „.„ 

Ikin. In CuiubridKi-aliiro, Kiig., nbont 1600; died in 16o0. 

Sciui.— To thy LoviT ■ ■ 

Teniperauce. or tho Cheap RhysiciaD.. 
On 11 Rrayf '' 



tT-Book. 



251 
6T3 
772 



London New Montlily." 



CRAWKORD, MRS. J. 

All Irinh liiiiy ; wrote fur tho " 

Wo partotl iu Silence ■''^- 

CROLY. OEORGE. 

Itorn in llublin iQ 1780; diedln 18G0. 

l.eimUtas f f •; 

Vericlcs nnd Aspnsla il" 

Dirge • 'i^ 

OUNNINliHAM, ALIAN. 

lioru 111 Uluckivood, ScolliinJ. Dec 17, 1794 1 died Dec 59, 1S42. 

.\ Wet Sheet ami a Flowlns Sea 82 

'I'liim linst Voweil by thy yalth, my Jcannie. . . 202 

Roet's Bridal-ilay Song ^^33 

llaiiie, Hame, llamo 870 

Mv Ain Couutree f^'l 

Guue wore but tlic Winter oauld 609 

CURTIS. (iEORGE WILLIAM. 
Bora in rrovidoiiee, R. 1., in iti'i-i, 

Egyptian Serenade C29 

DAMASOENUS, ST. JOANNES. (Geeek.) 

Uorn in Iliimnscua ; died tibout 75C. 

Hymn. (E. B. Bfoicning^s translation.'). — 752 

DANA, RICHARD TIENRT. 

Horn lit t'limbridge, Miiae. Nov. 15, 1787. 

The Little Beach-Bird 84 

DANIEL, SAMUEL. 

iioni In Sonioreetebire, Eng., tn 1563; died Oct, 1619. 

IjOvo is a Sickness 243 

To the Lady Margaret 667 

BARLEY. GEORG E. 

Horn In Uublio in 1*85 ; died in London in 1349. 

Song iif tbe Summer Winds 79 

Gambols of Children 138 

Love Song 274 

Sylvia 274 

DAVIS, THOMAS. 

Horn in Mallow, in land, in 1S14; died in Dublin, Sept 16,1845. 

The Welcome 267 

PAVISON, FRANCIS. 

Uorn in Norfolk, England, about 1S76; died about 1618. 

I'salin XIII 796 

Vsaim XXni 797 

Psalm XXX :79s 

DE VERE. AUBREY. 

Bora in the county of Linierlcic, Ireland, Dec 16, 1814. 

Earlv Friendship 175 

Song— Sing tbe Old Song 275 

Sonnet 693 

DERZIIAVIN, GAIVLROMANOWITCH. (Rctsian.) 

Born in Kuiiaji, Hussiii, July 3, 1743 ; died July 6, 1816. 

God. {J. Boicrittff's tratislatioti.). S14 

PIBDIN, CHARLES. 

Bora tit SouthampL^n, England, in 1745 ; died in 1814, 

Sir Sidney Smith 419 

Tom Bowling 4S6 

niCKENS. CHARLES. 

Born III Bortsmouth, England, Fab. 7, 1813. 

Ivy Green 9S 

DIMOND, WILLI.VM. 

.\ theatrical managi^r [ bora in Bath, Eng. : died in Paria, Oct 
ISIT. 

The Mariner's Droam 4S4 

DOBELL, SYDNEY. 

Bora at Peckhnm Rye, England, in 1824. 

How's my Boy ? ... 4S5 



DODDRIDGE, PHILIP. 

Born in London, Juno '.'ri, 1702 ; died Oct, 1751. 

God in Nature 

For New Year's Day 

"Mark tbe Soft -falling Snow" 

God the Everlasting Light of the Saints. 

Wilderness Transfoi-meil 

'•IIow Gracious and bow Wise" 

DOMMETT, ALFRED. 

Born ill England about 1815; Uvea in New Zealand. 

Christmas Hvmn 



Pago 



740 
740 
741 

7S7 
792 
808 



DOWLAND. JOHN. 

An English musicnl composer; lived ilbout 1600. 

Sleep 



DOWNING, MARY. 

Born in Cork, Ireland, about 1830. 

Were 1 but his own "Wife. 



267 



DRAKE, JOSEPH RODMAN. 

Born ui New York, Aug. 7, 1795 ; died Sept, 1820. 

To Sar.ib S33 

American Flag i .. 879 

The Culprit Fay &42 

DRAYTON. MICHAEL. 

Born in Warwickshire, England, in 1563; died in 1631. 

Sonnet 2S6 

Ballad of Agincourt 852 

DRUMMOND, WILLIAM. 

Bora in Scotland, Nov. 13, 1585; died Dec, 1H9. 

Song — Phoebus Arise 14 

To tTie Nightingale 51 

To tbe Redbreast 112 

Sonnet— I know that All 341 

Sonnets 670 

Sonnet— Of Mortal Glory 727 

Dedication of a Church 771 

DRYDEN. JOHN. 

BorninNorthamptonshire.Eng., Aug. 9, 1631 ; died Slay 1, 1700. 

Ab, how Sweet it is to Love 252 

Alexander's Feast 623 

DUFFERIN, LADY. 

Fornierlv Mra. Blackwood ; grnnd-dnughter of R. B. Sheridnn ; 
slater of Mre, Norton ; born in Ireland in ISO". 

Lament of the Irish Emigrant 44)7 



DUNBAR, WILLIAM. 

Bora in Scotland about 1465 ; died about 1530. 

" AH Earthly Joy returns in Pain " . 
DWIGHT, JOHN SULLIVAN. 

Bora in Boston, Maes., May 13, 1A13. 

Sweet is tbe Pleasuie 



593 



DYER, JOHN. 

Bora iu Wales in 170O; died in 17&S. 

Grongar Hill 



98 



EASTMAN, CHARLES GAMAGE. 

Bora iaFrj-eburg, Me., June 1, 1S16; died in Burlington, Vt, 
in 1861. 

A Snow Storm 490 

Dirge 61S 

ELLIOTT, EBENEZER. 

Born near Shelfield, l^iig., March 17, 1781 ; died Dec. 1, 1819. 

The Bramble Flower 41 

Poet's Epitaph 620 

EMERSON, RALPH WALDO. 

Bora in Boston, Muas., in 180X 

The Ebodora 36 

To tbe Humble Bee 70 

The Snow Storm Ill 

Threnody KiB 

Ode to Beauty 671 

Good-bye 677 

Gny 678 

B.wehus ; 679 

Each and All 705 

Tbe Problem 707 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Page 
FENNER, CORNELIUS GEORGE. 

Born in Providence, R. I.j Dec. 30, 1822 ; died in Cincinnati, 
Jan. 4, 1S47. 

Gulf Weed 84 

FERGUSON, SAMUEL. 

Born in llie north of Ireland about 1805— ia a Barrister in Dublin. 

Tbe Fairy Thorn 587 

Forging of the Anchor 602 

FIELDS, .lAJIES T. 

Born in PorUmouth, N. H., In 1830. 

B.ilbd of the Temi)05t 158 

Dirge for a Young Girl 613 

FLETCHER, GILES. 

Born in Kent, England, about 1550 ; died in IGIO. 

Panglory's Wooing Song 248 

FLETCHER. PHINEAS. 

Born in London in 1584 ; died about 1650. 

Ilvmn— Drop, Drop, Slow Tears TM 

Psalm CXXX ' 802 

FOETUNATUS. VENANTIUS. (Latin.) 

Saiiitof the Latin Church; born ue-ir Venice in &30;died 
about 600. 

Passion Sunday. {Anonymous iransliitUm.').. 750 

FREILIGRATH. FERDIN.\ND. (Gebman.) 

Born at Detmold, Germany, June 17, 1810. 

The Lion's Ride. {Anonymous translation.). 73 
FRENEAU, PHILIP. 

Born ia New York, Jan. 13, 1752 ; died Dec. 18, 1835. 

The Wild Honeysuckle 41 

GAY, JOHN. 

Born in Devonshire, England, in I6SS; died Dec. 11, 1732. 

Sweet William's Farewell to Black-eyed Susan. 218 
GERHARD, PAUL. (German.) 

Bom in Saxony in 160G ; died June 7, 1670. 

Living by Christ. (7". Wesley^s translation!). 761 
OILMAN, CAROLINE. 

Born in Boston, IMass., iu 1794. 

Annie in the Grave-yard 158 

GLAZIER, W. B. 

Lives in Gardiner, Me. 

Cape Cottage at Sunset 182 

GLEN, WILLIAM. 

A native of Glasgow, died about 1924. 

Wae's Me for Prince Charlie 870 

GOETHE, .1011 ANN WOLFGANG VON. (GEtiiuAN.) 

Born at Fraukfort-un-the-Muin, Aug. 20, 1740 ; died at Weimar, 
In 18a2. 

The Minstrel. {./. C. Mangan^s translation.). 657 

GOLDSMITH, OLIVER. 

Born in the county of Longford, Ireland, Nov. 29, 1728; died 
April 4, 1774. 

The Hermit 216 

Elegy on tbe Death of a Mad Dog 405 

ElegV on the Glory of her Sex, Mrs. Mary 

Blaize 419 

The Traveller 608 

The Deserted Village 614 

GRANT, SIR ROBERT. 

Born in Scotland in 1785 ; died July 9, 1838. 

Litany 762 

Hymn 763 

GRAY, THOMAS. 

Born in London, Dec. 20, 1746 ; died July 30, 1771. 

On a Distant Prospect of Eton College 148 

Elegy written in a Country Church-yard 731 

GREENE, ROBERT. 

Born ftl Norwich, Enccland, about 1560; died Sept. 5, 1592. 

Philomela's Ode S.")? 

Song— Sweet are the Thoughts G65 

GREGORY THE GREAT, ST. (Latls.) 

Born in Rome about 540 ; died G04. 

Darkness is Thinning. {J. M. Jfeale'e trans- 
lation.) 737 



Page 
HABINGTON, WILLIAM. 

Born in Worcesterihire, England, in 1605; died in 1G45. 

Castara 24S 

Night 716 

HALLECK, FITZ-GREENE. 

Born at Guilford, Cone, in Aug., 1795. 

Marco Bozarris 88!) 

HAMILTON, WILLIAM. 

Boro at Bimgour, Scotland, in 1704; died in 1754. 

Braes of Yarrow 452 

HART, .JOSEPH. 

An English Dissenting Clergyman ; lived in London In 1759. 

Getbsemane 750 

HARTE, WALTER. 

Born in 17(10; died in Wales in 1774. 

Soliloquy 69 

HEBER, REGINALD. 

Born in Cheshire, England, April 21, 1783 ; died April 3, 1826. 

If thou wert by my Side 881 

Epiphany 746 

Thou art gone to the Grave 783 

HEINE, HEINRICH. (German.) 

Bom at Dussoldorf, Germany, Jan. 1, 1800 ; died in 1856. 

" Calm is the Night." {Ldan^^strant<httion.) .122 
The Lorelei. (C. /*. Crunches translation.)... 553 

The Water Fay. {.Lelaml's translation.) 55;} 

The Fisher's Cottage. {LelancTs translation.) 598 

HEMANS, FELICIA. 

Bom in Liverpool, England, Sept. S6, 1794; died May 16, 1835. 

Willow Song 67 

The Wandering Wind 79 

The Adopted Child 153 

Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers 876 

Casablanca 887 

Dirge 514 

HERBERT, GEORGE. 

Bom in Wules, April 3, 1593 ; died in Feb., 1632. 

Man 712 

Virtue 717 

Easter 762 

The Call 764 

The Odor 755 

Complaining 757 

Tbe Flower 767 

HERRICK, ROBERT. 

Born in London iu 1501 ; dote of death unknown. 

To Violets 84 

To Primroses 85 

To Blossoms 85 

To Daffodils 85 

To Meadows 91 

Mrs. Eliz. Wheeler '. 247 

Night Piece 249 

Gather ye Rose-buds 824 

The Hak 424 

Dirge of Jephthah's Daughter 511 

Delight in Disorder 6:M 

ITpou .lulia's Recovery 632 

To Perilla 639 

The White Island 699 

To keep a true Lent 768 

Litany to the Holy Spirit 7S0 

HEYWOOD, THOMAS. 

Lived in England, under Queen Elizabeth and Charles I. 

Song— The Lark 20 

Search alter God 806 

HILL, THOMAS. 

Born in New Brunswick, N. J., Jan. 7, 1813. 

The Bobolink 22 

HOFFMAN, CHARLES FENNO. 

Bom in New York in 18U6. 

Sparkling and Bright 184 

Monterey 381 



XX 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Piige 
IlOGd, .lAMKS. 

Horn In Kmkk, Scotlnii.l. J«n. i\ 1"3 ; Jlml Nor. SI, las. 

Tlu-U.rk 19 

Till- Moon was a Wnnliis: 4*0 

Kllmony Mi 

HOI.MKS, OI.IVKR WKNDEU,. 

Ut.rn nt Cnmt.riilp-, Mtw*., Aug. 29, 180». 

Tlio Stcmnl'Oiit WO 

TUo I,ti»t Leaf «S1> 

HOI.TY, I.UnWI(}, (Obbman.) 

U«ru no*r Umiovi-r, Germany, D«c. 'il, K4S; iUdi! Pee. 1, 1""6. 

Wliitor Soiijt. (C 7*. JrooAs's /niiis'n/iOTi.). .. 112 

llOOn. THOMAS, 

lurn In Loudon In 1T«3; diod M<t 3, ISIS. 

Flonois *! 

Audinui '^^ 

To a Oillil cinbnicing Ills Mother.. -;. i'if> 

To luy Daushler 135 

1 Kenunnber, I Kcmcmber ISC' 

Fair lues *<» 

Uuth 2!>9 

?rri*na(lo -"l^ 

Hallail— II was not in ibe Winter 272 

Ballad— *lp;h on, Sad Ue;irt 2ST 

>\iltliless Nellv Or.iv 429 

l^iithless Sally" Brown -ISi) 

Ijuly at Sea 4.11 

l)r\>am of Ku::ene Aram 4.'>7 

Btl.ii.->M.fSi2lis 49S 

Sona or the Shirt W9 

The Pe,itli-be.l W2 

The Water Udv 883 

Song— .V Uike ami a Rllrv Boat B54 

Soui,-— t) Ijiily, Leave 682 

HOWF, .U'l.IA WARD. 

Itorn In New Vork about 18». 

The IVad Christ "64 

lIOWnT. MAKY. 

m>rii in Ult,4vl«r, En^lAnd, about 1S04. 

Little Stre-ams SI 

BliHim Flower. 40 

SmnnuT Woods 66 

Oorntlelds 92 

little Ohll.lr>n liW 

Fiiirlos of llie OUdon Low Ml 

UOWllT, WILLIAM. 

IVrn In lVrt<y»Mn>, Kngland, In ITSS. 

Departure of the Swallow 107 

HrGO, VICTOK. (FRKXon.1 

Bom In Boau.on, Franco, Feb. :^ ISOS, 

The DJinna, {O'SHllican't tranflation^ r>S9 

HUNT. LKMU. 

Bom in Mi,l,llMex. Kur.. OoL IS. i:S4; died Aug. 1>S. ISiS. 

Chorns of Flowers 44 

^^ra^shop|H"^ and Cricket 70 

To.1. IL— Fonr Ye.ars Hid 126 

To a Child during Sickness 127 

.lalTar ISO 

The Nun 579 

.lennv Kisseil Me 2S6 

Ab.nBen Adheni 809 

AnJ^>l in the House 723 

nrSTKK, ANNK. 

Bora in Sc\Mland in |:4S; died in IS^l. 

Indian l>e.ith-song 875 

HYSLOr, .lAMES. 

Eom in ScolUnl. Julv. irSS; diod Poc, «, ISit. 

Ottterrtnian's Dreani 862 

tNOEAM. .lOHN KEI.tA 

Born in \tv\miA at...ut IS^Xi: la a Fellow of T>tn. Coll.,IhibUn. 
The Memory of the Dead 890 

JOHSSOX, S.VMrEL., 

l!.-m in Uelia, Id. Knt., SoBl IS, 1:09 ; died in London, Pec. 
IMTSl. 

Y.Anity of Unman Wishes 6S0 



JOSKS, KENEST. '^ 

A li'.-iiliiig Chartist ; Ilvia in England. 

Moonriso 104 

JONES, SIR WILLIAM. 

Bom In London, So|.l. SS. 1T46 ; dlod April SI, 1791. 

Odo— What Constitutes a Stnto 891 

JONSON, BEN. 

Born In London, Juno II, 1574; died Ang. 19, 1637. 

ToCvnthia 104 

Trinfn|ih of Charis 244 

Olseourse with Cupid 24.") 

Epitaph on Elizabeth L. li .MS 

Song 680 

Ode— To Himself MO 

KEATS. JOHN. 

Horn in Undon In 179« ; dlod Feb. 94, I$9I. 

Nature and the Poets 47 

tide to a Ni);bting:ile 52 

Hymn to Pan (U 

On the Gnisshopper and Cricket 69 

To Autumn 9t) 

Fancy lOS 

Eve of St. Agues 220 

Fairv Song rvS.') 

Ui lielle name s.ins Merci M6 

Lines on the Mermaid Tavern 639 

On lir.st looking into Chapman's Homer f'.M 

Odi'— Banls of I'assion 6.'>C 

t^de on a Itrecian I'm 660 

Kobin Hood 69S 

KEBLK ,10HN. 

B,>rn in Gloucoelcratiirc, Eng., April S5, 1799; dlod Mnrdi ?9. ISfiS. 

April 12 

The Elder Scripture 740 

St. Peter's l)av 766 

Is this a Time to Plant and Build f 770 

KF.Mm.F, FRANCi:S ANNE, 

Born in I.oudou about ISll. 

Absence 277 

KENYON, ,10HN. 

Died in LA^ndon lu 1SS7. 

Charaiwgue Kos6 1S5 

KEY, FRANCIS SCOTT. 

Born about 1790; died in Baltlmoro, Jan. 11, 1S4S. 

Star-spangled B^tnner 378 

KINO, HENP.Y. 

Btaho)> of Chichoater, England ; bom In 1591 ; dlod in 16^9. 

Life 727 

KINGSLEY, CHAKLES. 

Bom in lVvon»bii«, t:BgUod, June 19, 1S19. 

Song— O, Mary, lio and l>ill the Cattle Ilome.. . 4.'i9 
The Fishermen 475 

LAMB, CHARLES. 

Birn in London. Fob, IS. 1775; died IVee. o7, ISS*. 

The Christening 120 

The tlipsv's Malison 12.') 

Childhood l-Vi 

t^ld Kamiliar Faces l'?2 

Hypochondriaeus 427 

F:irewell to Tobacco 427 

Hester 8«8 

Lines on a Celebrated Picture 743 

UIMB. MAKT. 

Born in London In 1765; died Ma; «!. 1SI7. 

Choosinga N;mie 120 

LANPON. L.ETITIA ELIZABETH. (Mrs. Maci.tax.) 

Bom at Cbelua, t:n(;.. In ISUi; died in Africa, OcL 16, IsSj. 

ThcShephenl Bov 187 

Little Ked Riding" Hood 13S 

Night at Sea ^ 193 

Awakening of Kudymton 275 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



XXI 



rniro 

LANDOK, WAI.TKU SAVAOK. 

llitni lit Wiirwli'kuhiro, Klig,, 111 mfi : ill.'il in Florunci), Si'pt. 
17, ISill. 

'I'll.' lirlcr 42 

( lillilrcn ISO 

Miilil'a I-nmi'Ilt 288 

Ipliiu'i'Diit 11)1(1 Apiinomnon 472 

To Miu'iuiliiy G5ti 

Om- Cray lliilr CS9 

Mi'tllnrv (JiK) 

Am c ll,ri><K.t to Sleep 720 

LKONIDAS, OK ALKXANDKIA. (Oueek.) 

Ili>ri> hi tlx'yxiirMI; illud In l'.".l. 

On tlio I'Icturo of un Infant. {Rofferti^a (rails- 
lation.) 125 



LKYDKN, .TOIIN. 

llorunt Dunliohn, Sootliini], Sopt. 8, 1771>: died In Dntnvln, 
K. I., Aiii;. ':i, mil. 

BiibbutU Morning 

I.OCKIIART, .lOlIN OinSON. 

Uurii In CliiiiKow In 1711L> ; di«d nt Abboturord. Nov, SR, I8fi4. 
lll-oiuls\voi-(ls of Scollltlul 



8T1 



LOO AN, .10 1 IN. 

Durn In Sotliind In I7JH; diod In PoCi 1788. 

To tlu' ClK'koo 2.1 

Hon;: — Yarrow Stroiim 4M 

IK'iivonly Wisdom 712 

LONOFUl.I.OW, IlKNUY WADSWOKTU. 

lloin in l'[>rtliind, Mo., Kob. !27, 1807. 

KlowlTS 4,^ 

Twlllirlit 82 

Hivnvi'i'il S! 

Woiiils 111 Winter 110 

Artfi-noon In Kebrniiry 112 

The (Ililldren's Hour l,^f> 

The 0|ien Window 103 

The Kil-e of Drinwoiul 181 

H\eelslor 81)2 

Wreek of the llespernB 4s;) 

Wiirdin of the Olnciue Ports MS 

The VlllHKe Hliick«inlth (iOO 

The Arsenul nt HiirliiKlleld 60(1 

The Light of Stiirs 71t! 

The Sliivo Singing at Midnight 711) 

I'siilni of Mft' l-ii 

King U.duTlof Slelly 724 

The Footsteps of Angels 720 

LOVELACE, IMCIIAlil), 

Horn In KdmI, Kn^innd, In I618| dk'd in 18:3. 

The Oriisshoppor 68 

To Lile.istn 249 

To Altheii, from Prison 2.^0 

To Lneiistii 2IW 

Orpheus to the lioiists 2U9 

LOVER, SAMIIKL. 

Born In llnltlln in 17117 ; died in 1808. 

The Angel's Whisper 122 

Uorv ( TMore 2S;J 

Molly (iirew 2S.t 

Widow Miicbree 285 

LOWELL, .lAMES Rns.SELL. 

Horn lit l.'iiiiibridi;i<, MttW., I'lib. I'll, 1810. 

The Fonntftlii 80 

To the Dandelion 42 

The lllreli Tree 65 

8lie Ciline iiiid Wont IfJ!) 

My Love ,, 271 

l:l'lrt?eu8 r>72 

Hebe 030 

LOWELL, MAUIA WHITE. 

Horn lit VViitrrtown, MniH., July 8, 18 

Mornlng-dlory 



1 ; diod Oct. S7, 1853. 



103 



LUTHER, MAliTlN. (Okuman.) 

Uorn III KIsiolii'n, Siiiniiy, Nov. lu, 14S;(; diod Fob. 18, 1646. 

Martyrs' Hymn. (W.J. Fodr\ trnndiilion.).. 775 
A Safe Stronghold. (T. Citrli/le'atratiiilulitm.) 791) 



LYLY, ,101IN. 

Horn ill Koiit, Knulniui, nlioiit 1651 1 diod nbont IllOO. 
(.'lipid and Caiiiiiaspe 



I'nRO 
. 245 



LYTTON, KDWAUl) UOUEHT BITLWEH. 

Only Noii of Lord l.ytton, born in Horta, Eng., Nov. 8, 1881. 

Chnilges 

Aii.\ Itiillons .*..'."".'.'.'.'.'.!'.! 

MAOAULAV, LOIil). 

Horn lit Kotbioy Toni)ili, 
Doo. '2H, 18611. 

Horatlus.... .... 

')'■>■: 



818 
817 



KoKlond, In 180(1; diod in I.,ondon, 



Niiseby 

McCarthy, denni.^i klouence, 

Horn In Cork, Iroiiind, iibout 1^10, 

Sniiinu'r Longings 

Irish Melody.... 

MACK AY, OIIAELES. 

Horn nt i'ortli.ScolIimd, In 1812. 

What Might be Done 

MrtlASTEIi, (iHY IltrMPHliEY. 

Horn nt Hiilb, Stoubpn t'oonly, In ihull. 

Carineii nellleosum 



837 
85,1 
857 



15 
200 



190 



877 



MAOINN, WILLIAM. 

Horn III Cork, Irolund, iibout 1793; diod Aug. Vt, 1842. 

St. Patrick, of Irolnnd, my Denr 

The irishman 



4;m 

435 



MALLETT, DAVID. 

Horn In Scotliiud iibout 1700; dlud April 2], 1785. 

A Funeral Hymn 



508 



MARLOWE, ClIKISTOPIIEI!. 

Horn nt Cnntfrbury, r:iiK., b'.b. VO, IG64; dlud Jnno 18, 161)3. ' 
Mllk-Mald's .Song 254 

MARVELL. ANDKEW. 

Horn lit Kiiigiiton-u|ion-lluil, England, Nov. 16, IfiSOidiod 
Aug. 10, 107.H. 



A Drop of Dew 

The ( lardeii 

The Lover to thoOlow-worms. 

Iloratliin Ode 

The Nymph Complaining 

I'^niigrants In Jtermndas 



M 
53 
247 
858 
4i)S 
707 



MENDOZA, I.OPE I)E. (Spanish.) 

Honi in CorrioD do lo« Condoa, 8nuin, Aug. III. 1311S. diod 
Slnrtb SO, 1468. 

Serrauu. (./. //. iViJ'cn'n Irtimlalion.) 



MEROEK, MARdAKET. 

Horn nt AnnniiolU, Aid., in 171)1 ; died At Holmoot, Vn., Sopt. 
10, 1847. ' 



E.Kbortutlou to Prayer. 



MEREDITH, OEOROK. 

Horn in 1 iiiriipHliIro, luiglnnd, about 1696. 

Love In the Valley 



235 



MERRICK, ,IAMES. 

Horn In Knglund In i7':0; diod In 1709. 

Psalm XXIU 



MESSINIiER, ROItEKT HINCKLEY. 

Horn in Iloaton nbont 1SII7. 

(live me the Old 



MILLER, TIIO.MAS. 

Horn In Gulii>tiorongb, Knglnnd, Aug. 31, 1800. 

To Georgn M 

The Crave of a Poetess 

The Happy Valley 



MILLER, WILLIAM. 

A niilivo of Scotliind, now living. 

Willie Winkle 



MILLIKEN, RICHARD ALFRED. 

Uoni In Ih.i conuty of Cork, Iroluod, IQ ]7CTi ""^ '" l'^^''- 
Groves of IJlarney. , 



793 



184 



132 
0.15 
700 



485 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Page 
MILMAN, HKNRY HART, 

Born in London, Feb. 10, 1191. 

Brirlal Son? S24 

Hymn — When dur Heads 768 

llVmn— ISrotlior, tbou art Gone 788 

Chorus S09 

MILNES, RICHARI>MONCKTON. (Lord HoFGnTON.) 

Bom iu Yorkshire, England, in 1800. 

The Brook-Sitle 272 

MILTON. JOHN. 

Born iu Loudon. Dec. 9, 1608; died Nov. 8, 1614. 

Snngr: On Mav Morning 13 

To the Nightingale 51 

Sonnets SOO 

Lycidns 504 

Crmins, a Mask 656 

Epitaph on Shakeppeare 638 

I/Allcgro 661 

1\ Ponsiroso 063 

SouDets 69T 

Ou the Nativity 743 

MOni, DAVID MACBETH. 

iium nt Muaselbiirgh, Scotland, Jan. 5, 179S ; died July 6, l^.M. 

CiisaWappy 1G9 

MONTC.OMEUy, ALEXIANDKR. 

Born in Ayrahiro, SciHlnud, before 15S0; died about 1611. 

Night is Nigh Gone 16 

MONTGOMERY. JAMES. 

Bom at Irvine, Scotliind, Nov. 4, 1171 ; died April 30, 1854. 

To a Daisy S7 

Evening in the Alps 103 

Reign of Christ on Earth 740 

Gethscmaiie 751 

Stranfforand his I^leud 755 

Humility 770 

Fii-Ki of the'fl'orld 774 

AVhat is l*rayer 775 

Charity .' 77S 

The Lord the Good Shepherd 794 

" Thou, God, seest me " 811 

Time Past, Time Passing, Time to Come S13 

MONTROSE, JAMES GRAHAM. MARQtria of. 

Born at Montrose, Scotland, iu 1612 ; buncvd at Ediubureli, 
May 31, 1651. " ' 

My Dear and Only Love 255 

MOORE, CLEMENT C. 

Horn in New York, July 15, 1779; died at Newport, R. I., 
July 10, 186:t. 

Visit from St. Nicholas 142 

MOORK. THOMAS, 

Bom in Dublin, May 23, 1779 ; dli'd Feb. 25, 1852. 

The Last Rose of Summer 94 

Wreathe the Bowl ]S5 

Fill the Bumper Fair 186 

And doth not a Meeting like This ] ISO 

Come send round the Wine ]S7 

Friend of my Soul [ 1S8 

Farewell I but wheneveryou Welcome the Hour ISS 

The Journey Onward I94 

Go where Glory waits thee ! 264 

Fly to the Desert ' 264 

Fly not Yet 280 

Song 871 

The Harp that Once through Tara's Halls 872 

Peace to the Slumberers 37*2 

Oh 1 Breathe not his Name 509 

Those Evening Bells [ tJ22 

Canadian Boat Song 629 

Arranmore ' 701 

MORE, HENRY. 

Bom at Gnmthum, Engl.ind, in 1614; dlvd in IGST. 

Philosopher's Devotion 7gS 

Charity and Humility 7t;9 

MOTHERWELL, WILLIAM. 

Bom in (-lla&pow , in I'^l ; died in 1S35. 

They Come, the Merrv Summer Months 17 

The Water I The Water 81 

Midnight Wind !!!!!!!," 109 



The Bloom hath fled thy cheek, Mary 801 

Jeanie Morrison , 30'2 

My Heid is like to Rend, Willie [ 303 

Cavalier's Song 353 

Covenanter's Battle-chant 361 

When I beneath the cold, red Earth am Sleeping 520 

MOUXTRIE, JOHN. 

A Clergyman of the Church of England ; bom in Eng. about 1804. 

The Three Sons i&i 

MUELLER, WILHELM. (German.) 

Born at Dessau, tJermany, Oct 7, 1794 ; died Oct 1, 1827. 

The Sunken Citj'. {Mangan''s translation.) . . C77 
MULOCK, DINAH MARIA. 

Bom in StaffordBhire, England, in 1826. 

North Wind Hi 

Philip. My King 121 

Too Late gig 

NEELE, HENRY. 

Born in London in 1798 ; died (by bis own hand) Feb. 7, 1828. 

Moan, moan, ye Dying Gales S3 

NEWTON, JOHN. 

Born in London in 1725; died there in 1807. 

Weeping Mary 751 

Jesus 758 

NOEL, THOMAS. 

Author of " Rhymea and Roundelays," London, 1841. 

The Pauper's Drive 502 

NOR R IS, JOHN. 

Bora in England, 1657; died in 1711. 

Superstition 251 

The Reply 665 

NORTON, CAROLINE. 

Born at Hatnpton Court, England, in 1808. 

To Ferdinand Sevmour 121 

Mother's Heart . .'. . . 231 

We have been Friends together 183 

Allan Percy 813 

Love Not 323 

The King of Denmark's Ride 4S0 

OGILVIE, JOHN. 

Born in Aberdeen, Scotland, in 1733 ; died in 1814. 

Hymn from Psalm CXLVIII 802 

O'KEEFE, JOHN. 

Born in Dublin, June S4, 1747 ; died Feb. 4, 1S3S. 

I am a Friar of Orders Gray 6S8 

ORLEANS, CHARLES, DrKE of. (French.) 

Bom in Paris, May i!6, 1391 ; died Jon, 4, 1465. 

Fairest Thing in Mortal Eyes. (/?. Can/a 
irnnshttion.) 322 

PALMER, JOHN WILLIAMSON. 

Bom in Baltimore, Md., about 1828. 

For Charlie's Sake 171 

PAESONS. THOMAS WILLIAM. 

Bom in Boston, Miiss., Aug. 18, 1819. 

Song for September 90 

Saint Peray 191 

The Groomsman to his Mistress 277 

On a Bust of Dante 892 

On a Lady Singing 628 

PERCIVAL, JAMES GATES. 

Born in Berlin, Conn., Sept. 15, 1795; diod May 2, 1856. 

May 15 

The Coral Gruve 85 

To Seneca Lake b6 

It is Great for our Country to Die 845 

PERCY, THOMAS. 

Bom in Shropshire, Eng., in 1728; died na Bi&hou of Dromore, 
Ireland, in ISll. 

Friar of Orders Gray 213 

PERRY, NORA. 

lives ia Providence, R. I, 

Loss and Gain 171 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Page 

PniLOSTRATUS. (Greek.) 

Born in Lemnos, Greece, about 182. 

To Celia, (B. JomotCs tranelation.) 245 

PIERPONT, .TOIIN. 

Born in Litchfield, Conn., April 6, 1785; died Aug. 26, ia6p. 

My Child 1 70 

Centennial Ode 774 

PINKNET. EDWAPvD COATE. 

Born in London, Oct., 1802; died at Bnltimore, April 11, 1328. 

8cren,ade 370 

A ne:il til 273 

POE, EDGAR ALL.\N. 

Burn in Bnltimore, Jan., 1811 ; died Oct. 7, 1849. 

Ammbol Lee 315 

The Raven SS4 

The Bells 631 

POPE, ALEXANDER. 

Bom in London, Mny 32, 16S3 ; died May 30, 1744. 

TlieRopeof the Lock 40S 

Messiali 747 

Dyi nfr Christian to his Soul 781 

Universal Pnayer 610 

PKAED, WINTHROP MACKWORTH. 

Born in London in 1802 ; died July 15, 1839. 

The Vicar 442 

Twenty-eight and Twenty -nine 443 

Charade 656 

PRIEST, NANCT AMELIA WOODBDEY. 
Born a Hinsdale, N. IL, about 1834. 

Over the River 730 

PEI.VGLE. THOMAS. 

Born at Blaclilaw, Scotland, Jan. 5, 1789 ; died Dec. 5, 1834. ' 

The Lion and Giraffe 74 

AJar in the Desert 75 

PROCTER, ADELAIDE ANNE. 

Bora in London, about 1826 ; died there, Feb., 1S61. 

Doubting Heart 107 

PROUT, FATHER. (Francis Mauont.) 

Born in Iribmd about 1805 ; died in Paria, May 19, 1866. 

The Bells of Shandon 620 

PRl'DENTinS, AURELICS. (Latlk.) 

Born in Spnin, 348. 

Each Sorrowful Mourner. {J. M. 2feaWs trans- 
laiioii.) 7S6 

QUAKLEP, FRANCIS. 

Born nt StewardB, near Romford, Eng., in ISSil; d. Sept. 6. 1644, 

Sonnets 75" 

FastioK 768 

Delight in God only 812 

QUARLES, JOHN. 

Son of Frnncis Qunrles; born la EBaer, England, in 16?4: died 
of the Plngue in 1665. 

Divine Ejaculation 810 

RALEIGH, SIR WALTER. 

Born in Budlcy, Enj:., in 1552; belieaded Oct 29, IfilS. 

Milkmaid's Mother's Answer 254 

EA>!SAV. ALLAN. 

Born in Crawford, Scotland, in 1685 ; died in 1753. 

Lochaber no More 365 

KANDOLPir, THOMAS. 

Bom in Badby, Englimd, in 1605 ; died March 17, 16,14. 

Song: of Fairies. (Leigh ITanfa translati'-oti.) 536 
READ, THOMAS BUCHANAN. 

Born in Chester countj', Penn., March 12, 1322. 

Autumn's Sighino^ 97 

The Windy Night. . , 103 

ROBERTS, SARAH. 

Born in Porlamouth, N. H. ; Uvea in one of the Western 
Slates. 

The Voice of the Grase 57 

ROGERS, SAMUEL. 

FSnrn near London, July 30, 1763; died in London. Dec. 18. 
1355. ' 

A Wish 331 



PagB 

RONSARD, PIERRE. (Frencii.) 

Bom in Vendomois, France, in 1524; died in 1535. 

Return of Spring. {Aiionj/mous translation.) 10 

ROSCOE. WILLIAM. 

Born at Mount Pleasant, near Liverpool, 1753: died June 

30 1831 

On the Death of Burns 650 

EOSOOE, WILLIAM STANLEY. 

Born in England in ni'i ; died October, 1843. 

Dirge 512 

ETAN, EICHAED. 

A native of Scotland ; lived in the last centnry. 

Oh, Saw ye the Lass 263 

S ALIS, J0H.1NN GAUDENZ VOX. (Gekmas.) 

Bom in Grisona, Switzerland, in 1763. 

Songof the Silent Land. {LongfeUoto^ s trans- 
lation.) 500 

SANDTS, GEORGE. 

Bom in Biahopathorpe, Enp., 1577 ; died in Kent, March, 1648. 

Pi^nlm EXVI SOO 

Psalm XCII SOI 

Psalm CXLVIII 803 

SAPPHO. (Greek.) 

Born in Lesbos in the sixth century before ChrUt. 

Blest as tlie Immortal Gods. (A, PhilHps's 
iranahttioii.) 25T 

SCHILLER, FREDERIC. (German.-) 

Born in Miirbach, Oermnny, Nov. 10, 1759 ; died May 9, 1805. 

Indian Death-Song. {FrotJiingham''8 trans- 
lation.) , 8T5 

SCOTT, SIR WALTER. 

Bom in Edinburgh, Aug. 15, 1771 ; died Sept. 21, 1832. 

Jock of Hazcldean 233 

Lochinvar 284 

Son^— The Heath this Ni^ht 259 

Son^r— A Weary Lot is Thine 294 

Bonnets of Bonnie Dundee 863 

Border Ballad 3ti9 

Pibn»ch of Donuil Dhu 8G9 

Coronach 509 

"■ Proud Muisie is in the Wood" 633 

Hymn of the Hebrew Maid 767 

SHAKESPEARE. WILLIAM. 

Bom in Strntfortl-on-.\yon, England, about April S3, I5&4 ; died 
April 23, 161G. 

Morning 18 

Song— The Greenwood Tree 53 

Blow, blow thou Winter Wind 110 

Sonnets 175 

Sonnets 233 

Come away. Death 2.'i3 

Crabbc'dAire and Youth 279 

Dirge of Imoiren tAO 

Song of the Fairy 535 

Ariel's Songs 55'2 

Influence of Music 625 

Who is Sylvia? 031 

SHAKESPEARE and JOHN FLETCHER. 

Take, oh take those Lips Away 247 

SHELLEY, PERCY BYSSHE. 

Born in Field Pliic, England, Aug. 4, 1792 ; died July 8, 1822. 

To the Skylark 13 

Arcthusa 29 

The Question 33 

The Cloud 77 

Ode to the West Wind 80 

Autumn — A Diige 96 

To Night 104 

Dirge for the Year 113 

Lines to an In<lian Air 257 

Love's Philosoiihy SnS 

To 25S 

Lament 521 

Lament 5J1 

To a Lady with a Guitar 627 

To Constantia Singing 62S 

An Exhortation 660 

Song — Rarely, rarely eomest Thou 672 

Hymn to Intellectual Beauty 673 

i Mutability 694 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Piige 

BHENSTOXE, WILLIAM. ., j^.,, ,-=, 

liomfu Hulea-O-von, Knglond, in llMi died Fob. 11, l.bS. 

The Schoolmistress ^^ 

SniRLET, JA.MF.S. 

Born in London, about 1594 : died OcL 29, 1065. 



Victorious M'-n of Eiirth. 
Death's flual Conqui'St . 



T17 



SIDNEY. SIR PHILIP. 

Born in Poneliurfit, England, No- 
Sonnets 



, 39, 1554 ; died Oct. 7, 15S6. 



240 



cT\r\to^4 T> 

.\nthor of" Li'ponds, Lyric?, mid other Poems." Edinb'h, 1S13. 

Stanzas to the Memory of Thomas HooJ S19 

SIMONIDES. (Gkeek.) 

Bom in Julis, island of Cos, r. c. S54 ; died B. c 409. 



Danae. ( If. Peter's tramlndon.) . 



152 



SKELTOM, .lOHN. 

Bom in Cumberland, Enslanil, toward the latter part of tho 
15th century ; died Juno 31, 15v'9, 

To Mrs. Margaret llii.ssey 081 

SMITH. CHARLOTTE. 

Bora in Sussex, England, in 1749 : died in 1806. 

The Nightingale's Departure 6 

SMITH. HORACE. 

Born in London, Pec. 31, 1779 ; died July 19, 1839. 

Hymn to the Flowers 46 

On the Death of Georgo the Third Mi 

Address to the Mummy at Belioui's Exhibition. 09 1 

SMITH. SYDNEY. , . , , ^ . 

Horn in Esses, England, June 3, 1771 ; died m London, Feb. 
22, IS45. 

Receipt for Salad ■*26 

8MITS. DIRK. (DFTrii.) 

Bora in Rotterdam, Juno 2(1, 1702; died April 25, 1759. 

On the De.ith of an Infant. (IT. S. Van Di/k's 
triijtsladoti.) 161 

SOl'TIIEY, CAROLINE BOWLES. 

Born in England, Dec 6, 17gi>; died July 90, 1854. 

Autumn Flowers 

The Pauper's Death.lwd 

The L;isl Journey 



9.S 

600 
501 



SOITTHEY, ROBERT. 

Born in Bristol, England, Aug. 12, 1774; died Mattih 21, 1843. 

The Holly Ti\>e 110 

The Ine'acape Roek 4S2 

Battle of Blenheim 604 

" My Days among tho Dead " 1'2S 

SOUTHEY. R. and C. 

Greenwood Shrift V'21 

SPENCER, ROBERT WILLIAM. 

Bora in England in 1770; died 1S34.. 

To 



1S8 



STILL, JOHN. 

Born in Grunlhnm, England, in 1543 ; died in 1607. 

Good Ale 



Page 



STODDARD. LAVINIA. . 

Born in Guilford, Couu., June 29, 17S7 ; died in 1820. 



Soul's Defiance . 



STODDARD, RICHARD HENRY. 

Bora in Hingham, Mftfia., July, 1S25. 

The Sea 4^0 

The Two Bride? •*" 

There are tiaius for all our Losses 09^ 

STODDART, THOMAS T. 

Author of " Songs and Poems," Edinburgh, 1839. 

The Angler's Trysting Tree 



20 



STORY, WILLIAM W. 

Born in Snlem, Mass., Feb. 19, 1S19. 

The Violet ^S 

STRODE. WILLIAM. 

Born in England in 1600; died in 1644. 

Music 625 



SPENSER, EDMUND. 

Bora in Ix>ndou in 1553; died Jan. 16, 1599. 

Sonnet 823 

Epithahimion 3'24 

STANLEY. THOMAS. 

Born at Cumberlow Green, Eng., in 1625 ; died April 12, 1678. 

The Tomb 2.53 

The Exequies '254 

STERLING. .TOHN. 

Bora at Kainea Castle, ScoUand, Julv 20, 1806; died Sept 18, 
18U. 

The Spice Tree "'2 

The Husbandman 92 

To a Child 130 

Rose and the Gauntlet 804 

The Two Oceans .'iSS 

Sh.akespeare. 6-39 

STERNHOLD. THOMAS. 

Bora in Hampshire. England ; died Aug., 1549. 

Ps;tlm XVIII. Part First 



796 



SUCKLING, SIR .JOHN. 

Bom in Whitton, England, in 1609; died May 7, 1641. 

Why so Pale 



Song 



SURREY, LORD. 

Born in England about 1516; died Jan. 21, 1&47. 

Description of Spring.... 

The Me;ins to Atuiin Happy Life 



2S0 



10 
601 



SURVILLE. CLOTILDE DE. (FnESCii.) 

Born in Vnllon-8ur-.\rd> che, Fnince. about 1405 ; died in 1405. 

The Child Asleep. (,Lon0'elloir's tramlalion.) 128 

SWINBURNE, ALGERNON CHARLES. 

Author of "Atiiiunta in Calydon" (London, ls6o), and other 
poems. 

" When the Hounds of Spring " 11 

SYLVESTER, .TOSH U A. 

Bora in England in 1563 ; died in 1618. 

Contented Mind PCS 

TANNAHILL. I'.OBERT. 

Bora in Paisley, Scotland, June 3,1774; died May 17, 1810. 

The Midges Dance aboon the Burn 79 

TATE ASD BRADY. 

Is'ahum Tate, bora in Pnblin in 1652; died Aug. 12, 1715; 
Bradv, bora in Bandon, Ireland, Oct, 28, 1659; died May 211, 1726. 

Psalm C 801 

TAYLOR. BAYARD. 

Born in Keunett S^juare, Penneylvnuia, Jan. 11, 1825. 

The Ar.ib to the Palm... 73 

Storm Song S2 

The Phantom 614 

IWas 569 

TAYLOR, HENKY. 

Bora in England, about ISO?, 

Reraembnmce of the Hon. Edward Emest 

Vi'Iiers 606 

Song — Down Lay in a Nook 6^ 

TAYLOR, .TEREMY. 

Born in Cambridge, England, in 1613; died Ang. 13, 1667. 

Of Heaven 



791 



TENNYSON. ALFRED. 

Bora in Lincolnshire, England, in 1810. 

Spring 11 

Sons of the Brook 82 

Bugle Song 100 

Evening 1**1 

Song— The Owl 108 

Second Song, to the same 1''') 

Lullaby 119 

Widow and Child 1"2 

The Eeconcilhation 172 

lYiim " In MeniorLani" 17S 

Dav Dream '2'27 

I-ailv Clare 2S6 

The" Letters 237 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Pnpe 

Cnnie into the Garden, Maud 263 

WillcT's UaU2htcr 271 

Ask Die no More 290 

Mariana in the South 298 

],i)ckslcv Hall 295 

Oil, that it were Possible 800 

My Love has Talked 880 

t'harge of the Light Brigade at Balaklava 8S4 

The May Queen 492 

Dirge 510 

Break, Break, Break 5L'5 

Davs that are no More 525 

l,ailv of Sballott 654 

Contemplate all this Work 702 

The f trife 718 

Christmas 70.') 

Oh yet we Trust....: 776 

i\avy 777 

TEERY, ROSE. 

Dora in Hartford, Conn., where she DOW lives. 

Trailing Arbutus 86 

Ri>veduMidi 64 

Then 810 

Fishing Song 524 

TERSTEEGEN, GERHARD. (Geem.^n.) 

Born in Westphnlia, in 1637 ; wiis a ribbon-iveaver. 

rivine Love. {J. Wtsleifii 1ranf<hiiion,) 779 

Hymn of Praise. {J. Wcshi/s tranitlation.).. 794 

THACKERAY, WILLIAJI MAKEPEACE. 

Bern in C^ilcutln in ISII ; dii-d in London, Dec 24, 1863. 

r.alhul of Bouillataisse 189 

Tile M:ili.ii;anv Tree 194 

At the Cliureh'Gate 270 

White tl(|nnll 481 

Battle of Limerick 436 

;Molonv's Lament 437 

Mr. Molonv's Account of the Ball 48S 

Aseof Wisdom 68S 

End of the Play 691 

THURLOW. LORD. 

Born June 10, ];9l ; died June 3, 1829. 

Song to May 15 

Sonnet — The Crimson Moon 105 

Sonnet — To a Bird that Haunted Lake Laaken. 112 

Sonnet— Immortal Beauty 6.30 

Sonnet— The Nightingale"i3 Mute 605 

Sonnet — Who Best can Paint 657 

TOPLADY, AIIGUSTITS MONTAGUE. 

Born in Furnhani, Engl^.ud, in 17-10 ; died Aug. 11, 1778. 

Prayer, Living and Dying 75S 

TRENCH, RICHARD CHENEVIX. 
Born in England, Sept. 9, 1BU7. 

Harmosan 595 

Be Patient 704 

rilLAND, JOHANN I.UDWIG. (German.) 

Bora in Tultingen, Genuaiiy, April 26, ITS" ; died there, Nov. 
13, lSt.2. 

The Passage. (Anony^notta trannlation.) ISO 

Tile Castle by the Sea. {Londfellow^s irans- 

l.ilinn.) 522 

The Lost Church. (Sarah If, Whitman's 

trainjlatlan ) 706 

VAUGHAN, HENRY. 

Bern in Newton, England, in 1631 ; died ia 1695. 

The Bee 70 

E.-u-ly Rising and Prayer 7-37 

The'Feast 756 

They are all Gone 786 

Peace 791 

VERY, .JONES. 

Bom in Snleui, Maes., about 1813. 

Nature 83 

The Latter Rain 97 

The World 704 

Spirit Land 788 

VINCENTE, GIL. (Poktogbese.) 

Bom in Portugal, about 14^2 ; died about 1537. 

The Nightingale. (J. Boirriiiff's translation.) 55 

She is a Maid. (LunijfeUou^s translation.). . . 270 



VILLEGA9, l\L\NrEL DE. °^' 

Bora in Najera, Spain, in 1598 ; died in 1669. 

The Mother Nightingale. (.T. Roscoe^s trans- 
lation.) 55 

YISSCHER, MARIA TESSELSCHADE. (Dnicu.) 

Bom in Aniaterdaui, in 1594; died June 2U, 1649. 

The Nightingale. (J. Boicring's translation.) 55 
WALLER, EDMFND. 

Born in Coleshill, Eng., March 3, 1605 ; died Oct. 21. 1637. 

The Rose 43 

WALLER, JOHN FRANCIS. 

A Burriater of Dublin ; born about 1310. 

Spinning- Wheel Song 231 

WALTON, IZAAK. 

Bom in Stafford, Eng.. Ang. 9, 1593 ; died Dec. 15, 1683. 

The Angler's Wish 22 

WARTON, THOM.\S. 

Boru in Basingstoke, Eng., in 1728 ; died May 21, 1790. 

Inscription in a Hermitage 62 

WASTELL. SIMON. 

Born in Westmoreland, Eng., about 1560; died nbont 1630. 

Man's Mortality 727 

WATSON, THOMAS. . 

Born in Loudon; died in 1591 or 1592. 

Canzonet 249 

WATTS, ISAAC. 

Bom in South.ampt.>n, Eng., July 17, 1674 ; died Nov. 25, 1748. 

"JesusShall Reign" 749 

Example of Christ 759 

Heavenly Canaan 78.S 

Psalm X'lX 797 

Psalm XLYI 799 

Psalm LXV. Second Part . 800 

Psolm L.XXIL FirstPart 801 

Psalm CX VI I H1I2 

Creator and Creatures b05 

WAUGH, EDWIN. 

A native of England ; now living. 

TheDule'si' this Bonnet o' Mine 2S2 

WELBY, AMELIA B. 

Born in St. Michaels, Maryland, In 1831. 

The Old Maid 635 

WESLEY, CHARLES. 

Born in Lincolnshire, England, In 1708 ; died in 1788. 

Wrestling .lacob 754 

" Jesus, lover of my Soul" 760 

"Jesus, my Strength, My Hope" 760 

"Eternal Ileam of Light Divine" 761 

" Friend of All" 762 

True Use of Music 773 

For Believers 773 

Desiring to Love 779 

Death 734 

"Thou God Unsearchable" 313 

WE9TW0OD, THOMAS. 

Author of '• Berries and Blossoms" — London, 1850. 

Under my Window 156 

Little Belle 168 

WHITE, BLANCO. 

Bom in Spain, about 1773 ; died in England, May 20, 1840. 

To Night 106 

WHITE, HENRY KIRKE. 

Bora in Nottingham. March 21, 1735; died Oct. 19, 1806. 

To the Harvest Moon 105 

Solitude 521 

WHITTIEl:, JOHN GREENLEAF. 

Bora in Huvorill, Mass., in 1808. 

Hampton Beach 35 

Maud Muller 305 

Our State 330 

Barbara Frietchie 831 

Ichabod 515 

Barclay of Ury 694 

To my Sister 634 

Burns 653 

Seed-Time and Harvest 713 



INDEX or AUTHORS. 



WILDE, EIOIIARn irHNRT. °^'' 

Born ia Dublin, Sept, 24, 1769; died In New Orleans, Sept. 
10, i»n, 

St,tnzas— My Life 18 Like 694 

WILLIAMS, EOBERT FOLKSTONE. 

Author of " Sliukespeure and hia Frleade," — London, 1S3S. 

Oil, All the Winc-ciip High 190 

WILLIAMSON, WILLIAM CROSS. 

Born In Itellast, Me., Jan. 31, 18:11. 

It Might Ilavo Bern 291 

WILLIS, NATHANIEL PARKER. 

Born in Portland, Me., Jan. 20, 1807. 

Belfrey Pifrcon 67 

Sat tiniiiy Afternoon 143 

The AnnoycT 282 

WILLMOTT, ROBERT ARIS, 

Author of vtirioufl Ui>lit;loiis Works; nUo of " Poeme" — Lon- 
don, 1850; died in Oxfordshire, Muy 28, ia63. 

Child Traying IGO 

"WILSON, JOHN. 

Born in l'ii!»ley, Scotlnnd. In 1788 ; died April 4, 1854. 

To 11 SU'i-piDiEi Child 128 

"WINSLOW, IIARrJETT. 

lioni in PortliiMil, My., nbout 1824, 

"Why thus Longing 696 

WITIIKR. (JEOIIGE. 

Born in Hontworth, Eng., June 11, 1C88-, died Miky 9, 1667. 

Christmas 105 

Shcphenrs liosoliUion 2S0 

The N vmph's Sonn 687 

Tlio Shopht-rd's Hunting WO 

InnCloar Starry Nijrht 742 

Twelfth Day, or the ICpiphnny 74S 

Hymn — Kor Annlvcr&ary Murriase Days 770 

For a Widower or Widow ". 785 

l*raise Tltr) 

Poet's Hymn for Himself 795 

WOLFK, CHARLES. 

Horn in Dublin, Dec. 14, 1791 ; died Feb. 21, 1823. 

liurial of Sir John Moore 617 

Song— Oh say not tliat my Heart 695 

WOODWORTIT, SAMUEL. 

Hum inScitiiiitf, Miiaa.. Jan. 13,1785; died Dec 9, 1842. 

Tlio Bucket 606 

WORDSWORTH, WILLL\M. 

Born in ('(.ckermoutb, Kuj;., April 7, 1770; died April 23, 1850. 

M iirch 12 

Morning in London 16 

The Cuckoo 23 

The Green Linnet 2S 

To the Small Celandine S4 

Daffodils 85 

To the Daisy 8S 

To the same Flower 89 

Kightingale and the Dove, 53 

YaiTow Tuvisited 87 

Yarrow Visited S8 

Yarrow Revisited 89 

Fidelity PI 

Intluence of Natural Olijocts 113 

Kitten and Falling Leaves 123 

To H. C. six years old 12S 

The Pet Laml> ]:13 

Idle Shepherd Boys 186 

Her Eves are Wild l.Vi 

Luey Gray 154 

We arc Seven 157 

Luev 161 

To 272 

Sonnet 801 

Laodamia 319 

Sonnets 891 

Ton Highland Girl 682 

Solitary Reaper 633 

" She was a Phantom of Delight " 634 

At the Grave of Burns 651 

Resolution and Independence 658 

The Tables turned 675 

The Fountain'. 675 

Ode to Duty 695 

Ode — Inliiiiations of Immortality 713 

Laborer's Noonday Hymn 7()7 



Page 
WOTTON, SIR HENRY. 

Born inBoughton Unll, Eng., March 30, 1568; d. Dec, 1639. 

Versos in Praise of Angling 21 

You Meaner Beauties 247 

Happy Life 711 

WYAT, SIR THOMAS. 

Born Iq Allington Cnstle, Eng., id 1603; died Oct. 11, 1542. 

Ad Earnest Suit 244 

XAVIER, ST. FRANCIS. (Latin.) 

Born in Xavier, Navarre, in 1606 ; died Dec 2, 1652. 

My God, I Love Theo. (Edward CaatcelVs 
translation.) 758 

YOITL, EDWARD. 

A writer in " Howitt'e Journal "—London, 1847-'8. 

Song of Spring 39 

ZEDLITZ, JOSEPH CHRISTIAN. (German.) 

Born in Auetriiin Slleaiii, Fib. 28, 1790. 

The Midnight Review. {AiionyTnous trans- 
lation.) 574 

ANONYMOUS. 

The Useful Plough. flS/A Century, EngJUh.') . 63 
Rain on the Roof. (19^A Centm'y^ American.). 77 

TheOwl. (17//* Centiirif.) 106 

Little Boy Blue. (I'J/A Ci'iitiirif, Engliah.).. . 137 
Children *in the Wood, {llik Century., Eng- 

lifth,) 149 

Lady Ann BotbweU's Lament. (It/A Century, 

Scotc?i.) 151 

Toa Child. (19^/? Cmiiiry, EnglWiA. 160 

My Playmates. (\Wi. Century, English.) 162 

When s'hall wc Thi-ee meet Again, {l^th Cen- 
tury^ Englhh.) 175 

How Stands the Glass Around. (18(/t Century., 

English.) 187 

SirCauline. (Uth Century, Engiis/i.) 199 

Nut-Brown Maid. (15//; Century, Eng/ ish.).. 204 
Young Beichan and Susie Pye. (15/A Century, 

Engli.Hh.) 208 

LordLovel. (16(/i Century, English.) 210 

Robin Hood and AIleu-a-dak>. {ibth Century, 

Eugliah.) 211 

Trutli's Integrity. {\Uh Century, English.).. 212 
Spanish Lady's Love. [\Uk Century, EngliNh.) 215 
Seaman's Happy Return. {VUh Century, Eng- 

lisfi.) 219 

Bridal of Andalla. {Spanish, LockharVHtrann- 

lation.) 226 

Zara's Ear-rings. {Spanisli, LockharCs trans- 
lation.) 280 

Watch Sone. (IGth Ce?! fur?/. German.) 2:32 

Old Storv. ' (\\)th C,nt>iri/,'jri.sh.) 232 

The White Rose. (lT^/( Ceu fury, English.)... 244 

Love not Me. ( 1 'th Century, English.) 253 

Kulnasatz, my Reindeer. {Icelandic, anony- 
mous trantitation.) 257 

Annie Laurie, {l^ih < •,'nturif, Scotch.) 263 

Summer Days. tl9/// (Vndiri/, English.) 269 

Oh! tell me Love, the deaiest"H(.ur. (I'^th Cen- 
tury, Eui/lish.) 272 

Maiden's Choice. (18M Century, English.).. 230 
Deceitfulness of Love. (17(A Centui^y. Eng- 
lish.) 281 

Coming Through tbe Rye. (18^ Centvryy 

Scotch.) 284 

Love Unrequited. (I9th Century, Atnerican.) 286 
Waly, Waly, but Love be Bonny. {\5th Cen- 

tiiri/, Scotch.) 802 

WiiiitVedii. (X'Sth Centurif, English.) 823 

Bull-liulit of Gazul. i}ipaniHhy Lockhai'Cs 

franshition.) 847 

Chevy Cliase. (15/// Century, English.) 849 

Prince lOuircne. {\><th Century, German, John 

Hughes. •< fransliifion.) 354 

When Banners are Waving. {11th Century, 

Scot'-h.) 861 

Here's to the King, Sir 1 (ISlh Century, Scotcli.) S65 
Charlie is my Dr.rliiig. (18/A CcJitnr-t/, Scotch.) 3(j6 

Gallant Grahams. (Is//; Cc7i tun/, Scotch.) 306 

Shau Van Voeht. (Is/// Cciifuri/, Iri.-^h.). ... 372 
God save tbe King. (17//j Centitry, English.) 873 
Sea Fight. (19(A Century, English.) 386 



II 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Pnpe 

Kolr of Linne. {Wk Cfntunj. EnglM.) 89T 

Unison uf Wiintk-y (17//* Century, Eimlltth, 

C. Pttimore^ a version.') 400 

Jdvial Bi'Sfrar. (lUh Century, EnqUHh.) 401 

Taku thy old Cloak about Thee, (\btli. Century, 

English.) 402 

Miilt.nmck. (Eren<:h, Father PrmtVa tranji- 

Icilinn.) 408 

OM and Young Courtier, {llth Century, Eng- 

IM.) 404 

Essenc.u of Opera. {French, anonymous trans- 
lation.) 426 

SI. .\nlli(niv'sSerinf)n to the Fishes. (English.) 440 

"\' i.'ar of liniy. (ISth Century, EngUHh.) 441 

Sir Patrick Spens. (15//i Century, ticotch.).. . 44T 

Cliild Noryco. (ISth Century, Scotch.) 443 

Fair Annio of Lochroyan. i}Bth Century, 

Scotch.) 449 

Dowio Dens of Yarrow. (I5th Century, 

Scotch.) 451 

Eare Willy Drowned in Yarrow. (15(A Cen- 
tury. Scotch.) 4RS 

Cruel Sister, n^th Century, Scotch.) 4M 

Lord Randal. (IMh Century, Scotdi.) 45G 

Edward, Edward. {\^fh Century, Scotch.) 4.')t> 

Twa lirothers. (15M Centiin/. .^-olch.) 4.')7 

Twa Corbies. (loM. (Vntury, ■■<cntch.) 46S 

Bonnie Georiro Campbell. illth Century, 

Scotch.) ....". 458 

Lament of the Border Widow, (17//t Century, 

Scutch.) 458 

Fair Helen. (lS</( Century, Scotch.) 459 

Lamentation for Celin, {SpanijUt,, Lockltart^s 
translation.) 473 



Page 
Very Mournful Ballad. {Spanish, Byron^H 

ti anslation.) 474 

Young Airly. {\^h Century, Scotch.) 4»!) 

King Arthur's Death. (15<A Century, Eng- 
lish.) .'jOS 

Thomas the Khymer. (IMh Century, Scotch.) 6.11 
The Wee, woe Man. (l.Wi Centum, Scotch.) . . 532 
Merry Pranks of Hobin Good Fellow. {Uth 

1 'entury, English.) 533 

Fairy Queen, (nth Century, English.) ,584 

Song of Fiiiries. {mh Century, English.) 635 

Lords of Thule. {German, anonymous trans- 
lation.) B93 

Baliler. (I9W Century. Euglinh.) 6!10 

Song of the Forge. (19«/t Century, English.). 601 

The Lye. (llth Century, Engliah.) 666 

Smoking Spiritualized. (Uth Century, Eng- 
lish.) 679 

Time's Cure. {19th Century, Engliih.) 692 

Time is a Feathered Thing, {lllh Century, 

English.) 693 

The Sturdy Kock. {llth Century, Engfit<h.). 717 
Life anil Death. (19^/t Century, Englisli.). .. . 720 
Lines on a Skeleton. (19«/i Century, Eng- 

li>ih.) 72.9 

Evening. (19tt, Century, English.) 742 

" I -lourney through a Desert " 753 

In the Desert of tho Holy Land. (19Wi Cen- 
tury, American.) 704 

Oh. Fear not Thou to Die. (19JA Century, 

English.) 780 

New .lerusalem. {Latin, anonymous trails- 

lation.) 7S8 

God is Love. {Wth Century, English.) 803 



PAET I. 
POEMS OF NATURE 



The world is too much with us ; late and soon, 
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: 
Little we see in nature that is ours ; 
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! 
This sea that bares her bosom to the moon ; 
The winds that will be howling at all hours. 
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; 
For this, for every thing, we are out of tune ; 
It moves us not.— Great God ! I'd rather be 
A pagan suckled in a creed outworn ; 
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, 
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; 
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea, 
Or hear old Triton blow his wreatlicd horn. 



"WORDSWORTU. 



POEMS OF NATUEE. 



THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF. 



A gentlewoman out of an arbour in a grove, seetb a great 
companie of knights and ladies in a daunce upon tlie 
grcene grasse ; tlio which being ended, they all kneele 
downe, and do honour to the daisie, some to the flower, 
and some to the leafe. After\vard this gentlewoman 
learneth by one of these ladies the meaning hereof, 
which is this; They which honour the flower, a thing 
fading with every blast, are such as looke after beautie 
and worldly pleasure. But they that honour the leafe, 
which abideth with the root, notwithstanding the frosts 
and winter stormes, are they which follow vertue and 
during qualities, without regard of worldly respects. 

WiiAij that Phebus bis cbair of gold so bio 
Had whirled up the sterry sky alofte, 
And in the boole was entred certainly : 
When shoures sweet of raine descended softe, 
Causing the ground, fele times and ofte, 
Up for to give many an wbolsome aire, 
And every plaine was yclothed faire 

With newe greene, and maketb smale floures 
To springen here and there in fielde and 

mede ; 
So very good and wbolsome bo the shoures. 
That it renueth that was oldo and dede 
In winter time ; and out of every sede 
Springeth the herbe, so that every wight 
Of this season wexeth glad and light. 

And I, so glad of the season swete, 

Was happed thus upon a certaine night: — 

As I lay in my bedde, sleepe ful unmete 

Was unto me, but why that I ne might 

Rest, I ne wist ; for there nas earthly wight. 

As I suppose, bad more hertes ease 

Than I, for I nad sicknesse nor disease. 



Wborefoi-o 1 mervaile greatly of my selfe, 
That I so long witbouten sleepe lay ; 
And up I rose three houres after twelfe, 
About tlie springing of the day ; 
And I put on ray geare and mine array. 
And to a pleasaunt grove I gan passe, 
Long er the bright sunne up risen was ; 

In which were okes grete, streight as a line. 
Under the which the grasse, so fresh of bewe, 
Was newly sprong; and an eight foot or nine 
Every tree wel fro his fellow grew. 
With branches brode, laden with leves newe. 
That sprongen out ayen the sunnesbene, 
Some very redde, and some a glad light grene; 

Which, as me thought, was right a pleasant 

sight ; 
And eke the briddes songe for to here 
Would have rejoiced any earthly wight; 
And I that couth not yet, in no manere, 
Heare the nightingale of al the yeare, 
Ful busily herkened with herte and eare, 
If I her voice perceive coud any where. 

And, at the last, a path of little brede 
I found, that greatly had not used be ; 
For it forgrowen was with grasse and weede. 
That wel unneth a wighte might it se : 
Thought I, "This path some whider goth, 

parde ! " 
And so I followed, till it me brought 
To right a pleasaunt berber, well ywrought. 

That benched was, and with turfes newe 

Freshly turved, whereof the grene gras. 

So smale, so tbicke, so shorte, so fresh of bewe. 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



That most like unto grene wool, wot I, it was : 
Tlio Iieggo also that yede iu compas, 
And closed in al the greno hcrbere, 
With sicamour was sot and eglatero, 

Wrethen in fere so wel and cunningly, 

That every branch and Icafe grew by inesure, 

Plaino as a bord, of an height by and by. 

1 SCO never thing, I you ensure, 

So wel done ; for he that tooke the euro 

It to make, y trow, did all his peine 

To make it passe alle tho that men hav« seine. 

And .'ihapen was this herber, roofe and alle, 
As a prety parlour ; and also 
Tho heggo as thicke as a castle walle. 
That wlio that list without to stond or go. 
Though ho wold al day prion to and fro, 
lie should not see if there were any wight 
M'itliin or no ; but one within wel might 

rerceive all tho thot ycdeu there witlioute 
In the iield, tliat was on every side 
Covered with corn andgrasse; tliat out of 

doubt. 
Though one wold seeke alle the world wide, 
So rich a fielde cold not be espide 
On no coast, as of tho quantity ; 
For of alle good thing there was plenty. 

And I that al this pleasaunt sight sie, 
Thought sodainely I felt so swete an aire 
Of tho eglentere, that certainely 
There is no herte, I dome, in such dispaire, 
No with thoughtes froward and contraire 
So overlaid, but it should soono have bote, 
If it had ones felt this savour sole. 

And as I stood and cast aside mine eie, 

I was ware of the fairest medler tree. 

That ever yet in alle my life I sie. 

As ful of blossomes as it might be ; 

Therein a goldfinch leaping pretile 

Fro bough to bough ; and, as him list, ho eet 

Here and there of buddes and tloures sweto. 

And to the herber side was joyninge 
This faire tree, of which I have you tolde, 
And at the lasts the brid began to singe, 
Whan ho had eeten what lie efe wolde, 
So passing swetely, that by manifolde 



It was more pleasaunt than I coud devise. 
And whan his song was ended in this wise, 

Tho nightingale with so mery a note 
Answered him, that al the wood ronge 
So sodainely, that as it were a sote, 
I stood astonied ; so was I with the song 
Thorow ravished, that til late and longe, 
I no wist iu what place I was, no where ; 
And ayen, me thought, she songo ever bj 
mine ore. 

Wherefore I waited about busily. 
On every side, if I her might see ; 
And, at the laste, I gan ful wel aspy 
Where she sat in a fresh grene laurer tree. 
On tho further side, even right by me. 
That gave so passinge a delicious smelle, 
According to the eglentere ful welle. 

Wliereof I had so inly great pleasure. 

That, as me thought, I surely ravished was 

Into Paradise, where my desire 

Was for to be, and no ferther passe 

As for that day ; and on the sote grasso 

I sat me downe ; for, as for mine entent. 

The briddes song was more convenient, 

And more pleasaunt to me by many folde. 
Than meat or drinke, or any other thinge. 
Thereto the iierber was so fresh and colde. 
The wholesome savours eke so comfortinge. 
That, as I deraed, sith the beginning© 
Of the world was never scene or than 
So pleasaunt a ground of none earthly man. 

And as I sat, the brids hearkening thus, 
Me thought that I heard voices sodainely, 
The most sweetest and most delicious 
That ever any wight, I trowe trueir, 
Heard in their life ; for the armony 
And sweet accord was in so good musike. 
That tho voice to angels most was like. 

At the last, out of a grove even by. 
That was right goodly and pleasaunt to sight, 
I sie where there came, singing lustily, 
A world of ladies ; but, to tell aright 
Their grete beauty, it lieth not in my might, 
Ne their array ; neverthelesse I shalle 
Telle you a part, though I speake not of alle. 



THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF. 



The surcotes white, of velvet wele sittinge, 

They were in cladde, and the semes eohone, 

As it were a manere garnishinge, 

Was set with cmerauds, oue and one, 

By and by ; but many a riche stone 

Was set on the purfiles, out of doute, 

Of collers, sieves, and traines round aboute. 

As grete pearles, rounde and orient, 

Dianiondes fine, and rubies redde. 

And many another stone, of which I went 

The names now ; and everich on her hedde 

A rich fret of gold, whicli without dread. 

Was ful of stately riche stones set ; 

And every lady had a ohapelet 

On her hedde of branches fresh and grene. 
So wele wrouglit and so marvelously, 
That it was a noble sight to seue ; 
8ome of laurer, and some ful pleasauntly 
Had ehapelets of woodbind, and saddely 
Some of agmis caatns ware also 
Chapelets freshe ; but there were many of tho 

That daunced and eke songe ful soberly. 
But alle they yede in manner of compace ; 
But one there yede in mid the company. 
Sole by her selfe ; but alle followed tlie pace 
That she kopte, whose hevenly figured face 
So pleasaunt was, and her wele shape person, 
That of beauty she past hem everichon. 

And more richly beseene, by many folde, 
She was also in every maner thing : 
On her hedde ful pleasaunt to beholde, 
A crowne of golde rich for any king : 
A braunch of agniis castus eke bearing 
In her hand ; and to my sight truely. 
She lady was of the company. 

And she began a roundel lustely. 
That "(Siwe lefoyle, de-oera moij,'''' men calle, 
'^ Siene et monjoly coxier est endormy,'''' 
And than the company answered alle. 
With voices sweet entuned, and so smale. 
That me thought it the sweetest melody 
That ever I heard in my life sothly. 

And thus they came, dauncinge and singinge, 
Into the middes of the mede eohone. 
Before the herber where I was sittinge ; 
And, God wot, me thought I was wel bigone ; 



For than I might avise hem one by one. 
Who fairest was, who coud best dance or 

singe. 
Or who most womanly was in alle thinge. 

They had not daunced but a little throwe, 

Whan that I hearde ferre of sodainely. 

So great a noise of thundering trumpes blowo. 

As though it should have departed the skie ; 

And, after that, within a while I sie. 

From the same grove where the ladies came 

oute. 
Of men of armes cominge such a route, 

As alle the men on earth had been assembled 
In that place, wele horsed for the nones, 
Steringe so fast, that al the earth trembled : 
But for to speke of riches and of stones, 
And men and horse, I trowe the large w'ones, 
Of Prestir John, ne all his tresory, 
Might not unneth have boght the tenth party 

Of their array : who so list heare more, 

I shal relicarse so as I can a lite. 

Out of the grove, that I spake of before, 

I sie come firste, al in their clokes white, 

A company, that ware, for their delite, 

Chapelets freshe of okes serialle, 

Newly sprong, and trumpets they were alle. 

On every trumpe hanging a broad banere 
Of fine tartariuni were ful richely bete ; 
Every trumpet his lordes armes here ; 
About their neckes, with great pearles sete, 
Collers brode ; for cost they would not lete. 
As it would seem, for their scochoncs echone. 
Were set aboute with many a precious stone. 

Their horse harneis was al white also. 
And after them nest in one company, 
Came kinges of armes, and no mo. 
In clokes of white cloth of gold richely , 
Chapelets of greene on their hedes on hie ; 
The crownes that they on theii scocliones here 
Were sette with pearle, ruby, and saphere, 

And eke great diamondes many one : 
But al their horse harneis and other gero 
Was in a sute accordinge, everichone, 
As ye have herd the foresaid trumpetes were; 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



And by seeminge, they were nothing to lere, 
And then- guidinge they did so manerly. 
And, after hem, came a great company 

Of heraudes and pursevauntes eke, 
Arraied in clothes of Tvhite velvette, 
And, liardily, tliey were no thing to selie, 
How they on them should the harneis sette ; 
And every man had on a chapelet ; 
Scochones, and eke harneis, indede. 
They had in sute of hem that fore hem yede. 

Next after hem came, in armour bright 
All save their heades, seemely knightes nine; 
And every claspe and naile, as to my sight, 
Of their harneis were of rad golde fine ; 
With cloth of gold, and furred with ermine 
Were the trappoures of their stedes strongs, 
"Wide and large, that to the ground did bonge. 

And every bosse of bridle and paitrel 
That they had, was worth, as I wold wene, 
A thousand pounde ; and on their heddes, wel 
Dressed, were crownes of laurer grene. 
The best made that ever I had sene ; 
And every knight had after him ridinge 
Three henohemen on hem awaitinge. 

Of wliiche every first, on a short tronchoun, 
His lordes helme bare, so richly dight. 
That the worst was worthe the ransoun 
Of any king ; the second a shield bright 
Bare at his baoke ; the thred bare upright 
A mighty spere, full sharpe ground and kene. 
And every childe ware of leaves grene 

A fresh chapelet upon his haires bright ; 
And clokes white of fine velvet they ware ; 
Their steedcs trapped and raied right, 
AVitliout diflerence, as their lordes were ; 
And after hem, on many a fresh corsere. 
There came of armed knightes such a route, 
That they besprad the large field aboute. 

And al they ware, after their degrees, 
Chapclets newe made of laurer grene ; 
Some of the oke, and some of other trees. 
Some in their bonds bare boughes shene, 
Some of laurer, and some of okes kene, 



Some of hauthorne, and some of the wood 

binde, 
And many mo which I had not in minde. 

And so they came, their horses freshely ster- 

inge. 
With bloody sownes of hir trompes loude ; 
There sie I many an uncouth disguisinge 
In the array of these knightes proude, 
And at the last, as evenly as they coude, 
They took their places in middes of the mede, 
And every knight turned his horses hede 

To his fellow, and lightly laid a spere 

In the rest ; and so justes began 

On every part about, here and there ; 

Some brake his spere, some drew down hora 

and man ; 
About the field astray the steedes ran ; 
And, to behold their rule and governaunce, 
I you ensure, it was a great pleasaunce. 

And so the justes laste an houre and more ; 
But tho that crowned were in laurer grene 
Wanne the prise ; their dintes was so sore, 
That there was none ayent hem might sustene: 
And the justingo al was left ofl:" clene, 
And fro their horse the ninth alight anone, 
And so did al the remnant everichone. 

And forth they yede togider, twain and twain 
That to beholde it. was a worthy sight. 
Toward the ladies on the grene plain, 
That songe and daunoed, as I said now right 
The ladies, as soone as they goodly might. 
They brake of both the song and daunce, 
And yede to meet hem with ful glad sem- 
blaunce. 

And every lady tooke, ful womanly, 
By the bond a knight, and forth they yede 
IJnto a faire laurer that stood fast by, 
With levis lade, the boughes of grete brede ; 
And to my dome there never was, indede, 
Man that had scene halfe so faire a tre ; 
For underneath there might it well have be 

An hundred persones, at their owne plesaunce, 
Shadowed fro the hete of Phebus bright, 
So that they sholde have felt no grevaunce 
Of raine no haile that hem hurte might. 
The savour eke rejoice would any wight 



THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF. 



That had be sicke or melancolious, 
It was so very good and vertuous. 

And with great reverence they inclined lowe 
To the tree so soote, and faire of hewe ; 
And after that, within a little throwe, 
Thoy began to singe and daunce of newe 
Some songe of love, some plaininge of untrewe, 
Environingo the tree that stood upright ; 
And ever yede a lady and a knight. 

And at the last I cast mine eye aside. 
And was ware of a lusty company 
That come rominge out of the field wide, 
Ilond in hond a knight and a lady; 
Tlie ladies all in surcotes, that richely 
Purfiled were with many a riche stone, 
And every knight of grene ware mantles on, 

Embrouded wel so as the surcotes were : 
And evericli had a chapelet on her hedde. 
Which did right well upon the shining here. 
Made of goodly floures white and redde; 
The knightes eke, that they in honde ledde, 
In sute of hem ware chapelets everichone. 
And before hem went minstreles many one. 

As harpes, pipes, lutes, and sautry, 

AUe in greene ; and on their heades bare, 

Of divers floures, made ful craftely, 

Al in a sute, goodly chapelets they ware ; 

And, so dauncinge into the mede they fare. 

In mid the which they foun a tuft that was 

Al oversprad with floures in compas. 

Whereto they enclined everichone 

With great reverence, and that ful humbly ; 

And, at the laste, there began anono 

A lady for to singe right womanly 

A bargeret in praising the daisie; 

For, as me thought, among her notes swete, 

Slie said "Si douce est la Margaretey 

Than they alle answered her in fere, 
So passingely wel, and so pleasauntly, 
That it was a blisful noise to here. 
But, I not how, it happed sodainely 
As about noone, the sunne so fervently 
Waxe bote, that the prety tender floures 
Had lost the beauty of hir fresh coloures, 



Forshronke with heat; the ladies eke to-brent, 
That they ne wiste where they hem might 

bestowe ; 
The knightes swelt, for lack of shade nie shent; 
And after that, within a little throwe. 
The wind began so sturdily to blowe. 
That down goeth all the floures everichone, 
So that in al the mede there left not one ; 

Save such as succoured were among the leves 
Fro every storme that might hem assaile, 
Growinge under the hegges and thicke greves; 
And after that there came a storme of haUe 
And raine in fere, so that, withouten failo. 
The ladies ne the knightes nade o threed 
Drie on them, so dropping was hir weed. 

And whan the storm was cleane passed away, 
Tho in white that stoode under the tree, 
They felte nothing of the grete affray, 
That they in greene withoute had in ybe ; 
To them they yede for routhe and pite, 
Them to comforte after their great disease. 
So faine they were the helplesse for to ease. 

Than I was ware how one of hem in grene 
Had on a crowne, rich and wel sittinge ; 
Wherefore I demed wel she was a quenc, 
And tho in grene on her were awaitinge ; 
The ladies then in white that were comminge 
Toward them, and the knightes in fere, 
Began to comforte hem, and make hem chere. 

The queen in white, that was of grete beauty, 
Took by the hond the queen that was in grene, 
And said, " Suster, I have right great pity 
Of your annoy, and of the troublous tene. 
Wherein ye and your company have bene 
So longe, alas ! and if that it you please 
To go with me, I shall do you the ease, 

" In all the pleasure that I can or may ; " 
Whereof the other, humbly as she might, 
Thanked her ; for in right il array 
She was with storm and heat, I you behight; 
And every lady, then anone right. 
That were in white, one of them took in grene 
By the hond ; which whan the knights had 
sene. 



8 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



In like wise ech of them tooke a knight 
Cladde in greene, and fortlio with hem they 

fare, 
To an hegge, where they anon right, 
To make their justes, they wolde not spare 
Boiighes to hewo down, and eko trees sqnare, 
"Wherwith they made hem stately fires grete, 
To dryo their clothes that were wringinge 

weto. 

And after that, of herbes that there grewe, 
Tlicy made, for blisters of the sunne bren- 

ninge. 
Very good and wholesome ointmentes new. 
Wherewith they yede the sick fast anointinge ; 
And after that they yede al)ont gaderinge 
Plcasaunt salades, which they made hem ete, 
For to refreshe their great unkindly hete. 

The lady of the Leafe than began to praye 
Ilcr of the Floure (for so to my seeminge 
They sholde be, as by their arraye) 
To soupe with her, and eke, for any thinge, 
That she shold with her alle her people bringo : 
And she ayen, in riglit goodly mancre, 
Tlumkod her of her most friendly chero. 

Saying plainely, that she would obaye 
With all her herte, all her commaundement ; 
And then anon, without Icnger delaye, 
The lady of the Leafo hath one ysent, 
For a pal fray, after her intent, 
Arrayed wel and fairo in harueis of gold, 
For nothing lacked, that to him long shold. 

And after that, to al her company 
She made to purveye horse and every thinge 
That they needed ; and than ful lustily, 
Even by the herber where I was sittingo 
They passed idle, so pleasantly singinge, 
That it would have comforted any wight. 
But than I sie a passing wonder sight; 

For than the nightingale, that al th'e day 
Had in the laurer sate, and did her might 
The whole service to singe longing to May, 
All sodainely began to take her flight ; 
And to the lady of the I.eafo, forthright. 
She flew, and set her on her bond softely, 
Which was a thing I marveled of gretely. 

The goldfinch eke, that fro the medler tree 
Was fled for heat into the bushes colde. 



Unto the lady of the Flouro gan flee, 
And on her bond he sit him as he wolde, 
And pleasauntly his winges gan to fold ; 
And for to singe they pained hem both, as sore 
As they had do of al the day before. 

And so these ladies rode forth a great pace, 
And al the rout of knightes eke in fere; 
And I that had seen al this wonder case. 
Thought I wold assayo in some manere. 
To know fully the trouth of this matero ; 
And what they were that rode so pleasauntly. 
And whan they were the herber passed by, 

I drest me forth, and happed to nieto anone 
Right a ftiiro lady, I do you ensure ; 
And she came riding by herselfe alone, 
Alle in white; with semblance ful demure, 
I salued her, and bad good aventure 
Might her befalle, as I coud most humbly ; 
And she answered, " My doughter, gra- 
mercy ! " 

"Madame," quoth I, "if that I durst enquere 
Of you, I would faine, of that company, 
Wite what they be that past by this arbere?" 
And she ayen answered right friendely : — 
"My fairo doughter, alle tho that passed 

here by 
In white clothing, be servaunts everichone 
Unto the Leafe, and I my selfe am one. 

"See ye not her that crowned is," quoth she, 
"Alle in white?" — "Madame," quoth I, "yes:" 
"That is Diane, goddesse of chastite ; 
And for because that she a maiden is, 
In her honde the braimch she beareth this, 
That agmis castus men calle properly ; 
And alio the ladies in her company, 

"Which ye se of that herbe chapclets weare. 
Bo such as ban kept alway hir maidenbeed: 
And alle they that of laurer chapelets beare, 
Be such as hardy were, and manly in deed, — 
Victorious name which never may be dede I 
And alle they were so worthy of hir bond. 
In hir time, that none might hem withstond. 

"And tho that weave chapelets on their hede 
Of fresh woodbinde, bo such as never were 
To lovo untrue in word, thought, ne dode. 
But aye stedfast ; ne for plea-;;iunco, ne fere, 



THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF. 



Though that they should their hertes all to- 

tcre, 
■Woiikl never flit hut ever were stedfast, 
Til that their lives there asunder brast." 

" Now faire Madame," quoth I, " yet I would 

praye 
Your hidiship, if that it mighte be, 
That I might knowe by some maner wayo, 
(Sith tliat it hath liked your heaute, 
The trouth of these ladies for to tell me ;) 
What that these knightes be in rich armour. 
And what tho be in greue and weare the flour? 

"And why that some did reverence to that 

tre, 
And some imto tho plot of flourcs faire?" 
"Witli right good will, my fiiire doughter," 

quoth she, 
"Sith your desire is good and debonaire ; 
Tho nine crowned be very esemplairo 
Of r.I lionour longing to chivalry ; 
And those certaine be called the Nine Worthy, 

"Which ye may see now ridinge alle before, 
That in hir time did many a noble dede. 
And for their worthines ful oft have bore 
The crowne of laurcr leaves on their bede. 
As ye may in your olde bookes redo ; 
And Iiow that he that was a conquerour. 
Had by laurcr alway his most honour. 

"And tho that beare bowes in their honde 
Of the precious laurer so notable, 
Be such as were, I wol ye understonde. 
Noble knightes of the round table. 
And eke the Douseperis honourable, 
Which they beare in signo of victory ; 
It is witnesse of their deedes mightily. 

"Eek there be knightes olde of tho garter, 
Tliat ill hir time did right worthily ; 
And the honour they did to the laurer, 
Is for by it they have their laud wholly. 
Their triumph eke, and martial glory; 
Which unto them is more parfite richesse, 
Than any wight imagine can or gesse. 

"For one leafe, given of that noble tree 
To any wight that hath done worthily. 
And it be done so as it ought to be. 
Is more honour than any thing earthly ; 



Witnes of Rome that founder was truly 
Of aUe knighthood and deeds marvelous ; 
Record I take of Titus Livius. 

"And as for her that crowned is in greene. 

It is Flora, of these floures goddcsso ; 

And all that here on her awaiting beene. 

It are such folk that loved idlenesse. 

And not delite in no busincsse. 

But for to hunte and hauke, and pleye in 

modes, 
And many other suchlike idle dedes. 

"And for the great delite and pleasaunce 
They have to the floure, and so reverently 
They unto it do such obeisaunce. 
As ye may se." — " Now faire Madame," 

quoth I, 
"If I durst aske, what is the cause and why. 
That knightes have the ensigne of honour, 
Rather by tho leafe than the llourc ? " 

"Soothly, doughter," quod she, "this is the 

trouth : — ■ 
For knightes ever should bo persevering. 
To seeke honour without feintise or slouth. 
Fro wele to better in all manner thingo ; 
In signe of which, witli leaves aye lastinge, 
They be rewarded after tlieir degre. 
Whose lusty grene may not appaired be, 

" But aie keping their bcauto fresh and 

greene ; 
For there nis storme that may hem deface, 
Haile nor snow, winde nor frostes kene ; 
Wherfore they have this property and grace. 
And for the floure, witliin a little space 
WoUe be lost, so simple of nature 
They be, that they no greevance may endure ; 

"iVnd every storme will blowe them soone 

awayo. 
No they laste not but for a sesone ; 
That is the cause, the very trouth to saye, 
That they may not, by no way of resone. 
Be put to no such occupation." 
" Madame," quoth I, " with al mine whole 

servise 
I thanke you now, in my most humble wise ; 

"For now I am ascertained thurghly. 
Of every thing that I desired to knowe." 
"I am right glad that I have said, sothly. 



10 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Ought to your pleasure, if ye wille me trowe," 
Quod slie ayen, "but to whom do ye owe 
Your service? And which wille ye hononre, 
Tel me I pray, this yere, the Leafe or the 
Floure?" 

" Madame," quoth I, " though I be least 

worthy, 
Unto the Leafe I owe mine observaunce : " 
" That is," quod she, " right wel done cer- 
tainly ; 
And I pray God to honour you avaunce. 
And kepe you fro the wicked remembraunce 
Of Malebouche, and all his crueltie. 
And alle that good and well conditioned be. 

"For here may I no lenger now abide, 

I must foUowe the great company, 

That ye may see yonder before you ride." 

And forth, as I couth, most humbly, 

I tooke my leve of her, as she gan hie 

After thera as faste as ever she might , 

And I drow homeward, for it was nigh night. 

And put al that I had scene in writing. 
Under support of them that lust it to rede. 
little booke, thou art so unconning. 
How darst thou put thy self in prees for drede? 
It is wonder that thou wexcst not rede ! 
Sith that thou wost ful lite who shall behold 
Thy rude langage, fid boistously unfold. 

Geoffeet Chaucek. 



DESCRIPTIOISr OF SPRING. 

Tfie soote season, that bud and bloom forth 
brings, 
■VTith green hath clad the hill, and eke the 
vale ; 
The nightingale with feathers new she sings ; 
'The turtle to her make hath told her tale. 
Summer is come, for every spray now springs ; 
The hart hath hung his old head on the 
pale, 
The buck in brake his winter coat he ilings ; 

The fishes flete with new repaired scale ; 
The adder all her slough away she flmgs ; 
The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale ; 



The busy bee her honey now she mings ; 

Winter is worn that was the flowres' bale. 
And thus I see among these pleasant things 
Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs. 

LOED StTEEET. 



THE AlES OF SPRING. 

Sweetly breathing, vernal air. 
That with kind warmth doth repair 
Winter's ruins ; from whose breast 
All the gums and spice of th' East 
Borrow their perfumes ; whose eye 
Gilds the morn, and clears the sky ; 
Whose disheveled tresses shed 
Pearls upon the violet bed ; 
On whose brow, with calm smiles drest 
The halcyon sits and builds her nest ; 
Beauty, youth, and endless spring. 
Dwell upon thy rosy wing ! 

Thou, if stormy Boreas throws 
Down whole forests when he blows, 
With a pregnant, flowery birth, 
Canst refresh the teeming earth. 
If he nip the early bud ; 
If he blast what's fair or good ; 
If he scatter our choice flowers ; 
If he shake our halls or bowers ; 
If his rude breath threaten us. 
Thou canst stroke great jEoUis, 
And from him the grace obtain. 
To bind him in an iron chain. 

Thomas Cabew. 



RETURN OF SPRING. 

God shield ye, heralds of the spring, 
Ye faithful swallows, fleet of wing, 

Houps, cuckoos, nightingales, 
Turtles, and every wilder bird. 
That make your hundred chirpings heard 

Through the green woods and dales. 

God shield ye, Easter daisies all, 
Fair roses, buds, and blossoms small. 



EARLY 


SPRING. 11 


And he whom erst the gore 


And drowned in yonder living blue 


Of Ajax and ISTarciss did print, 


The lark becomes a sightless song. 


Ye wild thyme, anise, balm, and mint, 




I welcome ye once more. 


Now dance the hghts on lawn and lea, 




The flocks are whiter down the vale, 


God shield ye, hright embroidered train 


And milkier every mUky saO, 


Of butterflies, that on the plain, 


On winding stream or distant sea ; 


Of each sweet lierblet sip ; 




And ye, new swarms of bees, that go 


Where now the seamew pipes, or dives 


Where the pink flowers and yellow grow. 


In yonder greening gleam, and fly 


To kiss them with your lip. 


The happy birds, that change their sky 




To build and brood, that live their lives 


A hundred thousand times I call 




A hearty welcome on ye all : 


From land to land ; and in my breast 


This season how I love — 


Spring wakens too : and my regret 


This merry din on every shore — 


Becomes an April violet. 


For winds and storms, whose sullen roar 


And buds and blossoms hke the rest. 


Forbade my steps to rove. 


Alfred Tenntbon. 


Pierre Eomsaed (Freach). 




Anonymous Translation. 




"WHEN THE HOUNDS OF SPRING." 




SPRING 


When the hounds of spring are on winter's 


Dip down upon the northern shore. 


traces. 


sweet new year, delaying long ; 
Thou doest expectant nature wrong. 


The mother of months in meadow or plain 
Fills the shadows and windy places 


Delayuig long ; delay no more. 


With Usp of leaves and ripple of rain ; 




And the brown bright nightingale amorous 


What stays thee from the clouded noons, 


Is half assuaged for Itylus, 


Thy sweetness from its proper place? 


For the Tliracian ships and the foreign faces; 


Can trouble live with April days, 


The tonguelcss \-igil, and all the pain. 


Or sadness in the summer moons ? 






Come with bows bent and with emptying of 


Bring orchis, bring the fox-glove spire, 


quivers, 


The little speedwell's darling blue, 


Maiden most perfect, lady of Ught, 


Deep tulips dashed with fiery dew. 


With a noise of winds and many rivers, 


Laburnums, dropping-wells of fire. 


With a clamor of waters, and with might ; 




Bind on thy sandals, thou most fleet. 


thou, new year, delaying long. 


Over the splendor and speed of thy feet ! 


Delayest the sorrow in my blood, 


For the faint east quickens, 'the wan west 


That longs to burst a frozen bud. 


shivers. 


And flood a fresher throat with song. 


Round the feet of the day and the feet of 




the night. 


Now fades the last long streak of snow ; 


Where shall we find her, how shall we sing 


Now burgeons every maze of quick 


to her. 


About the flowering squares, and thick 


Fold our hands round her knees and cling ? 


By ashen roots the violets blow. 


Oh that man's heart were as fire and could 




spring to her, 


Now rings the woodland loud and long. 


Fire, or the strength of the streams that 


The distance takes a lovelier hue, 


spring! 



12 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



For the stars nnil the -wiiul!) nro unto her 
As raiment, iw songs of tlio liarp-player; 
For the risen stars anil the tiiUen cling to licr, 
And tlie south-west winil and tlic west 
wind sing. 

l'\ii' winter's rains and ruins are over, 

.\nd all the season of snows and sins; 
Tlie days dividing lover and lover, 

Tlie iiglit that loses, the night tliat wins; 
And time reniemlierod is grief forgotten, 
\w\ frosts are slain and flowers begotten, 
And in green underwood and cover 
Blossom by blossom the spring begins. 

The full streams feed on flower of rushes, 
Kipe grasses trammel a travelling foot, 
Tlie faint fresh thune of the young year flushes 

From leaf to flower and flower to fruit ; 
And fi-nit and leaf are as gold and tire. 
And tlie oat is lieard above tlie lyre, 
.Vnd tlie hoofed heel of a satyr crushes 
'I'he I'liestnut-liuslv at tlie chestnut-root. 

And Pan by noon and Bacchus by night. 
Fleeter of foot than the fleet-foot kid, 
Follows with dancing and fills with delight 

The MaMiad and the Bassarid ; 
And sot\ as lips that laugli and hide, 
Tlie laughing leaves of the trees divide, 
And screen from seeing and leave in sight 
The god pursuing, the maiden hid. 

The ivy falls with the Bacchanal's hair 
Over her eyebrows shading her eyes ; 

The wild vino slipping down leaves bare 
Her bright breast sliortening into sighs ; 

Tlie wild vino slips with tlie weight of its 
leaves. 

But the berried ivy catches and cleaves 

To tlie limbs that glitter, the feet that scai-o 

The wolf that follows, the fawn that flies. 

Algernon Cuakles Sw^NBUK^•K. 



MARCH. 

The cock is crowing, 
The stream is flowing, 
Tlie small birils twitter, 
The lake doth glitter. 
The preou field sleeps in the sun ; 



The oldest and youngest 
Are at work with the strongest; 
The cattle are grazing. 
Their lieads never raising; 
There are forty feeding like one I 

liiko an army defeated 

The snow hatli retreated. 

And now doth fare ill 

On the top of the bare liill ; 
The ploughboy is whooping — .inou — anon! 

There 's joy on the mountains; 

There 's life in tlie fountains; 

Small clonds are sailing. 

Blue sky prevailing ; 
The rain is over and gone ! 

"WlLUAM WORPSWORTn. 



APKIL. 



Lessons sweet of Spring returning, 

"Welcome to the thoughtful heart ! 
May I call ye sense or learning. 

Instinct pure, or heaven-taught art ? 
Be your title what it may. 
Sweet and lengthening April day, 
While with you the soul is free, 
Banging wild o'er hill and lea; 

Soft as Mcmnou's harp at morning, 

To the inward oar devout, 
Touched by light with heavenly warning, 

Your transporting chords ring out. 
Every leaf in every nook. 
Every wave in every brook, 
Chanting with a solemn voice, 
Minds us of our better choice. 

Needs no show of mountain hoary, 

Winding shore or deepening glen, 
Where the landscape in its glory, 

Teaches truth to wandering men. 
Give true hearts but earth and sky, 
And some flowers to bloom and die, 
Homely scenes and simple views 
Lowly thoughts may best infuse. 

See the soft green willow springing 
Wlicro the waters gently pass. 

Every way her free anus flinging 
O'er the moss and reedy grass. 



APRIL. 



13 



Long ere winter blasts are fled, 
See her tipped witli vernal red, 
And lier kindly flower displayed 
Ere her leaf can cast a shade. 

Though tlie rndest hand assail her. 

Patiently she droops awhile. 
But when showers and breezes hail her. 

Wears again her willing smile. 
Thus I learn contentment's power 
From the slighted willow bower, 
Ready to give thanks and live 
On the least that Heaven may give. 

If, the quiet brooklet leaving. 

Up tlie stormy vale I wind, 
Haply half in fancy grieving 

For the shades I leave behind, 
By the dusty wayside dear, 
Nightingales with joyous cheer 
Sing, my sadness to reprove, 
Gladlier than in cultured grove. 

Where the thickest bows are twining 
Of the greenest, darkest tree, 

There they plunge, the light declining — 
All may hear, but none may see. 

Fearless of the passing hoof. 

Hardly will they fleet aloof; 

So they live in modest ways. 

Trust entire, and ceaseless praise. 

John Keble. 



ALMOND BLOSSOM. 

Blossom of the almond-trees, 
AjjriFs gift to April's bees. 
Birthday ornament of spring. 
Flora's fairest daughterling ; — 
Coming when no flowerets dare 
Trust the cruel outer air ; 
When the royal king-cup bold 
Dares not don his coat of gold ; 
And the sturdy blackthorn spray 
Keeps his silver for the May ; — 
Coming wlien no flowerets would, 
Save thy lowly sisterhood. 
Early violets, blue and white, 
Dying for their love of light. 



Almond blossom, sent to teach us 

That the spring-days soon will reach us, 

Lest, with longing over-tried, 

We die as the violets died — 

Blossom, clouding all the tree 

With thy crimson broidery. 

Long Ijefore a leaf of green 

On tlio bravest bough is seen ; 

Ah ! when winter winds are swinging 

All thy red bells into ringing, 

With a bee in every bell. 

Almond bloom, we greet thee well. 

EdwiX AllNOU>, 



SPRING. 

Behold the young, the rosy Spring, 
Gives to the breeze her scented wing. 
While virgin graces, warm with May, 
Fling roses o'er her dewy way. 
The nuu'muring billows of the deep 
Have languished into silent sleep ; 
And mark ! the flitting sea-birds lave 
Their plumes in the reflecting wave ; 
While cranes from hoary winter fly 
To flutter in a kinder sky. 
Now the genial star of day 
Dissolves the murky clouds away. 
And cultured field and winding stream 
Are freshly glittering in his beam. 

Now the earth prolific swells 
With leafy buds and flowery bells ; 
Gemming shoots the Olive twine; 
Clusters bright festoon the vine ; 
All along the branches creeping. 
Through the velvet foliage peeping, 
Little infant fruits we see 
Nursing into luxury. 



Translation of Thomas Mooke. 



Amaoreon. 



SONG : ON MAY MORNING. 

Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, 
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with 

her 
The flowery May, wlio from her green lap 

throws 
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. 



14 POEMS OF 


NATURE. 


llail, bounteous May, that doth inspire 


Congealed on earth, but does, dissolving, run 


Mirtli, and youth, and warm desire ; 


Into the glories of the Almighty sun. 


"Woods and groves aro of thy dressing. 


Andrew Mastell. 


Hill and dalo doth boast thy blessing. 
Thus we sahite tliec witli our early song, 






Aud welcome thee, and wish thee long. 


SONG. 


Jons MiLTos. 


PnajBus, arise. 




And paint the sable skies 
With azure, white, and red. 




A DROP OF DEW. 


Rouse Memnou's mother from licr Tython's 




bed. 


See how the orient dew, 


That she thy career may with roses spread, 


Shed from the bosom of the morn 


The nightingales thy coming each where sing 


Into the blowing roses. 


Make an eternal spring. 


(Yet careless of its mansion new 


Give life to this dark world which lieth dead ; 


For the clear region where 'twas born) 


Spread forth thy gulden hair 


Itound in itself incloses. 


In larger locks than tlK)n was wont before, 


And in its little globe's extent 


And, emperor-like, decore 


Frames, as it can, its native element. 


With diadem of pearl thy temples fair : 


How it the iiurple flower does slight. 


Chase hence the ugly night, 


Scarce touching where it lies ; 


Which serves but to make dear thy glorious 


But gazing back upon the skies. 


light. 


Shines with a niornful light. 


This is that happy morn. 


Like its own tear. 


That day, long-wished day, 


Because so long divided from the sphere ; 


Of all my life so dark, 


Restless it rolls, and unsccurc. 


(If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn. 


Trembling, lest it grow impure ; 


And fates my hopes betray,) 


Till the warm sun pities its pain. 


Which, purely white, deserves 


And to the skies exhales it back again. 


An everlasting diamond should it mark. 


So the soul, tliat drop, that ray. 


This is the morn should bring nnto this grove 


Of the clear fountain of eternal day. 


Jly love, to hear, and recompense my love. 


Could it within the human flower be seen. 


Fair king, who all preserves, 


Reniembermg still its former height, 


But show thy blushing beams, 


Shuns the sweet leaves and blossoms green, 


And thou two sweeter eyes 


And, recollecting its own light. 


Shalt see th.an those whicli by Pencus' strcmis 


Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express 


Did once thy heart surprise : 


The greater lioaven in a heaven less. 


Nay, suns, which shine as clear 


In how coy a figure wound. 


As thou when two thou didst to Rome appear. 


Every way it turns away ; 


Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise. 


So the world excluding round. 


If that ye winds would hear 


Yet receiving in the day. 


A voice surpassing, far, Amphiou's lyre, 


Dark beneath, but bright above ; 


Y'our furious chiding stay ; 


Here disdaining, there in love. 


Let Zephyr only breathe, 


IIow loose and easy hence to go ! 


And with her tresses play, 


How girt and ready to ascend ! 


Kissing sometimes those purple ports of death. 


Moving but on a point below, 


The winds all silent are. 


It all abtmt docs upwards bend. 


And Phwbus in his ch.iir 


Such did the manna's sacred dew distil, 


Ensaftroning sea and air. 


■White and entire, although congealed and 


Midces vanish every star : 


chill— 


Night like a drunkard reels 



MAY. 



15 



Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming wheels. 
The fields with flowers ai'e decked in every 

hue, 
The clouds with orient gold spangle their 

blue : 
Here is the pleasant place. 
And nothing wanting is, save she, alas ! 

WlLLIAil DeUMMOND. 



SPRING. 

Now the lusty Spring is seen ; 

Golden yellow, gaudy blue, 

Daintily invite the view. 
Everywhere, on every green, 
Roses lilushing as they blow. 

And enticing men to pull ; 
Lilies wliitcr than the snow; 
Woodbines of sweet honey full — 

All love's emblems, and all cry: 

Ladies, if not plucked, we die ! 

Beaumont and Fletchee, 



As gladly to their goal they run, 
Hail the returning sun. 

James Gates Peboival. 



MAT. 



I FEEL a newer life in every gale ; 

The winds that fan the flowers. 
And with their welcome breathings fill the sail, 
TeU of serencr hours, — 
Of hours that glide unfelt away 
Beneath the sky of May. 

The spirit of the gentle south-wind calls 

From his blue throne of air, 
And where his whispering voice in music falls, 

Beauty is budding there ; 
The bright ones of the valley break 
Their slumbers, and awake. 

The waving verdure rolls along the plain, 

And the wide forest weaves. 
To welcome back its playfid mates again, 
A canopy of loaves ; 
And from its darkening shadow floats 
A gush of trembling notes. 

Fau-er and brighter spreads the reign of May ; 

The tresses of the woods 
With the light dallying of the west-wind play ; 

And the fiiU-brimming flood.s, 



SONG TO MAY. 

Mat I queen of blossoms. 

And fulfilling flowers. 
With what pretty music 

Shall we charm the hours ? 
Wilt thou have pipe and reed. 
Blown in the open raoad ? 
Or to the lute give heed 

In the green bowers ? 

Thou hast no need of us, 

Or pipe or wire, 
That hast the golden bee 

Ripened with fire ; 
And many thousand more 
Songsters, that thee adore, 
Filling earth's grassy floor 

With new desire. 

Thou hast thy mighty herds, 

Tamo, and free livers ; 
Doubt not, thy music too 

In the deep rivers ; 
And the whole plumy flight, 
Warbling the day and night — 
Up at the gates of light, 

See, the lark quivers ! 

When with the jacinth 

Coy fountains are tressed : 

And for the moiu'nfiU bird 
Greenwoods are dressed. 

That did for Tereus pine ; 

Then shall our songs be thine, 

To whom our hearts incline: 
May, bo thou blessed ! 

LOKD TnURLOW. 



SUMMER LONGINGS. 

Las mananas floridas 
D(3 Abril y Mayo. 

Calderon. 

An ! my heart is weary waiting — 
Waiting for the May — • 
Waiting for the pleasant rambles, 
Where the fragrant hawthorn brambles, 



16 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



"With the -woodbme alternating, 

Scent the dewy way. 
Ah ! my heart is weary waiting — 

Waiting for the May. 

Ah ! my lieart is sick -with longing, 
Longing for the May — 
Longing to escape from study. 
To the young focc fair and ruddy. 
And the thousand chai-ms belonging 

To the summer's day. 
Ah ! my heart is sick with longing, 
Longing for the May. 

Ah ! my heart is sore with sighing. 
Sighing for the May — 
Sighing for their sure returning. 
When the summer beams are burning, 
Hopes and dowers that, dead or dying, 

AU the winter lay. 
Ah ! my heart is sore with sighing, 
Sighiug for the May. 

Ah ! my heai-t is pained with throbbing, 
Throbbing for the May — 
Throbbing for the sea-side billows. 
Or the water-wooing willows ; 

Where, in laughing and in sobbing. 

Glide the streams away. 
Ah ! my heart, my heai't is throbbing. 
Throbbing for the May. 

Waiting sad, dejected, weary, 
Waiting for the ilay : 
Spring goes by with w.asted warnings — 
Moonlit evenings, sunbright mornings — 
Summer conies, yet dark and dreary 

Life still ebbs away ; 

Man is ever weary, weary. 

Waiting for the May ! 

De>ts Florence McCaetht. 



NIGHT IS NIGH GONE. 

Hey, now the day 's dawning ; 
The jolly cock's crowing; 
The eastern sky 's glowing ; 

Stars fade one by one ; 
The thistle-cock 's er}-ing 



On lovers long lying. 
Cease vowing and sighing ; 
The night is nigh gone. 

The fields are o'erflowing 
With gowans all glowing, 
And white lilies growing, 

A thousand as one ; 
The sweet ring-dove cooing, 
Ilis love notes renewing, 
Now moaning, now suing ; 

The night is nigh gone. 

The season excelling. 

In scented flowers smelling, 

To kind love compelling 

Our hearts every one ; 
With sweet ballads moving 
The maids we are loving. 
Mid musing and rowing 

The night is nigh gone. 

Of war and fair women 

The young knights are dreaming. 

With bright breastplates gleaming. 

And plumed helmets on ; 
The barbed steed neighs lordly. 
And shakes his mane proudly, 
For war-trumpets londly 

Say night is nigh gone. 

I see the flags flowing. 

The warriors all glowing, 
And, snorting and blowing. 

The steeds rushing on ; 
The lances ai-e crashing. 
Out broad blades come flashing 
Mid shouting and dashing — 
The night is nigh gone. 

Alexandek Montgomeet. 
Yersion of Allan Cunningham. 



MORNING IN LONDON. 

Eaeth has not anything to show more fair : 
Dull would he be of soid who coidd pass by 
A sight so touching in its majesty : 
This city now doth, like a gannent, wear 
The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare, 
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie 



EARLY SUMMER. 



17 



Open unto the fields, and to the sky, 
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 
Never did sun more beautifully steep. 
In his first splendor, valley, rock, or hiU ; 
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep ! 
The river ghdeth at his own sweet will ; 
Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep ; 
And all that mighty heart is lying still ! 

"William 'Wokdswoeth. 



THE SABBATH MORNING. 

With silent awe I hail the sacred morn, 
That slowly wakes while all the fields are still ! 
A soothing calm on every breeze is borne ; 
A graver murmur gurgles from the rill ; 
And echo answers softer from the hill ; 
And softer sings the linnet from the tliorn : 
The skylark warbles in a tone less shrill. 
Hail, light serene ! hail, sacred Sabbath morn ! 
The rooks float silent by in airy drove ; 
The sun a placid yellow lustre throws ; 
The gales that lately sighed along the grove, 
Have hushed their downy wings in dead re- 
pose; 
The hovering rack of clouds forgets to move — 
So smiled the day when the first morn arose ! 

John Letden. 



THEY COME ! THE MERRY SUMMER 

MONTHS. 

Thet come! the merry summer months of 
beauty, song, and fiowers ; 

They come ! the gladsome months that bring 
thick leafiness to bowers. 

Up, up, my heart ! and walk abroad ; fiing 
cark ,and care aside ; 

Seek silent lulls, or rest thyself where peace- 
ful waters gUde ; 

Or, underneath the shadow vast of patri- 
archal tree, 

Scan through its leaves the cloudless sky in 
rapt tranquillity. 

The grass is soft., its velvet touch is grateful 

to the hand ; 
And, like the kiss of maiden love, the breeze 

is sweet and bland ; 
3 



The daisy and the buttercup are nodding 

courteously ; 

It stirs their blood with kindest love, to bless 
and welcome thee ; 

And mark how with thine own thin locks— 
they now are silvery gray — 

That blissful breeze is wantoning, and whis- 
pering, "Be gay! " 

There is no cloud that sails along the ocean 

of yon sky. 
But hath its own winged mariners to give it 

melodj' ; 
Thou seest their glittering fans outspread, all 

gleaming like red gold ; 
And hark! with shrill pipe musical, their 

merry course they hold. 
God bless them all, those little ones, who, far 

above this earth. 
Can make a scoflT of its mean joys, and vent 

a nobler mirth. 

But soft ! mine ear upcaught a sound, — from 

yonder wood it came ! 
The spirit of the dun green glade did breathe 

his own glad name : — 
Yes, it is he! the hermit bird, that, apart 

from all his kind, 
Slow spells his beads monotonous to the soft 

western wind ; 
Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! he sings again, — his notes 

are void of art ; 
But simplest strains do soonest sound the 

deep founts of the heart. 

Good Lord ! it is a gracious boon for thought- 
crazed wight like me. 

To smell again these summer fiowers beneath 
this summer tree ! 

To suck once more in every breath their lit- 
tle souls away, 

And feed my fancy with fond dreams of 
youth's bright summer day. 

When, rushing forth like imtamed colt, the 
reckless, truant boy 

Wandered through greenwoods all day long, 
a mighty heart of joy ! 

I'm sadder now — I have had cause ; but ! 

I'm proud to think 
That each pm-e joy-fount, loved of yore, I yet 

dehffht to drink ; — 



18 POEMS OF NATURE. 


Leaf, blossom, blade, hill, valley, stream, the 


Keen as are the arrows 


calm, unclouded sky. 


Of that silver sphere, 


Still mingle music -n-ith my dreams, as in the 


Whose intense lamp narrows 


days gone by. 


In the white dawn clear. 


Wlien summer's lovehness and Ught fall round 


Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. 


me dark and cold, 


All the earth and air 


I'll bear indeed life's heaviest curse, — a heart 


"With thy voice is loud. 


that hath waxed old! 


As, when night is bare. 


William Motherwell. 






From one lonely cloud 




The moon rains out her beams, and heaven 






is overflowed. 


MORNING. 






What thou art we know not ; 


Habk— hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings. 


"What is most like thee? 


And Phoebus 'gins ai-ise, 


From rainbow-clouds there flow not 


His steeds to water at those springs 


Drops so bright to see, 


On chaliced flowers that lies : 


As from thy presence showers a rain of 


And winking Maiy-buds begin 


melody. 


To ope their golden eyes ; 




"With every thing that pretty bin. 


Like a poet hidden 


My lady sweet, arise ; 


In the light of thought. 


Arise, arise ; 


Singing hymns unbidden, 


Shakespeare. 


Till tlio world is wrought 




To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded 
not; 

Like a high-born maiden, 


TO THE SKYLAEK. 


Hail to thee, blithe spirit ! 
Bird thou never wert, 


In a palace tower. 
Soothing her love-laden 




Soul in secret hour 


That from heaven, or near it, 






With music sweet as love, which overflows 


Pourest thy full heart 
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 


her bower ; 




Like a glow-worm golden, 


Higher still and higher, 


In a dell of dew. 


From the earth thou springest. 


Scattering unbeholden 


Like a cloud of fire ; 


Its ai/rial hue 


The blue deep thou wingest, 


Among the flowers and grass which screen it 


And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever 


from the view ; 


singest. 






Like a rose embowered 


In the golden lightning 


In its own green leaves. 


Of the setting sun. 


By warm winds deflowered, 


O'er which clouds are brightening. 


Till the scent it gives 


Thou dost float and run ; 


Makes foint with too much sweet these heavy- 


Like an embodied joy whose race is just begun. 


winged thieves. 


The pale, piu-ple even 


Sound of vernal showers 


Melts around thy flight ; 


On the twinkling grass, 


Like a stai- of heaven. 


Rain-awakened flowers. 


In the broad daylight, 


All that ever was 


Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill 


Joyous, and fresh, and clear, thy music dotb 


delight. 


surpass. 







THE 


LARK. 19 


Teach us sprite or bird 


Teach me half the gladness 


What sweet thoughts are thine : 


That thy brain must know, 


I heave never Iieard 


Such harmonious madness 


Praise of love or wine 


From my lips would flow. 


That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 


The world should listen then, as I am hsteu- 


Chorus hymeneal, 


ing now. 

Percy Btsshe Phellkt. 


Or triumphant chant, 
Matched with thine would be all 






But an empty vaunt — 
A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden 


THE LARK. 


want. 


BiED of the wilderness. 


What objects are the fountams 

Of thy happy strain ? 
Wliat fields, or waves, or mountains ? 
What shapes of sky or plain ? 
What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance 


Blithesome and cumberless. 
Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! 

Emblem of happiness. 

Blest is thy dwelling-place — 
Oh to abide in the desert with thee ! 

Wild is thy lay, and loud, 


of pain ? 


Far in the do^vny cloud ; 


Witli thy clear, keen joyance 


Love gives it energy — love gave it birth ! 


Languor cannot be ; 


Wliere, on thy dewy wing — 


Shades of annoyance 


Where art thou journeying? 


Never come near thee ; 


Thy lay is in heaven — thy love is on earth. 


Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. 


O'er fell and fountain sheen. 


Waking, or asleep, 

Thou of death must deem 


O'er moor and mountain green, 
O'er the red streamer that heralds the day ; 


Tilings more true or deep 


Over the cloudlet dim. 


Than we mortals dream ; 


Over the rainbow's rim, 


Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystid 
stream ? 


Musical cherub, soar, singing, away! 

Then, when the gloaming comes. 




Low in the heather blooms. 


We look before and after. 


Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be I 


And pine for what is not ; 


Emblem of happiness. 


Our sincerest laughter 


Blest is thy dwelling-place — 


With some pain is fraught ; 


Oh to abide in the desert with thee ! 


Our sweetest songs are those that tell of sad- 


James Hogg. 


dest thought. 
Yet if we could scorn 




SONG. 


Ilate, and pride, and fear ; 




K we were things born 


'T IS sweet to hear the merry lark. 


Not to shed a tear. 


That bids a blithe good-morrow ; 


I know not how thy joy we ever should come 


But sweeter to hark, in the twinkling dark 


near. 


To the soothing song of sorrow. 


Better than all measures 
Of delightfid sound ; 

Better than all treasures 
That in books are found, 


nightingale ! What doth she ail ? 

And is she sad or jolly ? 
For ne'er on earth was sound of mu-th 

So like to melancholy. 


Thy skill to poet were, thou soorner of the 


The merry lark, he soars on high. 


ground ! 


No worldly thought o'ertakes bun ; 



20 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



He sings aloud to the clear blue sky, 
And the daylight that awakes him. 

As sweet a lay, as loud, as gay, 
The nightingale is trilling ; 

With feeling bliss, no less than his, 
Iler little heart is thrilling. 

Yet ever and anon, a sigh 

Peers through her lavish mirth ; 
For the lark's hold song is of the sky, 

And hers is of the earth. 
By night and day, she tunes her lay, 

To drive away all sorrow ; 
Fo'r bUss, alas ! to-night must pass, 

And woo may come to-morrow. 

Hartley CoLEuroGE. 



SONG. 



Pace clouds aw.ay, and welcome day. 
With night we banish sorrow ; 

Sweet air, blow soft ; mount, lark, aloft, 
To give my love good-morrow. 

Wings from the wind to please her mind. 
Notes from the lark I'U borrow : 

Bird, prune thy wing; nightingale, sing, 
To give my love good-morrow. 
To give my love good-morrow. 
Notes from them all Pll borrow. 

Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast, 

Sing, birds, in every furrow ; 
And from each hUl let music shrill 

Give my fair love good-morrow. 
Blackbh'd and thrush in every bush. 

Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow. 
You pretty elves, amongst yourselves. 

Sing my fau- love good-morrow. 

To give my love good-morrow. 

Sing, birds in every furrow. 

Thomas Heywood, 



THE ANGLER'S TRYSTING-TREE. 

Smo, sweet thrushes, forth and sing ! 

Meet the morn upon the lea ; 
Are the emeralds of the spring 

On the angler's trysting-tree ? 

Tell, sweet thrushes, tell to me! 



Are there buds on our willow-tree? 
Buds and birds on our trysting-tree ? 

Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing ! 

Have you met the honey-bee. 
Circling upon rapid wing, 

'Round the angler's trysting-tree? 

Up, sweet thrushes, up and see ! 

Aj-e there bees at our willow -tree? 

Birds and bees at the trysting-tree. 

Sing, sweet tlirushes, forth and sing ! 

Are the fountains gushing free ? 
Is the south wind wandering 

Through the angler's trysting-tree ? 

Up, sweet thrushes, tell to me ! 

Is there wind up our willow-tree? 

AVind or calm at our trysting-tree? 

Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing ! 

Wile us with a merry glee ; 
To the flowery haunts of spring — 

To the angler's trysting-tree. 

Tell, sweet thrushes, teU to me ! 

Are there flowers 'neath our willow-tree ? 

Spring and flowers at the trysting-tree ? 
Thomas Tod Stoddabt. 



THE ANGLER. 

On ! the gallant fisher's life, 

It is the best of any : 
'T is full of pleasure, void of strife. 
And 't is beloved by many ; 

Other J03-S 

Are but toys ; 

Only this 

Lawful is ; 

For om' skill 

Breeds no ill, 
But content and pleasure. 

In a morning, up we rise, 
Ere Aurora's peeping ; 
Drink a cup to wash our eyes, 
Leave the sluggard sleeping ; 
Then we go. 
To and fro. 
With our knacks 
At our backs, 



ANGLING. 



21 



To such streams 
As the Thames, 
If wo have the leisure. 

Wlien we please to walk abroad 

For onr recreation ; 
In the fields is our abode, 
FuU of delectatioih, 

Where, in a brook, 

With a hook — 

Or a lake, — 

Fish we take ; 

There we sit. 

For a bit. 
Till we fish entangle. 

We have gentles in a horn. 

We have paste and worms too ; 
We can watch both night and morn, 
Sutfer rain and storing too ; 
None do here 
Use to swear : 
Oaths do fray 
Fish away ; 
We sit still. 
Watch our quill : 
Fishers must not wrangle. 

If the sun's excessive heat 

Make onr bodies swelter, 
To an osier hedge we get. 
For a friendly shelter ; 

Where — in a dyke. 

Perch or pike. 

Roach or daice. 

We do chase. 

Bleak or gudgeon. 

Without gradging; 
We are still contented. 

Or, we sometimes pass an hour 

Under a green wiUow, 
That defends us from a shower. 
Making earth our pillow ; 
Where we may 
Think and pray. 
Before death 
Stops om* breath ; 
Other joys 
Are but toys, 
And to be lamented. 

John Chalkhtll. 



VERSES IN PRAISE OF ANGLING. 

QurvEEiNG fears, heart-tearing cares, 
Anxious sighs, untimely tears. 

Fly, fly to courts. 

Fly to fond worldlings' sports. 
Where strained sardonic smiles are glosing still, 
And grief is forced to laugh against her will, 

Where mirth 's but mummery, 

And sorrows only real bo. 

Fly from our country pastimes, fly, 

Sad troops of human misery, 
Come, serene looks. 
Clear as the crystal brooks, 

Or the pure azured heaven that smiles to see 

The rich attendance on our poverty ; 
Peace and a secure mind, 
Wliich all men seek, we only find. 

Abused mortals ! did you know 

Where joy, heart's ease, and comforts grow. 
You 'd scorn proud towers 
And seek them in these bowers. 

Where winds, sometimes, our woods perhaps 
may shake. 

But blustering care could never tempest make ; 
Nor murmurs e'er come nigb us, 
Saving of fountains that glide by us. 

Here 's no fantastic mask nor dance. 
But of our kids that frisk and prance ; 
. Nor wars are seen. 
Unless upon the green 
Two harmless lambs are butting one the other. 
Which done, both bleating run, each to his 
mother ; 

And wounds are never found. 
Save what the ploughshare gives the 
ground. 

Here are no entrapping baits 
To hasten to, too hasty fates ; 

Unless it be 

The fond credulity 
Of siUy fish, which (worlding like) still look 
Upon the bait, but never on the hook ; 

Nor envy, 'less among 

The birds, for price of their sweet song. 

Go, let the diving negro seek 

For gems, hid in some forlorn creek ; 



22 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



We all pearls scorn 

Pave what the dewy morn 
Congeals upon each little spire of grass, 
Which careless shepherds beat down as they 
pass ; 

And gold ne'er here appears, 

Save what the yellow Ceres bears. 

Blest silent groves, oh, may you bo. 
For ever, mii-th's best nursery ! 

May pm-e contents 

For ever pitch their tents 
Upon these downs, those meads, those rocks, 

these mountains ; 
And peace still slumber by those purling 
fountains. 

Which wo may every year 

Moot, when we come a-fishing here. 
Sra Henry Wotton. 



THE ANGLER'S WISE. 

I IN these flowery meads woidd bo. 

These crystal streams should solace me ; 

To whoso harmonious bubbUng noise 

1, with my angle, would rejoice. 

Sit hero, and soe the turtle-dove 
Court his chaste mate to acts of love ; 

Or, on that bank, feel the west wind 
Breathe health and plenty ; please my mind. 
To see sweet dew-drops kiss these flowers, 
And then washed off by April showers ; 
llore, hear my konna sing a song: 
There, see a blackbird food her young. 

Or a laverock build her nest ; 

Hero, give my weary spirits rest, 

And raise my low-pitchod thoughts above 

Earth, or what poor mortals love. 

Thus, free from lawsuits, aiul the noise 
Of princes' courts, I would rejoice ; 

Or, with my Bryan and a book. 

Loiter long days near Shawford brook ; 

There sit by him, and eat my moat ; 

There soe the sun both rise and set ; 

There bid good morning to next day; 

There meditate my time away ; 

And angle on ; and beg to have 
A quiet passage to a welcome grave. 

IZAAK WAI-TON. 



THE BOBOLINK. 

BonoLiSK ! that in the meadow. 
Or beneath the orchard's shadow, 
Keepest up a constant rattle 
Joyous as my children's prattle. 
Welcome to the north again ! 
Welcome to mine ear thy strain. 
Welcome to mine eye the sight 
Of thy buft; thy black and white. 
Brighter plumes may greet the sun 
By tho banks of Amazon ; 
Sweeter tones may weave the spell 
Of enchanting Philomel ; 
But tho tropic bird woidd fail. 
And the English nightingale. 
If we should compare their worth 
With thine endless, gushing mirth. 

When tho ides of May are past, 
June and Sunmior ncaring fast. 
While from depths of blue above 
Comes the mighty breath of love. 
Calling out each bud and flower 
With resistless, secret power,— 
AYaking hope and fond desire, 
Kindling the erotic fire, — 
Filling youths' and maidens' dreams 
With mysterious, pleasing themes ; 
Then, amid the sunlight clear 
Floating in tlie fragrant air. 
Thou dost till each heart with pleasure 
By thy glad ecstatic measure. 

A smgle note, so sw^eet and low, 
Like a fall heart's overflow, 
Forms the prelude ; but the strain 
Gives no such tone again, 
For the wild and saucy song 
Leaps and skips the notes among. 
With sucli (piick and sportive play, 
Ne'er was madder, merrier lay. 

Gayest songster of the Spring ! 
Thy melodies before mo bring 
Visions of sonio dream-built land. 
Where, by constant zephyrs fanned, 
I might walk the livelong day. 
Embosomed in perpetual May. 
Nor care nor fear thy bosom knows ; 
For thee a tempest never blows ; 



THE CUCKOO. 



23 



But when our northern Summer 's o'er, 
By Delaware's or Schuylkill's shore 
The wild rice lifts its airy head, 
And royal feasts for thee are spread. 
And when the Winter threatens there. 
Thy tireless wings yet own no fear. 
But bear thee to more southern coasts, 
Far beyond the reach of frosts. 

Bobohnk ! still may thy gladness 
Take from me all taints of sadness ; 
Fill my soul with trust unshaken 
In that Being who has taken 
Care for every living thing, 
In Suramer, "Winter, Fall, and Spring. 

Thomas Hill. 



TO THE CUCKOO. 

Hail, beauteons stranger of the grove! 

Thou messenger of Spring ! 
Now heaven repairs thy rural seat, 

And woods thy welcome sing. 

Soon as the daisy decks the green, 

Thy certain voice we hear. 
Ilast thou a star to guide thy path, 

Or mark the rolling year ? 

Delightful distant ! with thee 

I hail the time of flowers. 
And. hear the sound of music sweet 

From bu'ds among the bowers. 

The schoolboy, wandering through the wood 

To pull the primrose gay. 
Starts, thy most curious voice to hear. 

And imitates thy lay. 

What time the pea puts on the bloom, 

Thou fliest thy vocal vale. 
An annual guest in other lands. 

Another Spring to hail. 

Sweet biixl ! thy bower is ever green. 

Thy sky is ever clear ; 
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, 

Ko Winter in thy year ! 

Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee! 

We 'd make, with joyful wing. 
Our annual visit o'er the globe. 

Attendants on the Spring. 

John Logan. 



TO THE CUCKOO. 

BLITHE new-comer ! I have heard, 

1 hear thee and rejoice. 

Cuckoo ! shall I call thee bird. 
Or but a wandering voice? 

While I am lying on the grass, 
Thy twofold shout I hear ; 
From hill to hill it seems to pass, 
At once far oft', and near. 

Though babbling only to the vale. 
Of sunshine and of flowers, 
Thon bringest imto me a tale 
Of visionary hom-s. 

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring ! 

Even yet thou art to me 

No bu'd, but an invisible thing, 

A voice, a mystery ; 

The same that in my school-boy days 

1 listened to — that cry 

Which made me look a thousand ways. 
In bush, and tree, and sky. 

To seek thee did I often rove 
Through woods and on the green ; 
And thou wert stiU a hope, a love — 
Still longed for, never seen. 

And I can listen to thee yet ; 
Can lie upon the plain 
And listen till I do beget 
That golden time again. 

O blessed bird ! the earth we pace. 
Again appears to be 
An unsubstantial, faery place. 
That is fit home for thee ! 

Wn.T.TAM 'WoEDawor.TU. 



THE CUCKOO AND THE NIGHTIN- 
GALE. 

I. 

The God of Love, — aTi henedicite ! 
How mighty and how great a lord is ho ! 
For ho of low hearts can make high ; of high 
He can make low, and unto death bring nigh ; 
And hard hearts, he can make them kind and 
free. 



24 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



WitHn a little time, as liatli been found, 

Ee can make sick folk whole and fresh and 

sound : 
Them who are whole in body and in mind, 
He can make sick ; bind can he and unbind 
All that he will have bound, or have unbound. 



To tell his might my wit may not suffice ; 
Foohsh men he can make them out of wise — 
For he may do all that he will devise ; 
Loose livers he can make abate their vice, 
And proud hearts can make tremble in a trice. 

IT. 

In brief, the whole of what he will he may ; 
Against liim dare not any wight say nay ; 
To humlile or alBict whome'er ho wUl, 
To gladden or to grieve, he hath like skill ; 
But most his might he sheds on the eve of 
May. 

V. 

For every true heart, gentle heart and free, 
That with him is, or thinketh so to be, 
Now, against May, shall have some stirring, — • 

whether 
To joy, or be it to some mourning ; never. 
At other time, methinks, in like degi-ee. 



For now, when they may hear the small birds' 

song. 
And see the budding leaves the branches 

throng, 
This unto their remembrance doth bring 
All kinds of pleasure, mixed with sorrowing ; 
jVnd longing of sweet thoughts that ever long. 



And of that longing heaviness doth come, 
Whence oft great ackness grows of heart and 

home; 
Sick are they all for lack of their desire ; 
And thus in May their hearts are set on fire, 
So that they bm-n forth iu great mai-tyrdom. 



In sooth, I speak from feeling ; what though 

now 
Old am I, and to genial pleasure slow ; 



Yet have I felt of sickness through the May, 
Both hot and cold, and heai't-aches every 

day,— 
How hard, alas ! to beai-, I only know. 



Such shaking doth the fever in me keep 
Through all this May, that I have httle sleep; 
And also 't is not likely unto me. 
That any li\ing heart should sleepy bo. 
In which Love's dart its flcry point doth steep. 



But tossing lately on a sleepless bed, 
I of a token thought, which lovers heed : 
IIow among them it was a common tale, 
That it was good to hear the nightingale 
Ere the vile cuckoo's note be uttered. 



And then I thought anon, as it was day, 
I gladly would go somewhere to essay 
If I perchance a nightingale might hear ; 
For yet had I heard none, of all that year ; 
And it was then the third night of the May. 



And soon as I a gUmpso of day espied. 

No longer would I in my bed abide ; 

But straightway to a wood, that was ha:'d by, 

Forth did I go, alone and fearlessly, 

i\jid held the pathway down by a brook-side ; 

xni. 
TiU to a lawn I came, all white and green ; 
I in so fiiir a one had never been : 
The ground was green, with daisy powdered 

over; 
Tall were the flowers, the grove a lofty cover, 
All green and white, and nothing else was 

seen. 

xrv. 
There sat I down among the fair, fresh 

flowers. 
And saw the birds come tripping from their 

bowers, 
Where they had rested them all night ; and 

they, 
Who were so joyful at the light of day, 
Began to honor May with all their powers. 



THE CUCKOO AND THE NIGHTINGALE. 



25 



Well did they know that service all hy rote ; 
And there was many and many a lovely note — 
Some, singing loud, as if they had complained ; 
Some with their notes another manner feigned ; 
jVnd some did sing all out with the full throat. 



They pruned themselves, and made themselves 

right gay. 
Dancing and leaping light upon the spray ; 
And ever two and two together were, 
The same as they had chosen for the year. 
Upon Saint Valentine's returning day. 



Meanwhile the stream, whose bank I sat upon. 
Was making such a noise as it ran on. 
Accordant to the sweet birds' harmony ; 
Methought that it was the best melody 
Which ever to man's ear a passage won. 



And for delight, but how I never wot, 
I in a slumber and a swoon was caught. 
Not all asleep and yet not waking wholly ; 
And as I lay, the Cuckoo, bird unholy. 
Broke silence, or I heard him in my thought. 



And that was right upon a tree fast by, . 
And who was then ill satisfied but I ? 
Now God, quoth I, that died upon the rood. 
From thee and thy base throat keep all that 's 

good; 
Full little joy have I now of thy cry. 



And, as I with the Cuckoo thus 'gan chide, 
In the next bush that was me fast beside, 
I heard the lusty Nightingale so sing, 
That her clear voice made a loud rioting. 
Echoing through all the greenwood wide. 



Ah ! good sweet Nightingale ! for my heart's 

cheer. 
Hence hast thou stayed a little while too long ; 
For we have had the sorry Cuckoo here, 
And she hath been before thee with her song ; 
Evil hght on her 1 she hath done me wrong. 



But hear you now a wondrous thing, I pray ; 
As long as in that swooning-fit I lay, 
Methought I wist right well what these birds 

meant. 
And had good knowing both of their intent. 
And of their speech, and all that they would 

say. 

XTTTT. 

The Nightingale thus in my hearing spake : — 
Good Cuckoo, seek some other bush or brake, 
And, prithee, let us, that can sing, dwell here ; 
For every mght eschews thy song to hear. 
Such uncouth singing verily dost thou make. 

XXIV. 

Wliat ! quoth she then, what is 't that ails thee 

now ? 
It seems to me I sing as well as thou ; 
For mine's a song that is both true and 

plain, — 
Although I cannot quaver so in vain 
As thou dost in thy throat, I wot not how. 



AH men may understanding have of rac. 
But, Nightingale, so may they not of thee ; 
For thou hast many a foohsh and quaint 

cry: — 
Thou sayest Osee, Osee, then how may I 
Have knowledge, I thee pray, what this may 

be? 

XXVT. 

Ah ! fool, quoth she, wist thou not what it is ? 
Oft as I say Osee, Osee, I wis. 
Then moan I, that I should be wondrous fain 
That shamefully they one and all were slam, 
Whoever against Love mean aught amiss. 

xxvn. 
And also would I that they all were dead. 
Who do not thmk in love their hfe to lead. 
For who is loth the God of Love to obey 
Is only fit to die, I dare well say ; 
And for that cause Osee I cry ; take heed ! 



Ay, quoth the Cuckoo, that is a quaint law— 
That all must love or die ; but I withdraw. 
And take my leave of all such company. 



26 



POEMS OF NATUKE. 



For my intent it neitlicr is to die, 

Nor ever wLUo I live Love's yoke to draw. 

XXIS. 

For lovers, of all folk that be alive. 
The most disquiet have, and least do thrive ; 
Most feeUng have of sorrow, woe, and care. 
And the least welfai-o cometh to their share ; 
What need is there against the truth to 
strive? 

XXX. 

"What ! quoth she, thou art all out of thy mind. 
That, in thy churlishness, a cause canst find 
To speak of Love's true servants in this mood ; 
For in this world no service is so good. 
To every wight that gentle is of kind. 



For thereof comes all goodness and all worth ; 
And gcntiless and honor thence come forth ; 
Thence worship comes, content, and true 

heart's pleasure. 
And full-assured trust, joy without measure. 
And jollity, fresh cheerfulness, and mirth; 



And bounty, lowliness, and courtesy, 
And seemlincss, and fiiithful company. 
And dread of shame that will not do amiss ; 
For lie that faithfully Love's servant is, 
Rather than bo disgraced, would chuse to die. 

XXXIII. 

And that the very truth it is which 1 
Now say, — in such liclief I '11 live and die ; 
And, Ouckoo, do thou so, by my advice. 
Then, quoth she, let mo never hope for bliss, 
If with that counsel I do e'er comply. 

xxxrv. 
Good Nightingale! thou speakest wondrous 

fair. 
Yet, for all that, the truth is found elsewhere ; 
For Love in young folk is but rage, I wis. 
And Love in old folk a great dotage is ; 
"Who most it useth, him 't wUl most impair. 

XXST. 

For thereof come all contraries to gladness ; 
Thence sickness comes, and overwhelming- 
sadness, 



Mistrust and jealousy, despite, debate, 

Dishonor, shame, envy importunate. 

Pride, anger, mischief, poverty, and madness. 

XXXTI. 

Loving is aye an oifice of despair. 

And one tiling is therein wliich is not fair : 

For whoso gets of love a little bliss, 

Unless it always stay with him, I wis 

He m.iy full soon go with an old man's hair. 

XXXVII. 

And therefore. Nightingale! do thou keep 

nigh ; 
For, trust me well, in spite of thy quaint cry, 
K long time from thy mate thou be, or fiir, 
Thou 'It be as others that forsaken are ; 
Then shalt thou raise a clamor as do L 

XXXVIII. 

Fie, quoth she, on thy name, bird ill beseen ! 
The God of Love afflict thee with all teen. 
For thou art worse than mad a thousand-fold ; 
For many a one hath virtues manifold, 
"Who had been naught, if Love had never been. 

xxxix. 
For evermore his servants Love amendeth. 
And he from every blemish them defendeth: 
And maketli them to burn, as in a fire, 
In loyalty and worshipful desire ; 
And, when it likes him, joy enough them 
seiideth. 

XL. 

Thou Nightingale ! the Cuckoo said, be stiU, 
For Love no reason hath but his own will ; — 
For to th' untrue he oft gives ease and joy ; 
True lovers doth so bitterly annoy. 
He lets them perish through that grievous ill. 



"With such a master would I never be. 
For he, in sooth, is blind, and may not see. 
And knows not when he hurts and when he 

heals ; 
"Within his court full seldom truth avails, 
So diverse in his wUfulness is he. 



Then of the Nighting.ale did I take note — 
How from her inmost heart a sigh she brought, 



THE CUCKOO AND THE NIGHTINGALE. 



27 



And said : Alas that ever I was born ! 
Not one word Lave I now, I 'm so forlorn : 
And with that word, she into tears burst out. 



jMas, alas ! my very heart will break. 
Quoth she, to hear this churlish bird thus 

speak 
Of Love, and of his holy services ; 
Now, God of Love ! thou help me in some 

wise, 
That vengeance on this Cuckoo I may wreak. 



And so, methought, I started up anon, 
And to the brook I ran and got a stone, 
Which at the Cuckoo hardUy I cast. 
That he for di-ead did fly away full fast ; 
And glail, in sooth, was I when he was gone. 



And as ho flew, the Cuckoo, ever and aye, 
Kept crying: "Farewell! — farewell. Popin- 
jay!" 
As if in scornful mockery of me ; 
And on I hunted him from tree to tree, 
fill he was far, all out of sight, away. 



Then straightway came the Nightingale to me, 
.\nd said: Forsooth, my friend, do I thank 

thee. 
That thou wert near to rescue me ; and now 
Unto the God of Love I make a vow. 
That all this May I will thy songstress be. 



Well satisfied, I thanked her ; and she said : 
By this mishap no longer be dismayed. 
Though thou the Cuckoo heard, ere thou 

heard 'st me ; 
Yet if I live it shall amended be, 
Wlien next May comes, if I am not afraid. 



And one thing will I counsel thee also : 

Tlie Cuckoo trust not thou, nor his Love's saw ; 

All that he said is an outrageous he. 

Nay, nothing shall me bring thereto, quoth I, 

For Love and it hath done me mighty woe. 



Yea, hath it ? Use, quoth she, this medicine : 
This May-time, every day before thou dine. 
Go look on the fresh daisy ; then say I, 
Although, for pain, thou mayst be like to die. 
Thou wilt be eased, and loss wilt droop and 
pine. 

1. 
And mind always that thou be good and true. 
And I will sing one song, of many new, 
For love of thee, as loud as I may cry. 
And then did she begin this song fidl high, 
" Beshi-ew all them that are in love untrue." 



And soon as she had sung it to an end, 
Now forewell, quoth she, for I hence must 

wend ; 
And, God of Love, that can right well and 

may. 
Send unto thee as micklo joy this day. 
As ever he to lover yet did send. 



Thus takes the Nightingale her leave of mo ; 
I pray to God with her always to be, 
And joy of love to send her evermore ; 
And shield us from the Cuckoo and her lore. 
For there is not so false a bird as she. 



Forth then she flew, the gentle Nightingale, 
To all the birds that lodged within that dale. 
And gathered each and all into one place. 
And them besought to hear her doleful case ; 
And thus it was that she began her tale : 



The Cuckoo, — 't is not well that I should 

hide 
How she and I did each the other chide. 
And without ceasing, since it was dayUght ; 
And now I pray you all to do me right 
Of that false bird, whom Love cannot abide. 



Then spake one bird, and fall assent all gave : 
This matter asketh counsel good as grave ; 
For birds we are — all here together brought ; 
And, in good sooth, the Cuckoo here is not ; 
And therefore we a Parliament wUl have. 



28 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Ami thereat shall the Eagle bo oiir Lord, 
And other Peers whose names are on record. 

A suimiious to the Cuckoo shall he sent, 
And judgment there bo given; or, that intent 
Failiug, we finally sliall make accord. 



And all this shall be done, without a nay. 
The morrow after Saint Valentine's da}'. 
Under a raajile that is well beseen 
Before the chamber-window of the Quoen, 
At Woodstock, on the meadow green and 
gay. 

LTIII. 

She thanked them; and then her leave she 

took. 
And flew into a hawthorn by that brook ; 
And there slie sat and simg, upon that tree, 
"For term of life Love shall have hold of 

me,"— 
So loudly, that I with that song awoke. 



Unlearned Book and rude, as well I know, — 
For beauty thou hast none, nor eloquence, — 
Who did on thee the hardiness bestow 
To appear before my Lady ? But a sense 
Thou surely hast of lier benevolence. 
Whereof her hourly bearing proof doth give ; 
For of all good she is the best alive. 

Alas, poor Book ! for thy unwortbiness 
To show to her some pleasant meanings, writ 
In winning words, since through her geutiless 
Thee she accepts a.s for her service fit ! 
Oh ! it repents me I have neitlier wit 
Nor leisure unto thee more worth to give ; 
For of all good she is the best alive. 

Beseech her meekly with all lowliness. 
Though I be far from her I reverence, 
To think upon my truth and steadfiistness ; 
And to abridge my sorrow's violence 
Caused by the wish, as knows your sapience. 
She of her liking proof to me would give ; 
For of all good she is the best alive. 

l'envot. 
Pleasure's Aurora, day of gladsomeness ! 
Lona by night, with heavenly influence 



Illumined ! root of beauty and goodness ! 

Write, and allay, by your beneficence, 

My sighs breathed forth in silence, — comfort 

give ! 

Since of all good you are the best alive. 

Geoffrey Ghauoee. 
Version of William Wordswokth. 



SONG. 



See, oh see! 

How every tree, 

Every bower. 

Every flower, 
A new life gives to others' joys ; 

Wliile that I 

Grief-stricken lie, 

Nor can meet 

With any sweet 
But what faster mine destroys. 
What are all the senses' pleasures. 
When the mind has lost all measm-es ? 

Hear, oh hear ! 

How sweet and clear 

The nightingale 

And water's fall 
In concert join for others' ear ; 

While to me. 

For harmony. 

Every air 

Echoes despair, 
And every drop provokes a tear. 
What are all the senses' pleasures, 
When the soul has lost idl measures ? 

Lord Bristol. 



THE GREEN LINNET. 

Beneath these fruit-tree boughs, that shed 
Their snow-white blossoms on my head. 
With brightest sunshine round me spread. 

Of Spring's unclouded wcatlier — 
In this sequsstered nook, how sweet 
To sit upon my orchard-seat ! 
And birds .and flowers once more to greet, 

My last year's fi-iends together. 

One have I mai-ked, the happiest guest 
In all this covert of the blest ; 



ARETHUSA. 



2SI 



Hail to thee, far above the rest 

In joy of voice and pinion ! 
Tlion, Linnet! in tliy greon array, 
Presiding sphit here to-day, 
Dost lead the revels of the May, 

And this is thy dominion. 

"While birds, and butterflies, and flowers 
ilake aU one band of paramours, 
Tliou, ranging up and down the bowers. 

Art sole in thy employment ; 
A life, a presence like the air, 
Scattering thy gladness without care. 
Too blest with any one to pair — 

Thyself thy own enjoyment. 

Amid yon tuft of hazel-trees, 
That twinkle to the gusty breeze. 
Behold him perched in ecstasies, 

Yet seeming stiU to hover ; 
There ! where the flutter of his 'wings 
Upon his back and body flings 
Shadows and sunny glimmerings, 

That cover him all over. 

My dazzled sight he oft deceives — 
A brotlier of the dancing leaves — 
Tlien flits, and from the cottage-eaves 

Pours forth a song in gushes ; 
jVs if by that exulting strain 
lie mocked, and treated with disdain 
Tlie voiceless form ho chose to feign, 

While fluttering in the bushes. 

William Wordswoeth. 



THE BLACK COOK 

GooD-MOBROw to thy sable beak. 
And glossy plumage, dark and sleek ; 
Tliy crimson moon and azure eye- 
Cock of the heath, so wildly shy ! 
I see thee slowly cowering tlirough 
That wiry web of silver dew, 
Tliat twinkles in the morning air 
Like casement of my lady fau'. 

A maid there is in yonder tower. 
Who, peeping from her early bower, 
Half shows, like tliee, with simple wUe, 
Uer braided hair and morning smile. 



The rarest things, with wayward will. 
Beneath the covert hide them stUl ; 
The rarest things, to light of day 
Look sliortly forth, and break away. 

One fleeting moment of dehght 
I warmed me in her cheering sight ; 
And short, I ween, the time wiU be 
That I shall parley hold with thee. 
Through Snowden's mist, red beams the day ; 
The climbing herd-boy chants his lay ; 
The gnat-flies dance their sunny ring ; 
Thou art already on the wing. 

JOAN.NA BilLLIE. 



APvETHDSA. 

Aretdusa arose 

From her couch of snows 
In tlie Acroceraunian mountains, — 

From cloud and from crag 

With many a jag, 
Shepherding her bright fountains. 

She leapt down the rocks 

With her rainbow locks 
Streaming among the streams; — 

Her steps paved with green 

The downward ravine 
Which slopes to the western gleams : 

And, gliding and springing. 

She went, ever singing 
In murmurs as soft as sleep ; 

The Earth seemed to love her, 

And Heaven smiled above her. 
As she lingered towards the deep. 

Then Alpheus bold. 

On ills glacier cold. 
With his trident the mountains strook ; 

And opened a chasm 

In the rocks ; — with the spasm 
AU Erymanthus shook. 

And tlie black south wind. 

It concealed behind 
The urns of the silent snow, 

And earthquake and thunder 

Did rend in sunder 
The bars of the springs below ; 

The beard and the hair 

Of the river-god were 
Seen through the torrent's sweep. 



30 POEMS OF NATURE. 


As he followed the hght 


At noontide they flow 


Of the fleet nymph's flight 


Through the woods below, 


To the briak of tlie Dorian doop. 


And the meadows of asphodel ; 




And at uiglit they sleep 


" Oh, save me ! Oh, guide me ! 


In the rocking deep 


And bid the deep hide me. 


Beneath the Ortygian shore ; — 


For lie grasps mo now by the hair ! " 


Like spirits that lie 


The loud Ocean heard, 


In the azure sky, 


To its blue depth stirred, 


When they love but live no more. 


And diWded at her prayer ; 


Percy Bysbue Shelley. 


And under the water 




Tlie Earth's white daughter 




Fled like a sunny beam ; 


TFR FOUNTAIN. 


JSohind her descended 




Uor billows, unblended 


Into the sunshine. 


AVith the brackish Dorian stream. 


Full of light. 


Like a gloomy stain 


Leaping and flashing 


On the emerald main. 


From morn till night ; 


Alpheiis rushed behind, — 


Into the moouUght, 


As an eagle pursuing 


Whiter than snow, 


A dove to its ruin 


Waving so flower-like, 


Down the streams of the cloudy wind. 


When the winds blow ! 


Under the bowers 


Into the starlight. 


Where the ocean powers 


Rushing in spray. 


Sit on their pearled thrones ; 


Happy at midnight — 


Through the coral woods 


Happy by day ! 


Of the weltering floods. 




Over heai)s of unvalued stones ; 


Ever in motion, 


Through the dim beams 


Blithesome and cheery, 


Which amid the streams 


Still climbing heavenwai'd, 


Weave a network of colored light ; 


Never aweary ; 


And uuder the caves. 


Glad of all weathers. 


Where the shadowy waves 


Still seeming best. 


Are as green as the forest's night — 


Upward or downwai'd, 


Outspeeding the shark, 


Motion thy rest : 


And the sword-fish dark. 




Under the ocean foam ; 


Full of a nature 


And up through the rifts 


Nothing can tame. 


Of the mountain clifts 


Changed every moment — 


They jnissed to their Dorian home. 


Ever the same ; 


And now from their fountains 


Ceaseless aspiring, 


In Enna's mountains. 


Ceaseless content, 


Down one vale where the morning basks, 


Darkness or sunshine, 


Like friends once parted. 


Thy clement; 


Grown single-hearted, 


Glorious fountain ! 


They ply their watery tasks. 


Let my heart be 


At sunrise they leap 


Fresh, changeful, constant, 


From their cradles steep 


Upward, like thee ! 


Li the cave of the shelving hill ; 


James Kussell Lowell. 







LITTLE STREAMS. 



SI 



LITTLE STREAMS. 

Little streams are light and shadow ; 
Flowing through the pasture meadow, 
Flowing hy the green way-side, 
Through the forest dim and wide, 
Through the hamlet still and small — 
By the cottage, by the hall. 
By the ruin'd abbey still ; 
Turning here and there a mill, 
Bearing tribute to the river — 
Little streams, I love you ever. 

Summer music is there flowing — 
Flowering plants in them are growing ; 
Ilappy life is in them all, 
Creatures innocent and small ; 
Little birds come down to drink, 
Fearless of their leafy brink ; 
Noble trees beside them grow, 
Glooming them with branches low ; 
And between, the sunshine, glancing 
In their little waves, is dancing. 

Little streams have flowers a many. 
Beautiful and fair as any; 
Typha strong, and green bur-reed ; 
Willow-herb, with cotton-seed; 
Arrow-head, with eye of jet ; 
And the water-violet. 
There the flowering-rush you meet. 
And the plumy meadow-sweet ; 
And, in places deep and stilly, 
Marble-like, the water-lily. 

Little streams, their voices cheery, 

Sound forth welcomes to the weary. 

Flowing on from day to day. 

Without stint and without stay ; 

Here, upon their flowery bank. 

In the old time pilgrims drank — 

Here have seen, as now, pass by, 

King-fisher, and dragon-fly; 

Those bright things that have their dwelling, 

Where the little streams are welling. 

Down in valleys green and lowly, 
Murmuring not and gliding slowly ; 
Up in mountain-hollows wild. 



Fretting like a peevish child ; 
Through the hamlet, where all day 
In their waves the children play ; 
Running west, or running east, 
Doing good to man and beast — 
Always giving, weary never. 
Little streams, I love you ever. 

Mart Howitt, 



THE WATER! THE WATER ! 

The Water! the Water! 

The joyous brook for me. 
That tuneth through the quiet night 

Its ever-living glee. 
The Water! the Water! 

That sleepless, merry heart, 
Whicli gurgles on unstintedly. 

And loveth to impart, 
To all around it, some small measure 
Of its own most perfect pleasure. 

The Water ! the Water ! 

The gentle stream for me. 
That gushes from the old gray stone, 

Beside the alder-tree. 
The Water! the Water! 

That ever-bubbling spring 
I loved and looked on while a child. 

In deepest wondering, — 
And asked it whence it came and went, 
And when its treasures would be spent. 

The Water! the Water! 

The merry, wanton brook 
That bent itself to pleasure me. 

Like mine old shepherd crook. 
The Water! the Water! 

That sang so sweet at noon. 
And sweeter still all night, to win 

Smiles from the pale, proud moon. 
And from the little fauy faces 
That gleam in heaven's remotest places. 

The Water ! the Water ! 

The dear and blessed thing. 
That all day fed the little flowers 

On its banks blossoming. 



82 POEMS or 


NATURE. 


The Water ! the Water ! 




That murruured in my ear 


SONG OF THE BROOK. 


Hymns of a saint-like purity, 




That angels well might hear, 


I COME from haunts of coot and hern : 


And whisper in the gates of heaven, 


I make a sudden sally 


IIow meek a pilgrim liad been shriven. 


And sparkle out among the fern. 




To bicker down a valley. 


The Water 1 the Water ! 




Where I have shed salt tears. 


By thirty hills I hurry down. 


111 hineliness and friendliness. 


Or slip between the ridges ; 


A thing of tender years. 


By twenty thorps, a little town. 


The Water! the Water! 


And half a hundred bridges. 


Where I have happy been. 




And showered upon its bosom flowers 


Till last by Philip's farm I flow 


Culled from each meadow green ; 


To join the brimming river ; 


And idly hoped my life would be 


For men may come and men may go, 


So crowned by love's idolatry. 


But I go on for ever. 


The WAter! the Water! 


I chatter over stony ways, 


My heart yet burns to think 


In little sharps and trebles ; 


How cool thy fountain sparkled fortJi, 


I bubble into eddying bays, 


For parched lip to drink. 


I babble on the pebbles. 


The Water I the Water ! 




Of mine own native glen — 


With many a curve my banks I fret 


The gladsome tongue I oft have hoard. 


By many a field and fallow. 


But ne'er shall hear again, 


And many a fairy foreland set 


Though fancy fills my ear for aye 


With willow-weed and mallow. 


With sounds that live so far away 1 






I chatter, chatter, as I flow 


The Water! the Water! 


To join the brimming river ; 


The mild and glassy wave. 


For men may come and men may go, 


Upon whoso broomy banks I 've longed 


But I go on for ever. 


To find my silent grave. 




The Water! the Water! 


I wind about, and in and out, 


O, blest to me thou art ! 


With here a blossom sailing, 


Thus sounding in life's solitude 


And here and there a lusty trout. 


The music of my heart. 


And here and there a grayling. 


And filling it, despite of sadness. 


And here and there a foamy flake 


With drcamings of departed gladness. 


Upon me, as I travel. 


The Water! the Water! 


With many a silvery waterbreak 
Above the golden gravel ; 


The mournful, pensive tone 




That whispered to my heart how soon 


And draw them all along, and flow 


This weary life was done. 


To join the brimming river ; 


The Water ! the Water ! 


For men may come and men may go, 


That rolled so bright and free. 


But I go on for ever. 


And bade me mark how beautiful 




Was its soul's purity ; 


I steal by lawns and grassy plots ; 


And how it glanced to heaven its wave. 


I slide by hazel covers ; 


As, wandering on, it sought its grave. 


I move the sweet forget-me-nots 


William Motoerwell. 


That grow for happy lovers. 



NATURE. 33 


I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance. 


And flowers azure, black and streaked with 


Among my skimming swallows , 


gold. 


I make the netted sunbeam dance 


Fairer than any wakened eyes behold. 


Against my sandy shallows. 






And nearer to the river's trembling edge. 


I murmur under moon and stars 


There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prankt 


In brambly wildernesses ; 


with white ; 


I linger by my shingly bars; 


And starry river buds among the sedge 


I loiter round my cresses ; 


And floating water-lilies, broad and bright. 




Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge 


And out again I curve and flow 


With moonlight beams of their own watery 


To join the brimming river; 


light; 


For men may come and men may go, 


And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green 


But I go on for ever. 


As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. 


Altked Teshtson. 






Methought that of these visionary flowers 
I made a nosegay, bound in such a way 






That the same hues, which in their natural 


THE QUESTION. 


bowers 




Were mingled or opposed, the like array 


I DREAMED that, as I wandered by the way. 


Kept these imprisoned children of the Ilours 


Bare Winter was changed suddenly to Spring, 


Within my hand — and then, elate and gay. 


And gentle odors led my steps astray, 


I hastened to the spot whence I had come. 


Mixed with the sound of waters murmuring. 


That I might there present it! Oh to whom? 


Along a shelvy bank of turf, which lay 


Peecy Bysshe Shelley. 


Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling 




Its green arms round the bosom of the stream. 


__., 


But kissed it and then fled, as thou mightest 


' 


in a dream. 


NATURE. 


Tliere grew pied wind-flowers and violets. 


The bubbling brook doth leap when I come by. 


Daisies — those pearled Arcturi of the earth. 


Because my feet find measure with its call ; 


The constellated flower that never sets ; 


The birds know when the friend they love is 


Faint oxlips ; tender blue-bells, at whose 


nigh. 


birth 


For I am known to them, both great and 


The sod scarce heaved ; and that tall flower 


small. 


that wets 


The flower that on the lonely hill-side grows 


Its mother's face with heaven-coUected tears. 


Expects mo there when Spring its bloom has 


"When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it 


given ; 


hears. 


And many a tree and bush my wanderings 




knows. 


And in the warm hedge grew bush-eglantine. 


And e'en the clouds and silent stars of hea- 


(ireen cow-bind and the moonlight-colored 


ven; 


May; 


For he who with his Maker walks aright, 


And cherry-blossoms, and white caps whose 


ShaU be their lord as Adam was before ; 


wine 


His ear shall catch each sound with new de- 


Was the bright dew yet drained not by the 


light. 


day; 


Each object wear the dress that then it wore ; 


And wild roses, and ivy serpentine 


And he, as when erect in soul he stood. 


With its dark bnds and leaves wandering 


Hear from his Father's lips that all is good. 


astray ; 

4 


JoNE9 Very. 







34 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



TO TIIE SMALL CELANDINE. 

Pansies, lilies, kini^cups, daisies ; 
Let them live upon their praises ; 
Long as there's a sun that sets, 
Primroses will have their glory; 
Long as there are violets. 
They -will have a place in story: 
There's a flower that shall be mine, 
'Tis the little Celandine. 

Eyes of some men travel far 
For the iiuding of a star ; 
Up and down the heavens they go. 
Men that keep a mighty rout ! 
I 'm as groat as they, I trow. 
Since the day I found thee out, 
Little flower ! — I '11 make a stir, 
Like a sage astronomer. 

Modest, yet withal an elf 
Bold, and lavish of thyself; 
Since we needs must first have met, 
I have seen thee, high and low, 
Thirty years or more, and yet 
'Twas a face I did not know; 
Thou hast now, go where I may, 
Fifty greetings in a day. 

Ere a leaf is on a bush. 

In the time boforo the thrush 

lias a thought about her nest, 

Thou wilt come with h.alf a call, 

Spreading out thy glossy breast 

Like a careless i)rodigal ; 

Telling tales about the sun, 

When we've little warmth, or none. 

Poets, vain men in their mood, 
Travel with the midtitnde ; 
Never heed them ; I aver 
That they all are wanton wooers ; 
lint the thrifty cottager, 
Who stirs little out of doors, 
Joys to spy thee near at home ; 
Spring is coming, thou ai't come 1 

Comfort have thou of thy merit, 
Kindly, un.issuming spirit! 



Careless of thy neighborhood. 
Thou dost show tliy jilcasant face 
On the moor, and in the wood, 
In the lane ; — there 's not a place, 
Howsoever mean it be. 
But 't is good enough for thee. 

Ill befall the yellow flowers. 
Children of the flaring Hours ! 
Buttercups, that will be seen, 
Whether we will see or no; 
Others, too, of lofty mien ; 
They have done as worldlings do, 
Taken jiraise that should be thine. 
Little, Immble Celandine. 

Prophet of delight and mirth, 
Ill-requited upon earth; 
Herald of a mighty band, 
Of a joyous train ensuing; 
Serving at my heart's command. 
Tasks that are no tasks renewing, 
I will sing, as doth behoove, 
Hymns iu praise of what I love ! 

AViLUAM WOBDBWOBTB 



TO VIOLETS. 

Welcome, maids of honor, 

You do bring 

In the Spring, 
And wait ui)on her. 

She has virgins many. 

Fresh and fair ; 

Yet you are 
More sweet than auy. 

Y' are the Maiden Posies, 

And so graced, 

To be placed, 
'Fore damask roses. 

Y'ct though thus respected, 

By and by 

Ye do lie, 
Poor girls, neglected. 

KOBERT ITekRIOK 



FLOWERS. 



TO PRIMROSES, 

FILLED TTITH MOENINft DEW. 

WnY do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears 
Speak grief in you, 
AVho were but born 
Just as the modest morn 
Teemed ber refreshing dew ? 
Alas ! ye have not known that shower 
Tliat mars a flower; 
Nor felt th' unkind 
Breath of a blasting wind ; 
Kor are ye worn with years ; 
Or warped, as we. 
Who think it strange to see 
Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young. 
Speaking by tears before ye have a tongue. 

Speak, whimpering younglings, and make 
known 
The reason why 
Ye droop and weep. 
Is it for want of sleep. 
Or childish lullaby? 
Or, that ye liave not seen as yet 
The violet? 
Or brought a kiss 
From that sweetheart to this ? 
No, no ; this sorrow, shown 
By your tears shed, 
AV'ould have this lecture read : — 
"That things of greatest, so of meanest worth. 
Conceived with grief are, and with tears 
brought forth." 

BOBERT HeRKIOK. 



'T is pity Nature brought ye forth, 
Merely to show your worth. 
And lose you quite. 

But you are lovely loaves, where we 
May read how soon things have 
Their end, though ne'er so brave; 

And, after they have shown their prido 

Like you awhile, they glide, 

Into the gi-ave. 

Egbert Herbick 



TO BLOSSOMS. 

Faiii pledges of a fruitful tree. 
Why do ye fall so fast 2 
Your date is not so past 

But you may stay yet here awhile 
To blush and gently smile. 
And go at last. 

What! were ye born to be 
An hour or half's delight. 
And so to bid good-night? 



TO DAFFODILS. 

Fair daffodils ! we weep to see 

You haste away so soon ; 
As yet the early-rising sun 

Has not attained his noon : 
Stay, stay 

Until the hastening day 
lias run 

But to the even-song ; 
And, having prayed together, we 

Will go with you along. 

We liave short time to stay as yon , 

We have as short a Spring; 
As quick a growth to meet decay, 

As you, or any thing : 
We die. 

As your hours do ; and dry 
Away 

Like to the summer's rain, 
Or as the pearls of morning dew, 

Ne'er to be found again. 

EOBEET IIeEBIOR. 



DAFFODILS. 

I WANDERED, lonely as a cloud 

That floats on high o'er vales and hUls, 

When all at once I saw a crowd — 

A host of golden daffodils 

Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine 
And twinkle on the milky way, 
They stretched in never-ending line 
Along the margin of a bay : 



.16 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Ten thousanil saw I, at a glance, 
Tossing tlicir Iieads in sprightly dance. 

Tlio waves beside tlieni danced, but they 

Outdid the sparkling waves in glee ; 

A poet could not but be gay. 

In such a jocund company ; 

I gazed — and gazed — but little thought 

■What wealth the show to me had brought: 

For oft, when on my couch I lie, 
In vacant or in pensive mood. 
They flash upon that inward eyo 
Which is the bliss of solitude, 
And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
And dances with the daffodils. 

WnLLAM WOEDSWOETH. 



Veiled from Nature's heart 
"With such unconscious grace as makes the 
dream of Art ! 

Were not mortal sorrow 
An immortal shade, 
Then would I to-morrow 
Such a flower be made, 
And live in the dear woods where my losi 

childhood played. 

EosK Teeey. 



TRAILING ARBUTUS. 

Daelinos of the forest ! 
Blossoming, alone. 
When Earth's grief is sorest 
For her jewels gone — 
Ere the last snow-drift melts, your tender 
buds have blown. 

Tinged with color faintly, 
Like the morning sky. 
Or, more pale and saintly, 
Wrapped in leaves ye lie — 
Even as children sleep in faith's simplicity. 

Tliere the wild wood-robin, 
Hymns j'our solitude ; 
And tlie rain comes sobbing 
Through the budding wood, 
Wliilo the low south wind sighs, but dare not 
be more rude. 

Were your pure lips fashioned 
Out of air and dew — 
Starlight unimpassioned, 
Dawn's most tender hue. 
And scented by the woods that gathered 
' sweets for you ? 

Fairest and most lonely, 
From the world apart; 
Made for beauty only, 



THE RHODORA. 

LINES ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE 18 THE 
FLOWER ? 

In May. when sea-winds pierced our soli- 
tudes, 
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods 
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, 
To please the desert and the sluggish brook : 
The purple petals fallen in tlie pool 
Made the black waters with their beauty 

gay- 
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to 

cool. 
And court the flower that cheapens his 
array. 
Rhodora ! if the sages ask thee why 
This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky 
Dear, tell them, that if eyes were made for 

seeing. 
Then beauty is its own excuse for being. 

Why thou wert there, rival of the rose ! 
I never thought to ask ; I never knew, 
But in my simple ignorance suppose 
The selfsame Power that brought mo there, 
brought you. 

Kalph Waldo Emeesos. 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

ON TUENINa ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOtJQH 
IN APEIL 1766. 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour ; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem : 
To spare thee now is past my power, 

Thou bonnie gem. 



THE DAISY. 



37 



Alas ! it 's no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonnie lark, companion meet. 
Bending thee 'niang the dewy weet 

VfV speckled breast, 
AVhen upward-springing, blithe, to greet 

The purpling east. 

Canld blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early, humble birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Amid the storm — • 
Scarce reared above the parent earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, 
Iligh shelt'ring woods and wa's maun 

shield ; 
But thou, beneath the random bield 

0' clod or stane, 
Adorns the liistio stibble-field, 

Unseen, alane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy snawie bosom sunward spread. 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise ; 
Bui now the share uptears thy bed. 

And low thou lies ! 

Such is the fate of artless maid. 
Sweet floweret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betrayed. 

And guileless trust, 
Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple bard. 

On life's rough ocean luckless starred ; 

Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore. 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er ! 

Such fate to suffering worth is given. 
Who long with wants and woes has striven, 
By human pride or cunning driven 

To misery's brink, 
Till, wrenched of every stay but Heaven, 

He, ruined, sink ! 



Even thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, 
That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
Stern ruin's ploughshare drives elate, 

Full on thy bloom. 
Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight 

Shall be thy doom ! 

EoBEET Burns. 



TO A DAISY. 

There is a flower, a little flower 
With silver crest and golden eye, 
That welcomes every changing hour, 
And weathers every sky. 

The prouder beauties of the field. 
In gay but quick succession shine ; 
Race after race their honors yield, 
They flourish and decline. 

But this small flower, to Nature dear, 
While moons and stars their courses run, 
Enwreathes the circle of the year, 
Companion of the sun. 

It smiles upon the lap of May, 
To sultry August spreads its charm, 
Lights pale October on his way, 
And twines December's arm. 

The purple heath and golden broom. 
On moory mountains catch the gale ; 
O'er lawns the lily sheds perfume, 
The violet in tlie vale. 

But this bold floweret climbs the hill, 
Hides in the forest, haunts the glen. 
Plays on the margin of the rill. 
Peeps round the fox's den. 

Within the garden's cultured round 
It shares the sweet carnation's bed ; 
And blooms on consecrated ground 
In honor of the dead. 

The lambkin crops its crimson gem ; 
Tlie wild bee murmurs on its breast ; 
The blue-fly bends its pensile stem. 
Light o'er the skylark's nest. 



ss 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



'Tis Flora's page — in every place, 
In every season, fresh and fair ; 
It opens with perennial grace, 
And blossoms every where. 

On waste and woodland, rock and plain, 
Its humble buds unheeded rise ; 
The rose has but a summer reign ; 
The Daisy never dies ! 

James Montqoubrt. 



TO THE DAISY. 



Tier divino skill taught me this: 
That from ovcry thing I sftw 
I coiUd 801110 instruction draw, 
And raiso pleasure to the height 
Through the meanest object's sight. 
By the murmur of a spring, 
Or the least bough's rustelling ; 
By a daisy whose leaves spread 
Shut when Tit.in goes to bed; 
Or a shady bush or tree, 
Silo could more infuse in me, 
Than all Nature's beauties can 
In some other wiser man. 

Geokge 'Wituek. 



In' youth from rock to rock I went. 
From hill to hill, in discontent 
Of pleasure high and turbulent — 

Most pleased when most uneasy ; 
But now my own delights I make, 
My thirst at every rill can slake, 
And gladly Nature's love partake, 

Of thee, sweet Daisy ! 

Thee, 'Winter iu the garland wears 
That thinly decks his few gray hairs ; 
Spring parts the clouds with softest airs. 

That she may snn thee ; 
AThole summor-tiolds .are thine by right; 
And Autumn, melancholy wight, 
Doth in thy crimson head delight 

When rains are on thee. 

In shoals and bands, a morrice train. 
Thou greet 'st the traveller in tlie lane ; 
Pleased at his, greeting thee again. 

Yet nothing daunted 
Nor grieved, if thou be set at naught ; 



And oft alone iu nooks remote 
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought 
When such are wanted. 

Be violets in their sacred mews 

The flowers the wanton zephyrs choose ; 

Proud be the rose, with rains and dews 

Her head impearling ; 
Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim. 
Yet liast not gone without thy fame ; 
Thou art indeed by many a claim 

The poet's d.arling. 

If to a rock from rains he fly. 
Or, some bright day of April sky, 
Imprisoned by hot sunshine, lie 

Near the green holly, 
And wearily at length should fare ; 
He needs but look about, and there 
Thou art ! — a friend at hand, to scare 

His melancholy. 

A hundred times, by rock or bower. 
Ere tlms I have lain couched an hour. 
Have I derived from thy sweet power 

Some apprehension ; 
Some steady love ; some brief delight ; 
Some memory that had taken flight ; 
Some chime of fancy, wrong or right ; 

Or stray invention. 

If stately passions in me burn. 

And one ch.nnce look to thee should turn, 

I drink out of an humbler urn 

A lowlier pleasure ; 
The homely sympathy that lieeds 
The common life our nature breeds ; 
A wisdom fitted to the needs 

Of hearts at leisure. 



Fresh-smitten by the morning ray, 
When thou art up, alert and gay. 
Then, cheerful flower ! my spirits play 

With kindred gladness ; 
And when, at dusk, by dews opprest, 
Thou sink'st, the image of thy rest 
Hnth often eased my pensive breast 

Of careful sadness. 



THE DAISY. 39 


And all day long I number yet, 


A little Cyclops with one eye 


All seasons through, another debt, 


Staring to threaten and defy, 


Which I, wherever thou art met. 


That thought comes next, — and instantly 


To theo am owing ; 


The freak is over ; 


An instinct call it, a blind sense ; 


The shape will vanish, — and behold 


A happy, genial influence. 


A silver shield with boss of gold 


Coming one knows not how, nor whence. 


That spreads itself, some fairy bold 


Nor whither going. 


In fight to cover. 


Child of the year ! that round dost rmi 


I see thee glittering from afar,— 


Thy pleasant course, — when day 's begun, 


And then thou art a pretty star ; 


As ready to salute the sun 


Not quite so fair as many are 


As lark or leveret — 


In heaven above thee ! 


Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain, 


Yet like a star, with glittering crest. 


Nor bo less dear to fnturo men 


Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest ; — 


Than in old time ; — thou not in vaiu 


May peace come never to his nest. 


Art Nature's favorite. 


Who shall reprove theo ! 




Bright flower ! for by that name at last. 




When all my reveries are past, 




I call thee, and to that cleave fast, — 




Sweet, silent creature ! 


TO THE SAME FLOWEB. 


That breath'st with me in sun and air. 




Do thou, as thou art wont, repair 


With little here to do or see 


My heart with gladness and a share 


Of things that in the great world be 


Of thy meek nature ! 


Daisy ! again I talk to thee, 


William Woedswoetil 


For thou art worthy ; — 




Thou unassuming commonplace 
Of Nature, with that homely face. 






And yet with something of a grace. 




Which love makes for thee ! 


SONG OF SPRING. 


Oft on the dappled turf at ease 


Laud the first Spring daisies ; 


I sit, and play with similes — 


Chaunt aloud their praises ; 


Loose types of things through all degrees, 


Send the children up 


Thoughts of thy raising ; 


To the high hill's top ; 


And many a fond and idle name 


Tax not the strength of their young hands 


I give to thee, for praise or blame, 


To increase your lands. 


As is the humor of the game, 


Gather the primroses. 


While I am gazing. 


Make handfuls into posies ; 




Take them to the little girls who are at work 


A nun demure, of lowly port ; 


in mills : 


Or sprightly maiden of Love's court. 


Pluck the violets blue, — 


In thy simplicity the sport 


Ah, pluck not a few I 


Of all temptations ; 


Knowest thou what good thoughts from Hea- 


A queen in crown of rubies drest ; 


ven the violet instils? 


A starveling in a scanty vest ; 




Are all, as seems to suit thee best, 


Give the children holidays, 


Thy appellations. 


(And let these be jolly days. 



40 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Grant freedom to tho children in tliis joyous 

Spring ; 
Better men, hereafter, 
Shall we have, for laughter 
Freely shouted to the woods, till all the 

echoes ring. 
Send the children up 
To the high hill's top. 
Or deep into the wood's recesses, 
To woo Spring's caresses. 

See, the birds together, 

In this splendid weather. 

Worship God— (for he is God of birds as 

well as men) : 
And each feathered neighbor 
Enters on his labor, — 
Sparrow, robin, redpole, finch, the linnet, 

and the wren. 
As the year advances. 
Trees their naked branches 
Clothe, and seek your pleasure in their green 

apparel. 
Insect and wild beast 
Keep no Lent, but feast ; 
Spring breathes upon the earth, and their 

joy 's increased. 
And the rejoicing birds break forth in one 

loud carol. 

Ah, come and woo the Spring ; 

List to the birds that sing ; 

Pluck tho primroses ; pluck the violets ; 

Pluck the daisies, 

Sing their praises ; 

Friendsliip with tho flowers some noble 

thought begets. 
Come forth and gather these sweet elves, 
(More witching are they than the fays of 

old,) 
Come forth and gather them yourselves ; 
Learn of these gentle flowers whoso worth 

is more than gold. 

Come, come into the wood ; 

Pierce into tho bowers 

Of these gentle flowers, 

Wliich, not in solitude 

Dwell, but with each other keep society : 

Aud with a simple piety. 



Are ready to be woven into garlands for tht 

good. 
Or, upon summer earth. 
To die, in virgin worth ; 
Or to be strewn before the bride, 
And the bridegroom, by her side. 

Come forth on Sundays ; 

Come forth on Mondays ; 

Come forth on any day ; 

Children, come forth to jday : — 

"Worship the God of Nature in yonr child- 
hood ; 

Worship Him at your tasks with best en- 
deavor ; 

Worship Him in your sports ; worship lliin 
ever; 

Worship Ilim in tho wildwood ; 

Worship Him amidst the flowers ; 

In the greenwood bowers ; 

Pluck tho buttercups, and raise 

Tour voices in His praise ! 

Edward Youl. 



THE BROOM-FLOWEE. 

On the Broom, the yellow Broom, 

The ancient poet sung it. 
And dear it is on summer days 
To lie at rest among it. 

I know the realms where people say 
The flowers have not their fellow ; 

I know where they shine out like suns, 
Tho crimson and the yellow. 

I know where ladies live enchained 

In luxury's silken fetters. 
And flowers as bright as glittering gems 

Are used for written letters. 

But ne'er was flower so fair as this. 

In modern days or olden ; 
It growetli on its nodding stem 

Like to a garland golden. 

And all about my mother's door 
Shine out its glittering bushes. 



FLOWERS. 41 


And down the glen, where clear as light 


The primrose to the grave is gone ; 


The mountain-water gushes. 


The hawthorn flower is dead ; 




The violet by the mossed gray stone 


Take all the rest ; hut give me this, 


Hath laid her weary head ; 


And the bird that nestles in it ; 




I love it, for it loves the Broom — 
The green and yellow linnet. 


But thou, wild bramble ! back dost bring, 
In all their beauteous power. 


Well, call the rose the queen of flowers, 
And boast of tha,t of Sharon, 

Of lilies like to marble cups. 
And the golden rod of Aaron : 


The fresh green days of life's fair Spring, 
And boyhood's blossomy hour. 

Scorned bramble of the brake ! once more 
Thou bidd'st me be a boy, 

To gad with thee the woodlands o'er. 




In freedom and in joy. 


I care not how these flowers may be 


Ebenezeu Elliott. 


Beloved of man and woman ; 




The Broom it is the flower for me, 
That groweth on the common. 






Oil the Broom, the yellow Broom, 
The ancient poet sung it, 


TIIE WILD HOME'*: SUCKLE. 


And dear it is on summer days 




To lie at rest among it. 


Fair flower, that dost so comely grow, 


Maky IIowitt. 


Hid in this silent, dull retreat. 




LTntouohed thy honeyed blossoms blow, 
Unseen thy little branches greet : 




THE BRAMBLE FLOWER. 


No roving foot shall crush thee here, 
No busy hand provoke a tear. 


TiiT fruit full well the schoolboy knows, 

AVild bramble of the brake ! 
So, put thou forth thy small white rose ; 

I love it for his sake. 
Though woodbines flaimt and roses glow 

O'er all the fragrant bowers. 


By Nature's self in white arrayed. 
She bade thee shun the vulgar eye. 

And planted here the guardian .shade, 
And sent soft waters murmuring by 
Thus quietly thy summer goes — 


Thou need'st not be ashamed to show 


Thy days declining to repose. 


Thy satin-threaded flowers ; 






Smit with those charms, that must decay 


For dull the eye, the heart is dull. 


I grieve to see your future doom; 


That cannot feel how fair, 


They died — nor were those flowers more gay— 


Aiiiid all beauty beautiful, 


The flowers that did in Eden bloom ; 


Thy tender blossoms are. 


Unpitying frosts and Autumn's power 


How delicate thy gauzy frill. 


Shall leave no vestige of this flower. 


How rich thy branchy stem, 




How soft thy voice when woods are still. 
And thou sing'st hymns to them ; 


From morning suns and evening dews 
At first thy little being came : 


While silent showers are falling slow. 
And, 'mid the general hush, 

A sweet air lifts the little bough. 
Lone whispering through the bush ! 


If nothing once, you nothing lose. 
For when you die you are the same ; 
The space between is but an hour, 
Tlie frail duration of a flower. 

PniLip Freneait. 



42 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



THE BRIER. 

Mt brier that smelledst sweet, 
■When gentle Spring's first beat 
Ran through thy qniet veins ; 
Thou that couldst injure none, 
But wouldst be left alone. 
Alone thou leavest me, aud nought of thine 
remains. 

What! hath no poet's lyre 
O'er thee, sweet-breathing brier. 

Hung fondly, ill or well ? 
And yet, methinks, with thee 
A poet's sympathy. 
Whether in weal or woe, in life or death, 
might dwell. 

Hard usage both must bear. 
Few hands your youth will rear. 

Few bosoms cherish you ; 

Your tender jirime must bleed 

Ere you are sweet ; but, freed 

From life, you then are prized ; thus prized 

ai-e poets too. 

Walter Savage Lanbor. 



TO THE DANDELION. 

Deae common flower, that grow'st beside 
the way, 
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold ! 

First pledge of blithesome May, 
Which children pluck, and, full of pride, up- 
hold— 
High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that 
they 
An Eldorado in the grass have found, 

"Which not the rich earth's ample round 
May match in wealth! — thou art more dear 

to me 
Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. 

Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish 
prow 
Through the primeval hush of Indian seas ; 

Nor wrinkled the lean brow 
Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease. 



'T is the Spring's largess, which she scatters now 
To rich and poor alike, with l^ivish hand; 
Though most hearts never understand 
To take it at God's value, but pass by 
The offered wealth with unrewarded eye. 

Thou art my tropics and mine Italy ; 
To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime ; 

The eyes thou givest me 
Are in the heart, and heed not space or time: 
Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee 
Feels a more summer-like, warm ravishment 
In the white lily's breezy tent. 
His conquered Sybaris, than I, when first 
From the dark green thy yellow circles 
burst. 

Then think I of deep shadows on the grass ; 
Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze, 

"Where, as the breezes pass. 
The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways ; 
Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass. 
Or whiten in the wind ; of waters blue. 
That from the distance sparkle through 
Some woodland gap ; and of a sky above, 
"Where one white cloud like a stray lamb 
doth move. 

My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked 
with thee ; 
The sight of thee calls back the robin's song, 

"Who, from the dark old tree 
Beside the door, sang clearly all day long ; 

And I, secure in childish piety. 
Listened as if I heard an angel sing 

"With news from heaven, which he did 
bring 
Fresh every day to my untainted ears, 
"When birds and flowers and I were happy 
peers. 

How like a prodigal doth nature seem, 
"When thou, for all thy gold, so common art! 

Thou teachest me to deem 
More sacredly of every human heart. 

Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam 
Of heaven, and co\ild some wondrous secret 
show. 
Did we but pay the love we owe. 
And with a child's undoubting wisdom look 
On all these living pages of God's book. 
James KrssF.i l Lowell. 



FLOWERS. 



43 



THE VIOLET. 

! faiut, delicious, spring-time violet 

Thine odor, like a key, 
Tnrns noiselessly in memory's wards to let 

A thought of sorrow free. 

The breath of distant fields upon my brow 
Blows through that open door 

The sound of wind-borne hells, more sweet 
and low. 
And sadder than of yore 

It comes afar, from that beloved place. 

And that beloved hour. 
When life hung ripening in love's golden 
grace, 

Like grapes above a bower. 

A spring goes singing through its reedy grass ; 

The lark sings o'er my head, 
iJrowned in the sky — O pass, ye visions, pass! 

I would that I were dead ! — 

Wliy hast thou opened that forbidden door 

From which I ever flee ? 
O vanished Joy! Love, that art no more, 

Let my vexed spirit be ! 

violet ! thy odor through my brain 

Hath searched, and stung to grief 

This sunny day, as if a curse did stain 

Thy velvet leaf. 

William W. Stoet. 



FLOWERS. 

I WILL not have the mad Clytie, 
Whose head is turned by the sun ; 
The tulip is a courtly quean. 
Whom, therefore, I will shun ; 
The cowslip is a country wench 
The violet is a nun ; — 
But I will woo the dainty rose. 
The queen of every one. 

Tlie pea is but a wanton witch, 
In too much haste to wed, 
.\nd clasps her rings on every hand ; 
The wolfsbane I should dread ; — 



Nor will I dreary rosemarye. 
That always mourns the aead ; — 
But I will woo the dainty rose, 
With her cheeks of tender red. 

The lily is all in white, like a saint. 

And so is no mate for me — 

And the daisy's cheek is tipped with a, blusli. 

She is of such low degree ; 

Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves. 

And tlie broom 's betrothed to the bee ; — 

But I will plight with the dainty rose. 

For fairest of all is she. 

Thomas IIood. 



THE ROSE. 

Go, lovely rose ! 
Tell her that wastes her time and me 

That now she knows, 
Wlien I resemble her to thee. 
How sweet and fair she seems to be. 

Tell her that 's young. 
And shuns to have her graces spied, 

That hadst thou sprung 
In deserts where no men abide, 
Thou must have uncomraended died. 

Small is the worth 
Of beauty from the light retired; 

Bid her come forth^ 
Suffer herself to be desired. 
And not blush so to be admired. 

Then die, that she 
The common fate of all things rare 

May read in thee — 
How small a part of time they share 
That are so wondrous sweet and fair. 
Edmund Walleh. 



CANZONET. 

Flowers are fresh, and bushes green, 

OJieerily the linnets sing ; 
Winds are soft, and skies serene ; 

Time, however, soon shall throw 
Winter's snow 

O 'er the buxom breast of Spring I 



44 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Hope, that buds in lover's heart, 
Lives not through the scorn of years ; 

Time makes love itself depart ; 
Time and scorn congeal the mind — 

Looks unkind 
Freeze affection's warmest tears. 

Time shall make the hushes green ; 
Time dissolve the -winter snow; 
"Winds be soft, and skies serene ; 
Linnets sing their wonted strain. 

But again 
Blighted love shall never blow ! 

Lots de Camoexs, (Portuguese.) 
Translation of Loed Steangford. 



CHORUS OF FLOWERS. 

"We are the sweet flowers, 
Born of sunny showers, 
(Think, whene'er yon see us, what our beauty 
saith ;) 
Utterance, muto and bright, 
Of some unknown delight. 
We fill the air with pleasure, by our simple 
breath : 
All who see us love us — 
We befit all places ; 
Unto sorrow we give smiles — and unto graces, 
races. 

Mark our ways, how noiseless 
All, and sweetly voiceless. 
Though the March-winds pipe to make our 
passage clear ; 
Not a whisper tells 
Where our small seed dwells, 
Nor is known the moment green when our 
tips appear. 
Wo thread the earth in silence. 
In silence buUd our bowers — 
And leaf by leaf in silence show, till we laugh 
a-top, sweet flowers. 

The dear lumpish baby, 
Humming with the May-bee, 
Hails US with his bright star, stumbling 
throush the grass ; 



The honey-dropping moon, 
On a night in June, 
Kisses our pale pathway leaves, that felt the 
bridegroom pass. 
Age, the withered dinger, 
On us mutely gazes. 
And wraps the thought of his last bed in his 
childhood's daisies. 

See (and scorn all duller 
Taste) how Heaven loves color ; 
How great Nature, clearly, joys in red and 
green ; 
What sweet thoughts she thinks 
Of violets and pinks. 
And a thousand flushing hues made solely to 
be seen ; 
See her whitest lilies 
Chill the silver showers, 
And what a red mouth is her rose, the woman 
of her flowers. 

Uselessness divinest, 

Of a use the finest, 
Painteth us, the teachers of the end of nse ; 

Travelers, weary-eyed. 

Bless us, far and wide ; 
Unto sick and prisoned thoughts we give sud- 
den truce ; 

Not a poor town window 

Loves its sickliest planting, 
But its wall speaks loftier truth than Babylo- 
nian vaunting. 

Sagest yet the uses 

Mixed with our sweet juices, 

Whether man or May-fly profit of the balm ; 
As fair fingers healed 
Knights from the olden field, 

We hold cups of mightiest force to give the 
wildest calm. 
Even the terror, poison, 
Hath its plea for blooming ; 

Life it gives to reverent lips, though death to 
the presuming. 

And oh ! our sweet soul-taker, 
That thief, the honey-maker, 
What a house hath he, by the thymy glen ! 
In his talking rooms 
How the feasting fumes, 



FLOWERS. 



45 



Till the gold cups overflow to the mouths of 
men! 
The butterflies come aping 
Those fine thieves of ours, 
And flutter round our rifled tops, like tickled 
flowers with flowers. 

See those tops, how beauteous ! 
"\That fair service duteous 
Round some idol waits, as on their lord the 
Nine. 
Elfin court 't would seem. 
And taught, perchance, that dream 
Which the old Greek moimtain dreamt, upon 
nights divine. 
To exijound such wonder 
Iluman speech avails not , 
Yet there dies no poorest weed, that such a 
glory exhales not. 

Think of all these treasures. 
Matchless works and pleasures. 
Every one a marvel, more than! thought can 
Say 
Tnen think in what bright showero 
"We thicken fields and bowers. 
And with what heaps of sweetness half stifle 
wanton May ; 
Think of the mossy forests 
By the bee-birds haunted, 
And all those Amazonian plains, lone lying 
as enchanted. 

Trees themselves are ours ; 
Fruits are born of flowers ; 
Peach, and roughest nut, were blossoms in 
the Spring ; 
The lusty bee knows well 
The news, and comes peU-mell, 
And dances in the gloomy thicks with dark- 
some antheming ; 
Beneath the very burden 
Of planet-pressing ocean. 
We wash our smiling cheeks in peace — a 
thought for meek devotion. 

Tears of Phoebus — missings 
Of Oytherea's kissingg, 
Have in us been found, and wise men find 
them stdl ; 



Drooping grace unfurls 
StUl Hyacinthus' curls. 
And Narcissus loves himself in the selfish 
rill; 
Thy red lip, Adonis, 
Still is wet with morning ; 
And the step that bled for thee the rosy 
brier adorning. 

Oh ! true things are fables. 
Fit for sagest tables. 
And the flowers are true things— yet no fa- 
bles they ; 
Fables were not more 
Bright, nor loved of yore — 
Yet they grew not, like the flowers, by every 
old pathway ; 
Grossest hand can test ns — 
Fools may prize us never — 
Yet we rise, and rise, and rise — marvels sweet 
for ever. 

Who shall say that flowers 
Dress not heaven's omi bowers? 

Who its love, without us, can fancy — or sweel 
floor? 
Who shall even dare 
To say we sprang not there — 

And came not down, that Love might bring 
one piece of heaven the more ? 
Oh ! pray believe that angles 
From those blue dominions 

Brought us in their white laps down, 'twixt 

their golden pinions. 

Leigh HirsT. 



FLOWERS. 

Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, 
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, 

When he called the flowers, so blue and 
golden, 
Stars, that in earth's flrmament do shine. 

Stars they are, wherein we read our history, 
As astrologers and seers of eld ; 

Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery. 
Like tlie burning stars which they beheld. 



46 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Wondrous truths, and manifold as ■wondrous, 
Cod luith written in those stars above ; 

But not less in the bright flowerets under us 
Stands the revelation of his love. 

Bright and glorious is that revelation, 
Writ all over this great world of ours — 

Making evident our own creation, 
In these stars of earth, these golden flow- 
ers. 

And tlio poet, faithful and far-seeing. 
Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part 

Of the self-same, universal being 

Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. 

Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, 
Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, 

Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining. 
Buds that open only to decay ; 

Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues. 
Flaunting gayly in the golden light ; 

L.irgo desires, with most uncertain issues. 
Tender wishes, blossoming at night ; 

These in flowers and men are more than 
seeming ; 

Workings are they of the self-same powers 
Which the poet, in no idle dreaming, 

Seeth in himself and in the flowers. 

Everywhere about us are they glowing — 
Some, like stars, to tell us Spring is born ; 

Others, their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing. 
Stand, like Ruth, amid the golden corn. 

Not alone in Sprini;'s armorial bearing, 
And in Summer's green-emblazoned field, 

But in arms of brave old Autunui's wearing. 
In the centre of his brazen shield ; 

Not alone in meadows and green alleys, 
On the mountain-top, and by the brink 

Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys, 
Where the slaves of Nature stoop to drink ; 

Not alone in her vast dome of glory. 
Not on graves, of bird and beast alone. 

But in old cathedrals, high and hoary. 
On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone ; 



In the cottage of the rudest peasant ; 

In ancestral homes, whose crumbling tow- 
ers. 
Speaking of the Past unto the Present, 

Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers. 

In all places, then, and in all seasons. 
Flowers expand their light and soul-like 
wings. 

Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons. 
How akin they are to human things. 

And with cliildlike, credulous afieotion, 
We behold their tender buds expand — 

Emblems of our own great resurrection. 
Emblems of the bright and better land. 
Henuy Wadswoktu Longfellow 



HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. 

Day-staes! that ope your eyes with morn 
to twinkle 
From rainbow galaxies of earth's creation, 
And dew-drops on her lonely altars sprinkle 
As a libation ! 

Ye matm worshippers ! who bending lowly 

Before the uprisen sun — God's lidless eye — 
Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy 
Incense on high ! 

Ye bright mosaics ! that with storied beauty 

The floor of Nature's temple tessellate. 
What numerous emblems of instructive duty 
Your forms create ! 

'Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that 
swingeth 
And tolls its perfume on the passing air. 
Makes sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth 
A call to prayer. 

Not to the domes where crumbling arch and 
column 
Attest the feebleness of mortal hanvl, 
Bnt to that fane, most catholic and solemn, 
Which God hath planned • 



NATURE AND THE POETS. 



47 



To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, 
Whoso quenchless lamps the sun and moon 
supply- 
Its choh' the winds and waves, its organ 
thimder, 

Its dome the sky. 

There — as in solitude and shade I wander 
Through the green aisles, or, stretched upon 
the sod, 
Awed by the silence, reverently ponder 
The ways of God — 

Your voiceless lips, Flowers, are living 
preachers, 
Each cup a pulpit, and each leaf a book. 
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers' 
From loneliest nook. 

Floral apostles ! that in dewy splendor 
" Weep without woe, and blush without a 
crime," 
O may I deeply learn, and ne'er surrender. 
Your lore sublime ! 

" Tliou wert not, Solomon ! in all thy glory. 
Arrayed," the lilies cry, "in robes like 
ours; 
How vain your grandeur ! Ah, how transitory 
Are human flowers ! " 

In the sweet-scented pictures. Heavenly Art- 
ist! 
With which thou paintest Nature's wide- 
spread hall, 
What a delightful lesson thou impartest 
Of love to all. 

Not useless are ye. Flowers ! though made 
for pleasure : 
Blooming o'er field and wave, by day and 
night. 
From every source your sanction bids me 
treasure 

Harmless delight. 

Ephemeral sages ! what instructors hoary 
For such a world of thought could furnish 
scope ? 
Each fading calyx a memento mori, 
Yet fount of hope. 



Posthumous glories ! angel-like collection I 
Upraised from seed or bulb interred iu 
earth. 
Ye are to me a type of resurrection. 
And second birth. 

Were I, God, in churchless lands remain- 
ing, 
Far from all voice of teachers or divines. 
My soul would find, in flowers of thy ordain- 
ing, 

Priests, sermons, shrines ! 

Horace Smitu, 



NATURE AND THE POETS. 

I STOOD tiptoe upon a little hill. 

The air was cooling, and so very still. 

That tlie sweet buds, which with a modest 

pride 
Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside. 
Their scanty -leaved and flnely-tapering stems. 
Had not yet lost their starry diadems 
Caught from the early sobbing of the morn. 
The clouds were pure and white as flocks 

new-shorn. 
And fresh from the clear brook ; sweetly 

they slept 
On the blue fields of heaven, and tlien there 

crept 
A little noiseless noise among the leaves. 
Born of the very sigh that silence heaves ; 
For not the fauitest motion could be seen 
Of all the shades that slanted o'er the green. 
There was wide wandering, for the greediest 

eye 
To peer about upon variety — ■ 
Far round the horizon's crystal air to skim. 
And trace the dwindled edgings of its brim — 
To picture out the quaint and curious bend- 
ing 
Of a fresh woodland alley never-ending — 
Or by the bowery clefts, and leafy shelves, 
Guess where the jaunty streams refresli tliom- 

selves. 
I gazed awhile, and felt as light and free 
As though the fanning vrings of Mercury 
Had played upon my heels: I was light 

hearted. 
And many pleasures to my vision started ; 



48 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



So I straightway began to pluck a posy, 
Of luxuries bright, milky, soft and rosy: 
A bn?h of May-flowers with the bees about 

them ; 
Ah, sure no tasteful nook could be without 

them! 
And let a lush laburnum OTorsweep tlieni. 
And let long grass grow round the roots, to 

keep them 
Moist, cool, and green ; and shade the violets. 
That they may bind the moss in leafy nets. 

A filbert-hedge with wild brier overtwined, 
And clumps of woodbine, taking the soft 

wind 
Upon their summer thrones ; there too should 

be 
The frequent chequer of a youngling tree, 
That with a score of light green brethren 

shoots 
From the quaint mossiness of aged roots, 
Konnd which is heard a spring-head of clear 

waters. 
Babbling so wildly of its lovely daughters. 
The spreading blue-bells : it may haply mourn 
That such fair clusters should be rudely torn 
From their fresh beds, and, scattered thought- 
lessly 
By infant bauds, left on the path to die. 

Open afresh your round of starry folds, 
Ye ardent marigolds ! 

Dry up the moisture from your golden lids. 
For great ApoUo bids 
That in these days your praises should be 

sung 
On many harps, which he has lately stnmg ; 
And when again your dewiness bo kisses. 
Tell him, I have you in my world of blisses : 
So, haply, when I rove in some far vale, 
His mighty voice may come upon the gale. 

Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight — 
With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white. 
And taper fingers catching at all things, 
Tc bind them all about witli tiny rings. 
Linger awhile upon some bending planks 
That lean against a streamlet's rushy banks. 
And watch intently Nature's gentle doings : 
They wiU be found softer than ring-doves' 
cooings. 



How silent comes the water round that bend ! 
Not the minutest wdiisper does it send 
To the o'erbanging sallows : blades of grass 
Slowly across the chequer'd shadows pass. 
Why you might read two sonnets, ere they 

reach 
To where the hurrying freshnesses aye preach 
A natural sermon o'er their pebbly beds ; 
Where swarms of minnows show their little 

heads. 
Staying their wavy bodies 'gainst the streams. 
To taste the luxury of sunny beams 
Tempered with coolness. How they ever 

wrestle 
With their own sweet delight, and ever 

nestle 
Their sUver bellies on the pebbly sand ! 
If you but scantUy hold out the hand. 
That very instant not one will remain ; 
But turn your eye, and they are there again. 

The ripples seem right glad to reach those 

cresses, 
And cool themselves among the emerald 

tresses ; 
The while they cool themselves, they fresh- 
ness give, 
And moisture, that the bowery green may li ve : 
So keeping up an interchange of favors. 
Like good men in the truth of their beha- 
viors. 
Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop 
From low-hung branches ; little space they 

stop. 
But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek ; 
Then off at once, as in a wanton freak : 
Or perhaps, to show their black and golden 

wings. 
Pausing upon their yellow flutterings. 

Were I in such a place, I sure should pray 
That nought less sweet might call my thoughts 

away. 
Than the soft rustle of a maiden's gown 
Fanning away the dandelion's down ; 
Than the light music of her nimble toes 
Patting against the sorrel as she goes. 
How she woidd start and blush, thus to be 

caught 
Playing in all her innocence of thought ' 



NATURE AND THE POETS. 



49 



O let me lead her gently o'er the brook, 
Watch her half-smiling lips and downward 

look ; 
O let me for one moment touch her wrist ; 
Let me one moment to her breathing list ; 
And as she leaves me, may she often turn 
Her fair eyes looking through her locks au- 
burn. 

What next ? a tuft of evening primroses, 
O'er which the mind may hover till it dozes ; 
O'er which it well might take a pleasant 

sleep. 
But that 'tis ever startled by the leap 
Of buds into ripe flowers ; or by the flitting 
Of divers moths, that aye their rest are quit- 
ting; 
Or by the moon lifting her silver rim 
Above a cloud, and with a gradual swim 
Coming into the blue with all her light. 

O Maker of sweet poets ! dear delight 
Of this fair world and all its gentle livers ; 
Spangler of clouds, halo of crystal rivers, 
Minglor with leaves, and dew, and tumbling 

streams ; 
Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams ; 
Lover of loneliness, and wandering, 
Of upcast eye, and tender pondering ! 

Thee must I praise above all other glories 
That smile us on to tell delightful stories. 
For what has made the sage or poet write. 
But the fair paradise of Nature's light ? 
In the calm grandeur of a sober line. 
We see the waving of the mountain pine ; 
And when a tale is beautifully staid. 
We feel the safety of a hawthorn glade ; 
When it is moving on luxurious wings. 
The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings ; 
Fair dewy roses brush against our faces. 
And flowering laurels spring from diamond 

vases ; 
O'erhead we see the jasmine and sweet- 
brier. 
And bloomy grapes laughing from green 

attire ; 
While at our feet, the voice of crystal bub- 
bles 
ChaiTus us at once away from all our trou- 
bles, 

5 



So that we feel uplifted from the world, 
Walking upon the white clouds wreathed and 
curled. 

So felt he who first told how Psyche went 

On the smooth wind to realms of wonder- 
ment; 

What Psyche felt, and Love, when their full 
lips 

First touched; what amorous and fondling 
nips 

They gave each other's cheeks — -with all 
their sighs. 

And how they kist each other's tremidous 
eyes ; 

The silver lamp— the ravishment — the won- 
der — 

The darkness — loneliness — the fearful thun- 
der; 

Their woes gone by, and both to heaven np 
flown. 

To bow for gratitude before Jove's throne. 

So did ho feel, who pulled the boughs aside, 
That we might look into a forest wide, 
To catch a glimpse of Fauns, and Dryades 
Coming with softest rustle through the trees; 
And garlands woven of flowers wild, and 

sweet. 
Upheld on ivory wrists, or sporting feet : 
Telling us how fair trembling Syrinx fled 
Arcadian Pan, with such a fearful dread. 
Poor Nymph, — poor Pan, — how did ho weep 

to find 
Nought but a lovely sighing of the wind 
Along the reedy stream ! a half-heard strain. 
Full of sweet desolation — bahny pain. 

What first inspired a bard of old to sing 
Narcissus pining o'er the untainted spring ? 
In some delicious ramble he had found 
A little space, with boughs all woven round; 
And in the midst of all, a clearer pool 
Than e'er reflected in its pleasant cool 
The blue sky here and there serenely peep- 

Through tendril wreaths fantastically creep- 
ing. 
And on the bank a lonely flower he spied, 
A meek and forlorn flower, witli nought of 
pride, 



60 



rOEMS OF NATURE. 



l)roo]>in); i(s limiuty o'or tlio untory cloiu'- 

11 OSS, 

To woo it-s own siul imjiiro into uonrnoss. 
IX'af to lijjlit Zophynis it would not movo ; 
Hut still would seem to droop, to piuo, lo 

lovo. 
So wliilo llu' poot stood in this swoi't spot, 
Sonio lainlor jiloainiiiiis o'or his faiioy shot; 
Nor WHS it long oro ho had told tho talo 
Ol'vonng Narcissus, and sad Koho's halo. 

Whoro had lio boon, tVoni wlioso warm 
lioad otilllow 
That swootost of all soniis, that ovor know 
That aye rcfrosliiiijr, puro dolioioiisnoss, 
Coniin)! ovor to Wess 

Tho wandoror by inooiilight — to him bring- 
ing 
Shapes from tho invisible world, unoartbly 

singing 
Vrom out tho middle air, from liowery nests, 
And from tho i>illowy silkinoss fbat rests 
Full in the speonlation of the stars? 
All ! surely lie bad burst our mortal bars ; 
Into some wondrous region bo bad gone, 
To searob for tboo. divine Kndymion ! 

lie was a [lOot, sure a lover too, 

AVlio stO(Hl on Latinos' top, what time there 
blew 

Soil breezes from the myrtle valo bolow ; 

And brought, in faintncss solemn, swoot, and 
slow, 

A liymn from Diau's leinple ; while upswell- 
ing. 

The inoenso wont to lior own starry dwell- 
ing. 

But tbough bor faoe was oloar as infants" 
oyes. 

Though sbe stood smiling o'or the sjiorilieo. 

The poet wept at her so piteous fate, 

AVept that suoh beauty should bo desolate. 

Bo in tine wrath some golden sounds ho 
won. 

And gave meek Cynthia her Endrmion. 

Queen of the wide air ; thou most lovely 
(inoeu 
Of all tho brightiiess that mine eyes have 
seen! 



As thou exoeedost all things in thy shine. 
So every tale does this sweet tale of thine. 
O for throe words of honey, tliat I iniglit 
Tell but- one wonder of thy bridal night ! 

Where distjuit ships do seem to show tlioii 
keels, 
riuvbus awbilo delayed his mighty wheels, 
.Vnd turned to smilo upon thy bashful eyes, 
Kre ho his unseen pomp would solemnize. 
Tho evening weather was so bright, and oloar, 
That men of health wore of unusual olioor. 
Stopping like Homer at the trumpet's oall. 
Or young Apollo on the pedestal ; 
.\iid lovely women wore as fair and warm, 
.\s Venus looking sideways in alarm. 

The breezes were ctberoal, and pure, 

.Vnd erept through half-closed lattices to euro 

Tho languid sick : it cool'd their fevor'd sleep. 

And soothed them into slumbers full and 
deep. 

Soon they awoke olear-oyod ; nor buru'd 
with thirsting, 

Nor with hot fingers, nor with temples burst- 
in** • 

And sjiringing np, they mot tho wondering 
sight 

Of tb.oir dear friends, nigh foolish with de- 
light, 

AVho fool their arms and breasts, and kiss, 
and stare, 

.\nd on their placid foreheads part the hair. 

Young men and maidens at each other gazed. 

With hands bold back, and motionless, 
amazed 

To see tho brightness in each other's eyes; 

And so they stood, tilled with a sweet sur- 
prise. 

Until their tongues were loosed in poesy. 

Therefore no lover did of anguish die ; 

Hut tho soft numbers, in that moment spoken. 

Made silken ties that never may be broken. 

Cynthia ! I eaiiuot tell the greater blisses 
That foUow'd thine, and thy dear shephonl's 

kisses : 
Was there a poet born? — But now no more — 
My w.anderuig spirit must no farther soar. 

John Kkat*. 



THE NI(;ilTIN(}AIiE. r.l 




Senseless trees, they cannot hoar thee; 


TO THE NIGHTINGALE. 


Uuthless bears, they will not <'.liei'r thei' ; 
King I'aiidion, he is dead; 


NioiiTiNGALE, that on yon bloomy spniy 
Warhlest at cvo, when nil tlio wor)<lH lire 


All thy friends are lapped in lead: 
All thy fellow-birds do sing. 


still, 


Oareless of thy sorrowing! 


Tlidii with t'lTsh hope the Iovui-'h hfiirt dost 


Whilst as lickle F<irtune smiled. 


nil, 


'i'hou and [ wei-e bolh beguiled. 


Whilo tlio Jcilly hoiire k'iid on ]]nipi(i(inn 


Every one 1 bat ila(,tors (bee 


May. 
Thy liquid notes, that close the eye of day, 
First hoard hoforo the shallow cuckoo's 


Is no friend in misery. 

Words are easy, like the wind ; 

Faithful friends are hard to lind. 


hill. 


Every man will be thy friend 


I'urleud succoss in lovo. Oh il'.Iovo'M will 


Whilst thou bast wherewith to s|iond; 


Have linked that amorous powci- to tliy 


liut, if stores of crowns be scant. 


soft lay, 


No nwui will supply thy want. 


Now timely sing, oro the rude bird of hate 


]f that one bo prodigal. 


Foivtoll my liopeless doom in some grovo 

iii^h ; 


Bountiful they will him call ; 
And, with such-like ilattoring. 


As thou from year to year hast sung too 
lato 


"I'ity but ho were a king." 
If bo be addict to vice. 


For my relief, yet hadst no reason why. 


(iuickly him they will entice; 


AVhether tho Muso or Love call thee his 


liut if Fortune once do frown. 


mate, 


Then farewell his great renown: 


]5oth them I servo, and of tlieir train am I. 


They that fawned on him before. 


John Mii.ton. 


Use his company no more. 
He that is thy friend indeed, 
He will holj) thee in thy need; 




If thou sorrow, ho will weep, 


ADDRESS TO THE NIGHTINGALE. 


If thou wake, ho cannot sleep. 


Ah it fell upon a day, 

In tho merry month of May, 

Sitting in a plcnsanf. shade 


Thus, of every grief in heai't, 
Ho with thee doth boar a part. 
These are certain signs to know 
Faithful frieiiil from Ilattoring foe. 


Which a grove of myrtles nnido, 
Ik'iists did leap, and birds did sing, 
Trees did grow, and plants did spring; 


UlOKAItIt ItAllNFIULD. 




ICvery thing did banish moan. 




Save the nightingale alone. 
She, poor bird, as all forlorn, 


TO Till-: NKIIITINGALF. 


TiOan 'd her breast up-till a thorn ; 


Dkau cboi'lster, who IVoni lliose shadows 


And there sung the doleful! 'st ditty 


scuds — 


That to hear it was groat pity. 


Ere that the bhishing nioi'ii daro show her 


Fie, fio, lie! now would she cry; 


light- 


Tern, tcru, by-and-by ; 

That, to hear her so complain, 


Such sad lamenting strains, that night at- 
tends. 


Scarce I could from tears refrain ; 
For her griefs, so lively shown. 
Made mo think upon mine own. 


Become all ear, stars stay to hear thy plight; 
If one whose grief even reach of thought 
transcends, 


Ahl (thought I) thou mourn 'st in vain ; 
None takes \nty on thy ]iain ; 


AVho ne'er (not iti a dream) did taste deliglit. 
May (bee importune who like case i)retends. 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



And seems to joy in woe, in woe's despite ; 
Tell me (so may thou fortune milder try, 
And long, long sing!) for what thou thus 

complains, 
Since "Winter 's gone, and snn in dappled sky 
Enamored smiles on woods and flowery 

plains ? 

The hirJ, as if my questions did her move. 

With trembling wings sighed forth, "I love, 

I love." 

Wn-LiAU Deummond. 



ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. 

Mt heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk ; 
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains 

One minute past, and Lethe-ward had sunk. 
'T is not through envj' of thy happy lot, 

But being too h.ippy in thy happiness, 
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, 
In some melodious plot 

Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, 
Singest of Summer in full-throated ease. 

Oh for a draught of vintage 

Cooled a long age in the deep-delved earth, 
Tasting of Flora and the country green, 
Dance, and Proven? al song, and sun-burned 
mirth ! 
Oh for a beaker full of the warm South, 

Fidl of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, 
"With beaded bubbles winking at the brim. 
And purple-stained mouth — 
That I might di-ink, and leave the world 
unseen, 
And with thee fade away into the forest dim. 

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget 
What thou among the leaves hast never 
known — 
The weariness, the fever, and the fret; 
Here, where men sit and hear each other 
groan — 
Where palsy shakes a few sad, last gray 
hairs — • 
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, 
and dies — 



Where but to think is to he fuU of sorrow. 
And leaden-eyed despairs — 
Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous 
eyes, 

Or new love pine at them beyond to-morrow, 

Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee ! 

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, 
But on the viewless wings of poesy, 

Though the duU brain perplexes and re- 
tards ; 
Already with thee tender is the night, 

And haply the queen-moon is on her throne, 
Clustered around by all her starry foys ; 
But here there is no light, 
Save what from heaven is with the breezes 
blown 
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy 
ways. 

I can not see what flowers are at my feet. 
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the 
boughs ; 
But, in embalmed darkness guess each sweet 
Wherewith the seasonable month endows 
The grass, the thicket, and the frnit-treo 
wild : 
White hawthorn and the pastoral eglantine ; 
Fast-fading violets, covered up in leaves ; 
And mid-May's oldest child. 
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine. 
The murmurous haimt of bees on summer 
eves. 

Darkling I listen; and for many a time 

I bave been half in love with easeful Death, 
Called him soft names in many a mused 
rhyme. 
To take into the air my quiet breath ; 
Now, more than ever, seems it rich to die. 

To cease upon the midnight, with no pain, 
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad. 
In such an ecstasy ! 
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in 
vain — 
To thy high requiem become a sod. 

Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird! 

No hungry generations tread thee down ; 
The voice I hear this passing night was heard 

In ancient days by emperor and clown : 



THE NIGHTINGALE. 53 


Perhaps the self-same song that found a path 


Dost thou once more essay 


Through the sad heart of Euth, when, sick 


Thy flight; and feel come over thee, 


for home, 


Poor fugitive, the feathery change ; 


She stood in tears amid the alien corn : 


Once more ; and once more make resound, 


The same that oft-times hath 


With love and hate, triumph and agony. 


Charmed magic casements opening on the 


Lone Daulis, and the high Cephisian vale ? 


foam 




Of perilous seas, in fairy lands forlorn. 


Listen, Eugenia — 




How thick the bursts come crowding through 


Forlorn ! the very word i- like a bell, 


the leaves ! 


To toll me back from thee to my sole self I 


Again — thou hearest ! 


Adieu ! the Fancy can not cheat so well 


Eternal passion ! 


As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. 


Eternal pain ! 


Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades 


Matthew Arnold 


Past the near meadows, over the still 


« 


stream. 




Up the hill-side ; and now 'tis buried deep 




In the next valley-glades : 


THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE DOVE. 


Was it a vision or a waking dream ? 




Fled is that music— do I wake or sleep ? 


NiGnTiNGALE ! thou surely art 


John Heato. 


A creature of a "fiery heart" ; 




These notes of thine, — they pierce and pierce : 
Tumultuous harmony and fierce ! 






Thou sing'st as if the god of wine 


PHILOMELA. 


Had helped thee to a valentine— 




A song in mockery, and despite 


Haek ! ah, the Nightingale ! 


Of shades, and dews, and silent night, 


Tlie tawny-throated ! 


And steady bliss, and all the loves 


Hark ! from that moonlit cedar what a burst ! 


Now sleeping in these peaceful groves. 


What triumph ! hark — what pain ! 


I heard a stock-dove sing or say 


wanderer from a Grecian shore, 


His homely tale, this very day ; 


Still— after many years, in distant lands- 


His voice was buried among trees. 


Still nourishing in thy bewildered brain 


Yet to be come at by the breeze : 


That wild, uuquerjhed, deep-sunken, old- 


He did not cease ; but cooed — and cooed ; 


world pain — ■ 


And somewhat pensively he wooed : 


Say, will it never heal? 


He sang of love, with quiet blending, 


And can this fragrant lawn. 


Slow to begin, and never ending ; 


With its cool trees, and night. 


Of serious faith, and inward glee ; 


And the sweet, tranquil Thames, 


That was the song, the song for me ! 


And moonshine, and the dew, 


William Woiidswoeth. 


To thy racked heart and brain 




Atford no balm ? 




Dost thou to-night behold. 


THE NIGHTINGALE. 


Here, through the moonlight on this English 




grass, 


No cloud, no relict of the sunken day 


The unfriendly palace in the Thracian wild? 


Distinguishes the West; no long thin slip 


Dost thou again peruse. 


Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues. 


With hot cheeks and seared eyes, 


Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge! 


The too clear web, and thy dumb sister's 


You see the glimmer of the stream beneath. 


shame ? 


But hear no murmuring; it flows silently 



M 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still ; 
A balmy night ! and though the stars be dim, 
Yet let us think upon the vernal showers 
That gladden the green earth, and we shall 

find 
A pleasure in the dimness of tlie stars. 
And hark I the Nightingale begins its song — 
" Most musical, most melancholy " bird ! 
A melancholy bird ! Oh, idle thought ! 
In Nature there is nothing melancholy. 
But some night-wandering man, whose heart 

was pierced 
With the remembrance of a grievous wrong, 
Or slow distemper, or neglected love, 
(And so, poor wretch! filled all things with 

himself. 
And made all gentle sounds tell back the tale 
Of his own sorrow) — he, and such as he, 
First named these notes a melancholy strain. 
And many a poet echoes tlie conceit — 
Poet who hath been building up the rhyme 
When he had better far have stretched his 

limbs 
Beside a brook in mossy forest-dell. 
By sun or moonlight ; to the influxes 
Of shapes, and sounds, and shifting elements, 
Surrendering his whole spirit; of his song 
And of his fiime forgetful ! so his fame 
Should share in Nature's immortality — 
A venerable thing ! — and so his song 
Should make all Nature lovelier, and itself 
Be loved like Nature ! But 'twill not be so ; 
And youths and maidens most poetical. 
Who lose the deepening twilights of the 

Spring 
In ball-rooms and hot theatres, they still, 
Full of meek sympathy, must heave their 

sighs 
O'er Philomela's pity-pleading strains. 

My friend, and thou, our sister! we have 

learnt 
A difterent lore : we may not thus profane 
Nature's sweet voices, always full of love 
And joyance ! 'T is the merry Nightingale 
That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates 
With fast thick warble his delicious notes. 
As he were fearful that an April night 
Would be too short for him to utter forth 
His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul 
Of all its music! 



And I know a grove 
Of large extent, hard by a castle huge, 
Which the great lord inhabits not ; and so 
This grove is wild with tangling underwood; 
And the trim walks are broken up ; and grass, 
Thin grass and kingcups grow within the paths. 
But never elsewhere in one place I knew 
So many nightingales. And far and near, 
In wood and thicket, over the wide grove, 
They answer and provoke each other's song, 
With skirmish and capricious passagings, 
And murmurs musical and swift jug jug. 
And one low piping sound more sweet than 

all- 
Stirring the air with such a harmony, 
That should you close your eyes, you might 

almost 
Forget it was not day ! On moon-lit bushes, 
Whose dewy leaflets are but half disclosed, 
You may perchance behold them on the twigs. 
Their bright, bright eyes, their eyes both 

bright and full. 
Glistening, while many a glowworm in the 

shade 
Lights up her love-torch. 

A most gentle maid, 
Wlio dwelkth in her hospitable home 
Hard by the castle, and at latest eve, 
(Even like a lady vowed and dedicate 
To something more than Nature in the grove,) 
Glides through the pathways — she knows all 

their notes. 
That gentle maid ! and oft, a moment's space, 
What time the moon was lost behind a cloud. 
Hath heard a pause of silence ; till the moon. 
Emerging, hath awakened earth and sky 
With one sensation, and these wakeful birds 
Have all burst forth in choral minstrelsy. 
As if some sudden gale had swept at once 
A hundred airy harps ! And she hath 

watched 
Many a nightingale perched giddily 
On blossomy twig still swinging from the 

breeze. 
And to that motion tune his wanton song, 
Like tipsy Joy that reels with tossing head. 

Farewell, O warbler! till to-morrow eve; 
And you, my friends ! fiirewell, a short fare- 
well I 



THE NIGHTINGALE. 



65 



We have been loitering long and pleasantly, 
And now for our dear homes. — That strain 

again ! 
Full fain it would delay me ! My dear babe, 
Who, capable of no articulate sound, 
Mars all things with his imitative lisp. 
How he would place his hand beside his ear, 
Ilis little hand, the small forefinger up. 
And bid us listen ! And I deem it wise 
To make him Nature's playmate. He knows 

well 
The evening-star ; and once when he awoke 
In most distressful mood, (some inward pain 
Had made up that strange thing, an infant's 

dream,) 
I hurried with him to our orchard-plot. 
And he beheld the moon ; and, hushed at once. 
Suspends his sobs, and laughs most silently. 
While his fair eyes, that swam with undrop- 

ped tears. 
Did glitter in the yellow moonbeam ! Well ! — 
It is a father's tale ; but if that Heaven 
Should give me life, his childhood shall grow 

up 
Familiar with these songs, that with the 

night 
He may associate joy. — Once more, farewell, 
Sweet Nightingale ! Once more, my friends ! 

farewell. 

Samuel Tatlok Coleridge. 



THE NIGHTINGALE. 

Peizb thou the nightingale. 
Who soothes thee with his tale. 
And wakes the woods around ; 
A singing feather he — a winged and wander- 
ing sound ; 

Whose tender caroling 
Sets all ears listening 
Unto that living lyre. 
Whence flow the airy notes his ecstacies in- 
spire ; 

Whose shrill, capricious song 
Breathes like a flute along. 
With many a careless tone — 
Music of thousand tongues, formed by one 
tongue alone. 



O charming creature rare ! 
Can aught with thee compare ? 
Tliou art all song — thy breast 
Thrills for one month o' th' year — is tranquD 
all the rest. 

Thee wondrous we may call — 
Most wondrous this of all. 
That such a tiny throat 
Should wake so loud a sound, and pour so 
loud a note. 
Maria Tesselschade Visscher, (Dutch) 
Translation of John Boweing. 



THE NIGHTINGALE. 

The rose looks-out in the valley. 

And thither will I go ! 
To the rosy vale, where the nightingale 

Sings his song of woe. 

The virgin is on the river side, 

Culling the lemons pale : 
Thither — ^yes! thither will I go. 

To the rosy vale, where the nightingale 
Sings his song of woe. 

The fairest fruit her hand hath culled, 

'T is for her lover all : 
Thither — yes ! thither wiU I go. 

To the rosy vale, where the nightingale, 
Sings his song of woe. 

In her hat of straw, for her gentle swain. 

She has placed the lemons pale : 
Thither — yes ! thither wiU I go. 

To the rosy vale, where the nightingale 
Sings his song of woe. 

Gil Vicente. (Portuguese) 
Translation of Joinr BowsmG. 



THE MOTHER NIGHTINGALE. 

I HAVE seen a nightingale 
On a sprig of thyme bewaU, 
Seeing the dear nest, which was 
Hers alone, borne off, alas ! 
By a laborer ; I heard, 
For this outrage, the poor bird 



56 



FOEMS OF KATURE. 



Say a thousand mournful things 
To the wind, which, on its wings, 
From her to the guardian of tlie sky, 
Bore her melancholy cry — 
Bore her tender tears. She spake 
As if her fond heart would break : 
One while, in a sad, sweet note, 
Gurgled from her straining throat, 
She enforced her piteous tale. 
Mournful prayer, and plaintive wail ; 
One while, with the shrill dispute 
Quite outwearied, she was mute ; 
Then afresh, for her dear brood. 
Her harmonious shrieks renewed. 
Now she winged it round and round ; 
Now she skimmed along the ground ; 
Now, from bough to bough, in haste, 
The delighted robber chased, 
And, alighting in his path, 
Seemed to say, 'twixt grief and wrath, 
" Give me back, fierce rustic rude — 
Give me back my pretty brood ! " 
And I saw the rustic still 
Answered, " That, I never will ! " 

EsTEVAN Manpel de Villegas. (Spanish) 
Translation of Thomas Eoscoe . 



THE NIGHTINGALE'S DEPAETUEE. 

Sweet poet of the woods — a long adieu ! 

Farewell, soft minstrel of the early year ! 
Ah ! 't will be long ere thou shalt sing anew, 
And pour thy music on " the night's duU 
ear." 
"Whether on Spring thy wandering flights 
await. 
Or whether silent in our groves you dwell. 
The pensive Muse shall own thee for her 
mate. 
And still protect the song she loves so well. 
With cautious step the love-lorn youth shall 
glide 
Through the long brake that shades thy 
mossy nest ; 
And shepherd girls from eyes profane shall 
hide 
The gentle bird who sings of pity best : 
For still thy voice shall soft aftootions move, 
And still be dear to sorrow, and to love ! 
Chaelottk Sutth. 



TO A WATERFOWL. 

Whither, 'midst falling dew, 
While glow the heavens with the last steps of 

day. 
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou 
pursue 
Thy solitary way '! 

Vainly the fowler's eye 
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee 

wrong, 
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky. 

Thy figure floats along. 

Seek'st thou the plashy brink 
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide. 
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 

On the chafed ocean side? 

There is a power whoso care 
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, — 
The desert and illimitable air, — 

Lone wandering, but not lost. 

All day thy wings have fanned, 
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, 

Though the dark night is near. 

And soon that toil shall end ; 
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and 

rest. 
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall 
bend. 
Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. 

Tliou 'rt gone, the abyss of heaven 
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my 

heart 
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, 

And shall not soon depart : 

He who, from zone to zone. 
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain 

flight. 
In the long way that I must tread alone. 

Will lead my steps aright. 

WlLLTAM CuLLEN BeyANT. 



SUMMER. 



57 



THE VOICE OF THE GRASS. 

Here I come creeping, creeping every where ; 

By the dusty roadside, 

On the sunny hill-side. 

Close by the noisy brook, 

In every shady nook, 
I come creeping, creeping every where. 

Here I come creeping, smiling every where ; 

All round the open door, 

Where sit the aged poor ; 

Here where the children play, 

In the bright and merry May, 
I come creeping, creeping every where. 

Here I come creeping, creeping every where ; 

In the noisy city street 

My pleasant face you'll meet, 

Clieering the sick at heart 

Toiling his busy part — 
Silently creeping, creeping every where. 

Hero I come creeping, creeping every where ; 
You cannot see me coming. 
Nor hear my low sweet humming ; 
For In the starry night. 
And the glad morning light, 

I come quietly creeping every where. 

Here I come creeping, creeping every where ; 
More welcome than the flowers 
In Summer's pleasant hours ; 
The gentle cow is glad, 
And the merry bird not sad, 

To see mo creeping, creeping every where. 

Hero I come creeping, creeping every where ; 
When you 'I'e numbered with the dead 
In your still and narrow bed, 
In the happy Spring I'll come 
And deck your silent home — 

Creeping, silently creeping every where. 

Here I come creeping, creeping every where ; 

My humble song of praise 

Most joyfully I raise 

To Him at whose command 

I beautify the land, 
Creeping, silently creeping every whei-e. 

Saeah Roberts. 



JULY. 

LoTTD is the Summer's busy song, 
The smallest breeze can find a tongue, 
While insects of each tiny size 
Grow teasing with their melodies. 
Till noon burns with its blistering breath 
Around, and day lies still as death. 

The busy noise of man and brute 
Is on a sudden lost and mute ; 
Even the brook that leaps along. 
Seems weary of its bubbling song, 
And, so soft its waters creep. 
Tired silence sinks in sounder sleep ; 

The cricket on its bank is dumb ; 
The very flies forget to hum ; 
And, save the wagon rocking round. 
The landscape sleeps without a sound. 
The breeze is stopped, the lazy bough 
Hath not a leaf that danceth now ; 

The taller grass upon the hill, 

And spider's threads, are standing still ; 

The featliers, dropped from moorhen's wing 

Which to the water's surface cling. 

Are steadfast, and as heavy seem 

As stones beneath them in the stream ; 

Hawkweed and groundsel's fanny downs 

Unrufiled keep their seedy crowns ; 

And in the over-heated air 

Not one light thing is floating there. 

Save that to the earnest eye 

The restless heat seems twittering by. 

Noon swoons beneath the heat it made. 
And flowers e'en within the shade ; 
Until the sun slopes in the west, 
Like weary traveller, glad to rest 
On pillowed clouds of many hues. 
Then Nature's voice its joy renews, 

And checkered field and grassy plain 
Hum with their summer songs again, 
A requiem to the day's decline. 
Whose setting sunbeams coolly shine 
As welcome to day's feeble powers 
As falling dews to thirsty flowers. 

John Clake. 



58 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



SONG. 

Under the greenwood tree 
Who loves to lie with me, 
And tune bis merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's throat, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither ; 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But Winter and rough weather. 

Who doth ambition shun 
And loves to live i' the sun, 
Seeking the food he eats. 
And pleased with what he gets, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither ; 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But Winter and rough weather. 

Shakebpeabe. 



THE GREENWOOD. 

Oh! when 'tis summer weather, 
And the yellow bee, with fairy sound, 
The waters clear is humming round. 
And the cuckoo sings unseen, 
And the leaves are waving green — 

Oh ! then 't is sweet. 

In some retreat, 
To hear the murmuring dove. 
With those whom on earth alone we love, 
And to wind through the greenwood together. 

But when 'tis winter weather. 

And crosses grieve. 

And friends deceive. 

And rain and sleet 

The lattice beat, — • 

Oh ! then 't is sweet 

To sit and sing 
Of the friends with whom, in the days of 

Spring, 
We roamed through the greenwood together. 

William Lisle Bowle3. 



COME TO THESE SCENES OF PEACE. 

Come to these scenes of peace. 
Where, to rivers murmuring, 
The sweet birds all the Summer sing. 
Where cares, and toil, and sadness cease 1 
Stranger, does thy heart deplore 
Friends whom thou wilt see no more? 
Does thy wounded spirit prove 
Pangs of hopeless, severed love ? 
Thee, the stream that gushes clear — 
Thee, the birds that carol near 
Shall soothe, as silent thou dost lie 
And dream of their wild lullaby ; 
Come to bless these scenes of peace. 
Where cai'es, and toil, and sadness cease. 
William Lisle BowLEa. 



THE GARDEN. 

How vainly men themselves amaze, 
To win the palm, the oak, or bays : 
And their incessant labors see 
Crowned from some single herb, or tree, 
Whose short and narrow- verged shade 
Does prudently their toils upbraid ; 
While all the flowers, and trees, do close, 
To weave the garlands of repose. 

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here. 
And Innocence, thy sister dear ? 
Mistaken long, I sought you then 
In busy companies of men. 
Tour sacred plants, if here below, 
Only among the plants will grow 
Society is aU but rude 
To this delicious solitude. 

No white nor red was ever seen 

So amorous as this lovely green. 

Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, 

Cut in these trees their mistress' name 

Little, alas ! they know or heed, 

How far these beauties her exceed ! 

Fair trees ! where'er your barks I wound, 

No name shall but your own be found. 

When we have run our passion's heat, 
Love hither makes his best retreat. 



THE GARDEN. 



59 



Tlie gods, who mortal beauty chase, 
Still in a tree did end their race. 
Apollo hunted Daphne so. 
Only that she might laurel grow : 
And Pan did after Syi-inx speed, 
Not as a nymph, hut for a reed. 

What wondrous life in this I lead ! 
Ripe apples drop about my head; 
The luscious clusters of the vine 
Upon my mouth do crush their wine ; 
The nectarine, and curious peach, 
Into my hands themselves do reach ; 
Stumbling on melons, as I pass, 
Insnared with flowers, I fall on grass. 

Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less 

Withdraws into its happiness. 

The mind, that ocean where each kind 

Does straight its own resemblance find ; 

Yet it creates, transcending these. 

Far other worlds and other seas ; 

Annihilating aU that 's made 

To a green thought in a green shade. 

Here at the fountain's sliding foot, 
Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root. 
Casting the body's vest aside, 
ily soul into the boughs does glide ; 
There, like a bird, it sits and sings. 
Then whets and claps its silver wings, 
And, till prepared for longer flight, 
Waves in its plumes the various light. 

Such was the happy garden state, 
While man there walked without a mate : 
After a place so pure and sweet, 
What other help could yet be meet ! 
But 't was beyond a mortal's share 
To wander solitary there : 
Two paradises are in one, 
To live in paradise alone. 

How well the skilful gardener drew 
Of flowers, and herbs, this dial new ! 
Where, from above, the milder sun 
Does through a fragrant zodiac run : 
And, as it works, th' industrious bee 
Computes its time as well as we. 
How could such sweet and wholesome hours 
Be reckoned, but with herbs and flowers ? 

Andrew Marvell. 



THE GARDEN. 

Happy art thou, whom God does bless. 
With the full choice of thine own happiness; 

And happier yet, because thou 'rt blest 

With prudence, how to choose the best: 
In books and gardens thou hast placed aright 

(Things, which thou well dost understand ; 
And both dost make with thy laborious hand) 

Thy noble, innocent delight ; 
And in thy virtuous wife, where thou again 
dost meet 

Both pleasures more refined and sweet ; 

The fairest garden in her looks, 

And in her mind the wisest books. 
Oh, who would change these soft, yet solid 
joys, 

For empty shows and senseless noise ; 

And all which rank ambition breeds, 
Which seems such beauteous flowers, and are 
such poisonous weeds ? 

When God did man to his own likeness make. 

As much as clay, though of the purest kiud. 
By tlie great potter's art reflned. 
Could tlio divine impression take. 
He thought it fit to place him, where 
A kind of Heaven too did appear. 

As far as Eartli could such a likeness bear : 
That man no happiness might want. 

Which Earth to her first master could aflbrd. 
He did a garden for him plant 

By the quick hand of his omnipotent word. 

As the chief help and joy of human life. 

He gave him the first gift ; first, even before 
a wife. 

For God, the universal architect 

'T had been as easy to erect 
A Louvre or Escurial, or a tower 
That might with Heaven communication hold. 
As Babel vainly thought to do of old : 

He wanted not the skill or power ; 

In the world's fabric those were shown. 
And the materials were all his own. 
But well he knew, what place would best 

agree 
With innocence and with felicity ; 
And we elsewhere still seek for them in vain; 
If any part of either yet remain. 



CO 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



If any part of either wo expect, 
This may our judgment in the search direct ; 
God the first garden made, and the first city 
Gain. 

blessed shades 1 gentle cool retreat 

From all th' immoderate heat, 
In wliich tlio frantic ivorld does burn and 

sweat ! 
This docs the Lion-star, ambition's rage ; 
This avarice, the Dog-star's thirst, assuage ; 
Every vi^here else their fatal power wo see ; 
They make and rule man's wretched destiny: 

Tlicy neither set, nor disappear, 

l!ut tyrannize o'er all the year ; 
Whilst wo ne'er feel their flame or influence 
here. 

Tlie birds that dance from bougli to bough. 

And sing above in every tree, 

Are not irom fears and cares more frco 
Than we, who lie, or sit, or walk, below, 

And should by right be singers too. 
What prince's choir of music can excel 

Tliat, which within this shade does dwell ? 

To which we nothing pay or give ; 
They, like all other poets, live 
Without reward, or thanks for their obliging 
pains ; 
'T is well if they become not prey. 
Tlie whistling winds add tlieir less artful 

strains. 
And a grave bass the murmuring fountains 

play ; 
Nature does all this harmony bestow, 
But to our plants, art's music too. 
The pipe, theorbo, and guitar, we owe ; 
The lute itself, which once was green and 
mute. 
When Orpheus strook th' inspired lute. 
The trees danced round, and understood 
By sympathy the voice of wood. 

These are the spells, that to kind sleep invite. 
And nothing does witliin resistance make, 
Wliich yet wo moderately take ; 
Wlio would uot choose to be awake. 
While he 's encompast round with such de- 
light, . 
To th' ear, tho nose, the touch, the taste, and 
sight ? 



When Venus would her dear Ascanius keep 
A prisoner in the downy bands of sleep. 
The odorous herbs and flowers beneath him 

spread. 
As the most soft and sweetest bed ; 
Not her own lap would more have charmed 

his head. 
Wlio, that has reason and his smell. 
Would not among roses and jasmine dwell, 

Rather than all his spirits choke. 
With exhalations of dirt and smoke, 

And all th' imcleanness which does drown. 
In pestilential clouds, a populous town ? 
The earth itself breathes better perfumes 

here, 
Thau all the female men, or women, there 
Not without cause, about them bear. 

When EpioH'us to tho world had taught. 

That pleasure was the chiefest good, 
(And was, ])crhaps, i' th' right, if rightly un- 
derstood) 

His life ho to his doctrine brought, 
And in a garden's shade that sovereign plea- 
sure sought : 
Whoever a true epicure would be. 
May there find cheap and virtuous luxury. 
Vitellius's table, which did hold 
As many creatures as the ark of old ; 
That fiscal table, to which every day 
All countries did a constant tribute pay, 
Could nothing more delicious atford 

Tliau Nature's liberality. 
Helped with a little art and industry, 
Allows the meanest gardener's board. 
The wanton taste no fish or fowl can choose, 
For which the grape or melon she would 

lose; 
Though all th' inhabitants of sea and air 
Be listed in the glutton's bill of fare. 

Yet still the fruits of earth we see 
Placed the third story high in all her luxiiry. 

But with no sense tho garden does comply, 
None courts, or flatters, as it does, the eye. 
When the great Hebrew king did almost 

strain 
The wondrous treasures of his wealth, and 

brain. 
His royal southern guest to entertain ; 



THE GARDEN. 



61 



Though she on silver floors did tread, 
With bright Assyrian carpets on them spread, 
To lude the metal's poverty ; 
Though she looked up to roofs of gold, 
And nought around her could behold 
But silk, and rich embroiderj', 
And Babylonisli tapestry. 
And wealtliy Hiram's princely dye ; 
Though Ophir's starry stones met every 

where her eye ; 
Though she herself and her gay host were 

drest 
With all the shining glories of the East ; 
AVhen lavish Art her costly work had done, 

The honor and the prize of bravery 
Was by the garden from the palace won 
And every rose and lily there did stand 

Better attired by Nature's hand. 
The case thus judged against the king we see. 
By one, that would not be so rich, thougli 
wiser far than lie. 

Nor does this happy place only dispense 
Such various pleasures to the sense ; 
Here health itself does live. 

That salt of life which does to all a relish give. 

Its standing pleasure and intrinsic wealth. 

The body's virtue and the soul's good-for- 
tune, health. 

The tree of life, when it in Eden stood. 

Did its immortal head to Heaven rear ; 

It lasted a tall cedar, till the flood ; 

Now a small thorny shrub it does appear ; 
Nor will it thrive too every where: 
It always here is freshest seen, 
'Tis only here an evergreen. 
If, through the strong and beauteous fence 
Of temperance and innocence, 

And wholesome labors, and a quiet mind. 
Any diseases passage find. 
They must not think here to assail 

A land unarmed or without a guard ; 

They must fight for it, and dispute it hard, 
Before they can prevail : 
Scarce any plant is growing here, 

Which against death some weanou does not 
bear. 
Let cities boast that they provide 
For life the ornaments of pride ; 
But 'tis the country and the field, 
That furnish it with staff and shield. 



Where does the wisdom and the power divine 
In a more bright and sweet reflection shine ? 
Where do we finer strokes and colors see 
Of the Creator's real poetry, 

Than when we with attention look 
Upon the third day's volume of the book ? 
If we could open and intend our eye. 

We all, like Moses, sliould espy 
Even in a bush the radiant Deity. 
But we despise these, his inferior ways, 
(Though no less fidl of miracle and praise.) 

Upon the flowers of Heaven we gaze ; 
The stars of Earth no wonder in us raise ; 

Though these perhaps do, more than they, 
The life of mankind sway. 
Although no part of mighty Nature be 
More stored with beauty, power and mystery; 
Yet, to encourage human industry, 
God has so ordered, that no other part 
Such space and such dominion leaves for Art. 

Wo nowhere Art do so triumphant see, 

As when it grafts or buds the tree. 
In other things we count it to excel. 
If it a docile scholar can appear 
To Nature, and but imitate her well ; 
It over-rules and is her master, here. 
It imitates her Maker's power divine. 
And changes her sometimes, and sometimes 

does refine. 
It does, like grace, the fallen tree restore 
To its blest state of Paradise before. 
Who would not joy to see his conquering hand 
O'er all the vegetable world command ? 
And the wild giants of the wood receive 

What law he 's pleased to give ? 
He bids th' ill-natured crab produce 
The gentle apple's winy juice. 

The golden fruit that worthy is 

Of Galatea's purple kiss. 

He does the savage hawthorn teach 

To bear the medlar and the pear ; 

He bids the rustic plum to rear 

A noble trunk, and be a peach. 

Ev'n Daphne's coyness he does mock, 

And weds the cherry to her stock. 

Though she refused Apollo's suit ; 

Even she, that chaste and virgin tree, 

Now wonders at herself, to see 
That she's a mother made, and bUishes in lier 
fruit. 



rOEMS OF NATURE. 



Metbinks I see great Dioelesian walk 
In the Salonian garden's noble sbade, 
Wbich by bis own imperial hands was made. 
[ see bira smile, methiuks, as he does talk 
With the ambassadors, who come in vain 

T' entice bim to a throne again. 
"If I, ny friends," (said he,) "should to you 

show 
All the delights which in these gardens grow, 
'Tis likelier, much, that you should with me 

stay. 
Than 'tis that you should carry me away ; 
And trust me not, my friends, if every day, 

I walk not here with more delight 
Tlum over, after the most happy sight. 
In triumph to the Capitol I rode 
To thank the gods, and to bo thought myself 

almost a god." 

Abrahau Cowlet. 



INSCRIPTION m A HERMITAGE. 

Rexeath this stony roof reclined, 
I soothe to peace my pensive mind ; 
And while, to shade my lowly cave. 
Embowering elms their umbrage wave ; 
And while the raaplo dish is mine — 
The bcccben cup, unst.ained with ^-ine — 
I scorn the gay licentious crowd. 
Nor heed the toys that deck the proud. 

AVitbin my limits, lone and still. 
The black-bird pipes in artless trill ; 
Fast by my couch, congenial guest. 
The wren has wove her mossy nest ; 
From busy scenes, and brighter skies. 
To lurk with innocence, she flies, 
Here hopes in safe repose to dwell, 
Nor aught suspects the sylvan cell. 

At morn I take my customed round, 
To mark bow buds yon shrubby mound. 
And every opening primrose count. 
That trimly paints my blooming mount ; 
Or o'er the sculptures, quaint and rude. 
That grace my gloomy solitude, 
I teach in winding wreaths to stray 
Fantastic ivy's gadding spray. 



At eve, within yon studious nook, 

I ope my brass-embossed book. 

Portrayed with many a holy deed 

Of martyrs, crowned with heavenly meed. 

Then, as my taper waxes dim, 

Chant, ere I sleep, my measured hymn. 

And at the close, the gleams behold 

Of parting wings, be-dropt with gold. 

While such pure joys my bliss create. 
Who but would smile at guDty state ? 
AVho but would wish his holy lot 
In calm oblivion's humble grot? 
Who but would cast his pomp away. 
To take my staff, and amice gray ; 
And to the world's tumultuous stage 
Prefer the blameless hermitage ? 

Thomas Waetoh. 



THE RETIREMENT. 

Faeewell, thou busy world, and may 
We never meet again ; 
Here I can eat, and sleep, and pray. 
And do more good in one short day, 
Than he who his whole age out-wears 
Upon the most conspicuous theatres, 
Where nought but v.anity and vice appeai'8. 

Good God ! how sweet are all things here! 
How beautiful the fields appear ! 

How cleanly do we feed and lie ! i 
Lord ! what good hours do we keep ! 
How quietly we sleep ! 

What peace, wlu^t unanimity ! 
How innocent from the lewd fashion. 
Is all our business, all our recreation ! 

Oh, how happy liere 's our leisure ! 
Oh, how innocent our pleasure ! 
O ye valleys ! O ye mountains ! 
O ye groves, and crystal fountains! 
How I love, at liberty, 
By turns to come and visit ye! 

Dear solitude, tlie soul's best friend. 
That man acquainted with himself dost miike, 
And all his Maker's wonders to intend. 



THE USEFUL PLOUGH. 



63 



With thee I here converse at will, 
And would be glad to do so still, 
For is it thou alone that keep'st the soul 
awake. 

How calm and quiet a dehght 
Is it, alone 

To read, and meditate, and write, 

By none offended, and offending none ! 

To walk, ride, sit, or sleep at one's own 
case; 
And, ])leasing a man's self, none other to dis- 
please. 

ray beloved nymph, fair Dove, 
Princess of rivers, how I love 

Upon thy flowery banks to lie, 
And view thy silver stream. 
When gilded by a Summer's beam ! 
And in it aU thy wanton fry 
Playing at liberty. 
And, with my angle, upon them. 
The all of treachery 

1 ever learned industriously to try ! 

Such streams Rome's yellow Tiber cannot 

show, 
Tlie Ilierian Tagus, or Ligurian Po; 
The Maese, the Danube, and the Rhine, 
Are puddle-water, all, compared with thine ; 
And Lou'e's pure streams yet too polluted are 
With thine, much purer, to compare ; 
The rapid Garonne and the winding Seine 
Are both too mean, 

Beloved Dove, with thee 

To vie priority ; 
Nay, Tame and Isis, when conjoined, submit. 
And lay their trophies at thy silver feet. 

(_) my beloved rocks, that rise 

fo awe the earth and brave the skies ! 

From some aspiring mountain's crown 

How dearly do I love. 
Giddy with pleasure, to look down ; 
And, from the vales, to view the noble heights 

above ; 
O ray beloved caves ! from dog-star'a heat. 
And all anxieties, my safe retreat ; 
What safety, privacy, what true delight. 
In the artificial night 



Your gloomy entrails make, 

Have I taken, do I take ! 
How oft, when grief has made me fly, 
To hide me from society 
E'en of my dearest friends, have I, 

In your recesses' friendly shade. 

All my sorrows open laid, 
And my most secret woes intrusted to your 



privacy 



Lord! woiUd men let me alone. 
What an over-happy one 

Should I think myself to be — 
Might I in this desert place, 
(Which most men in discourse disgrace,) 

Live but undisturbed and free ! 
Here, in this despised recess. 

Would I, maugre Winter's cold. 
And the Summer's worst excess. 
Try to live out to sixty full years old ; 
And, all tlie while, 

Without an envious eye 
On any thri\'ing under Fortune's smile, 
Contented live, and then contented die. 

Charles Cottox. 



THE USEFUL PLOUGH. 

A couNTRT life is sweet ! 
In moderate cold and heat. 

To walk in the air, how pleasant and fair ! 
In every field of wheat. 

The fairest of flowers adorning the bowers, 
And every meadow's brow ; 

So that I say, no courtier may 

Compare with them who clothe in gray, 
And follow the useful plough. 

They rise with the morning lark, 
And labor tiU almost dark ; 
Then folding their sheep, they hasten to 
sleep ; 
While every pleasant i)ark 
Next morning is ringing with birds that are 
singing, 
On each green, tender bough. 

With what content and merriment 
Their days are spent, whose minds are bent 
To follow the useful plough ! 

Anonymous, 



64 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



PvEVE DU MIDI. 

"When o'ei- tlie mountain steeps, 
The liazy noontide creeps, 
And tlie slirill cricket sleeps 
Under the grass ; 
When soft the shadows lie, 
And clouds sail o'er the sky, 
And the idle ■winds go by, 
"With the heavy scent of blossoms as they 
pass — 

Then when the silent stream 
Lapses as in a dream. 
And the water-lilies gleam 
Up to the sun ; 

When the hot and burdened day 
Rests on its downward way. 
When the moth forgets to play 
And the plodding ant may dream her work is 
done — 

Then, from the noiso of war 
And the din of earth afar. 
Like some forgotten star 
Dropt from the sky — 
The sounds of love and fear, 
All voices sad and clear. 
Banished to silence drear — 
The willing thrall of trances sweet I lie. 

Some melancholy gale 

Breathes its mysterious tale, 
Till the rose's lips grow pale 
With her sighs ; 
And o'er my thoughts are cast 
Tints of the vanished past, 
Glories that faded fast, 
Renewed to splendor in my dreaming eyes. 

As poised on vibrant wings. 
Where its sweet treasure swings, 
The honey-lover clings 
To the red flowers — 
So, lost in vivid light. 
So, rapt from day and night, 
I linger in delight, 
Enraptured o'er the vision-freighted hours. 

KosE Terky. 



HYMN TO PAK 

O THOTT, whose mighty palace roof doth hang 
From jagged trunks, and overshadowoth 
Eternal whispers, glooms, the birth, life, death 
Of unseen ilowers in heavy peacefulness ; 
Who lovest to see the Hamadryads dress 
Their ruffled locks where meeting hazels 

darken ; 
And through whole solemn hours dost rft 

and hearken 
The dreary melody of bedded reeds 
In desolate places, where dank moisture 

breeds 
The pipy hemlock to strange overgrowth, 
Bethinking thee, how melancholy loth 
Thou wast to lose fair Syrinx — do thou now, 
By thy love's milky brow ! 
By all the trembling mazes that she ran, 
Hear us, great Pan ! 

O thou, for whose soul-soothing quiet, tm-tles 
Passion then- voices cooingly 'mong myrtles. 
What time thou wanderest at eventide 
Through sunny meadows, that outskirt the 

side 
Of thine enmossed realms ! O thou, to whom 
Broad-leaved iig-trees even now foredoom 
Their ripened fruitage ; yeUow-girted bees 
Their golden honeycombs ; our vUlage leas 
Their fairest blossomed beans and poppied 

corn ; 
The chuckling linnet its five young unborn. 
To sing for thee ; low-creeping strawberries 
Their summer coolness ; pent-up butterflies 
Their freckled wings ; yea, the fi-esh-budding 

year 
All its completions — be quickly near. 
By every wind that nods the mountain pine, 
O forester divine ! 

Thou, to whom every faun and satyr flies 
For willing service ; whether to surprise 
The squatted hare while in half-sleeping fit ; 
Or upward ragged precipices flit 
To save poor lambkins from the eagles maw ; 
Or by mysterious enticement draw 
Bewildered shepherds to their path again ; 
Or to tread breathless round the frothy main, 
And gather up all fancifullest shells 
For thee to tumble into Naiads' cells, 



THE BIRCH-TKEE. 



65 



And, being hidden, langli at their out-peeping ; 
Or to deliglit thee with fantastic leaping, 
The whUo they pelt each other on the crown 
With silvery oak-apples, and fir-cones brown ! 
By all the echoes that about thee ring. 
Hear us, O satyr king ! 

O Hearkener to the loud-clappping shears, 
"While ever and anon to his shorn peers 
A ram goes bleating I "Winder of the horn, 
When snouted wild-boars, routing tender corn. 
Anger our huntsmen! Breather round our 

farms, 
To keep oflP mildews, and all weather harms ! 
Strange ministrant of undescribed sounds, 
That come a-swooning over hollow grounds. 
And wither drearily on barren moors ! 
Dread opener of the mysterious doors 
Leading to universal knowledge — see. 
Great son of Dry ope, 

The many that are come to pay their vows 
AYitli leaves about their brows ! 

Be still the unimaginable lodge 
For solitary thinkings— such as dodge 
Conception to the very bourne of heaven. 
Then leave the naked brain ; be stiU the leaven 
That, spreading in this duU and clodded earth, 
Gives it a touch ethereal — a new birth ; 
Be stiU a symbol of immensity ; 
A firmament reflected in a sea ; 
An element filling the space between ; 
An unknown — but no more: we humbly 

screen 
With upUft hands our foreheads, lowly bend- 

in<T 

And, giving out a shout most heaven-rending, 

Conjure thee to receive our humble psean, 

Upon thy Mount Lycean ! 

JoHH Keats. 



TO PAN. 

All ye woods, and trees, and bowers, 
AH ye virtues and ye powers 
That inhabit in the lakes. 
In the pleasant springs or brakes, 
Move your feet 
To our sound, 
Whilst we greet 
All this ground, 




With his honor and his name 
That defends our flocks from blame. 

He is great, and he is just, 
He is ever good, and must 
Thus be honored. DaflbdiUies, 
Roses, pinks, and loved lilies. 
Let us fling. 

Whilst we sing. 
Ever holy. 
Ever holy. 
Ever honored, ever young ! 
Thus great Pan is ever simg. 

Beaumont and Fletohbe. 



THE BBROH-TREE. 

RrpPLTNO through thy branches goes the sun- 
shine. 
Among thy leaves that palpitate for ever ; 
Ond in thee a pining Nymph had prisoned, 
The sold once of some tremulous inland river, 
Quivering to tell her woe, but, all ! dumb, 
dumb for ever ! 

While all the forest, witched with slumber- 
ous moonshine, 
Holds up its leaves in happy, happy silence, 
Waiting the dew, with breath and pulse sus- 
pended,— 
I hear afar thy whispering, gleaming islands. 
And track thee wakeful still amid the wide- 
hung silence. 

Upon the brink of some wood-nestled lakelet, 
Thy foHage, like the tresses of a Dryad, 
Dripping about thy slim white stem, whose 

shadow 
Slopes quivering down the water's dusky 

quiet, 
Thou shrink'st as on her bath's edge would 

some startled Dryad. 

Thou art the go-between of rnstic lovers; 

Thy white bark has their secrets in its keep- 
ing; 

Reuben writes here the happy name of Pa- 
tience, 

And thy lithe boughs hang murmuring and 
weeping 



66 POEMS OF NATUKE. 


Above her, as she steals the mystery from thy 




keeping. 


SUMiyfKR WOODS. 


Thou art to me like my beloved maiden, 


Come ye into the summer woods; 


So frankly coy, so full of trembly confidences ; 


There entereth no annoy ; 


Thy shadow scarce seems shade ; thy patter- 


All greenly wave the chestnut leaves. 


ing leaflets 


And the earth is fuU of joy. 


Sprinkle their gathered sunshine o'er my 




senses. 


I cannot tell you half the sights 


And Nature gives me all her summer confi- 


Of beauty you may see. 


dences 


The bursts of golden sunshine. 




And many a shady tree. 


Whether my heart with hope or sorrow trem- 




ble, 


There, lightly swung, m bowery glades. 


Thou sympathizest still ; wild and unquiet, 


The honey-suckles twine ; 


I flmg me down, thy ripple, like a river. 


There blooms the rose-red campion. 


Flows valleyward where calmness is, and 


And the dark-blue columbine. 


by it 




My heart is floated down into the land of 


There grows the four-leaved plant, " true 


quiet. 


love," 


James EtrssELL Lowell. 


In some dusk woodland spot ; 




There grows the enchanter's night-shade, 
And the wood forget-me-not. 




SONG OF WOOD-NYMPHS. 






And many a merry bird is there, 


Come here, come here, and dwell 


Unscared by lawless men ; 


In forest deep ! 


The blue- winged jay, the woodpecker, 


Come here, come here, and tell 


And the golden-crested wren. 


Why thou dost weep 1 




Is it for love (sweet pain !) 


Come down, and ye shall see them all. 


That thus thou dai''st complain 


The timid and the bold ; 


Unto our pleasant shades, our summer leaves, 


For their sweet life of pleasantness. 


Where nought else grieves ? 


It is not to be told. 


Come here, come here, and lie 


And far within that summer wood. 


By whispering stream ! 


Among the leaves so green. 


Here no one dares to die 


There flows a httle gurgUng brook. 


For love's sweet dream ; 


The brightest e'er was seen. 


But health all seek, and joy. 




And shun ])erverse annoy. 


There come the little gentle birds. 


And race along green paths till close of day. 


Without a fear of ill ; 


And laugh — alway ! 


Down to the mm-muring water's edge 




And freely drink their fill ! 


Or else, through half the year, 




On rushy floor, 


And dash about and splash about. 


We lie by waters clear. 


The merry little things ; 


While sky-larks pour 


And look askance with bright black eyes, 


Their songs into the sun ! 


And flirt their dripping wings. 


And when bright day is done. 




We hide 'neath bells of flowers or nodding 


I 've seen the freakish squirrels di-op 


corn 


Down from their leafy tree, 


And dream — till morn ! 


The little squirrels -nith the old, — 


Babrt Cornwall. 


Great joy it was to me ! 



THE BELFRY PIGEON. 67 


And down unto the running brook, 


Therefore, wave and murmur on. 


I Ve seen them nimbly go ; 


Sigh for sweet affections gone. 


And the bright water seemed to speak 


And for tuneful voices fled. 


A welcome kind and low, 


And for Love, whose heart hath bled— 




Ever, willow, willow ! 


The nodding plants they bowed their heads 


Felicia Dorothea Heuans. 


As if in heartsomo cheer : 
They spake unto these little things. 






" 'T is merry living here ! " 


THE BELFRY PIGEON. 


Oh, how my heart ran o'er with joy ! 


On the cross-beam under the Old South bell 


I saw that all was good. 


The nest of a pigeon is builded well. 


And how we miglit glean up delight 


In summer and winter that bird is there, 


All round us, if we would ! 


Out and in with tlie morning air ; 




I love to see him track the street. 


And many a wood-mouse dwelleth there. 


With his wary eye and active feet ; 


Beneath the old wood shade, 


And I often watch him as he springs, 


And all day long has work to do, 


Cu-cUng the steeple with easy wings, 


Nor is of aught afraid. 


Till across the dial his shade has passed. 




And the belfry edge is gained at last ; 


The green shoots grow above their heads. 


'Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note, 


And roots so fresh and fine 


And the trembling throb in its mottled throat ; 


Beneath their feet ; nor is there strife 


There 's a human look in its swelling breast. 


'Mong them for mine and thine. 


And the gentle curve of its lowly crest ; 




And I often stop with the fear I feel — 


There is enough for every one. 


He runs so close to the rapid wheel. 


And they lovingly agree ; 


Wliatever is rung on that noisy bell — 


We might learn a lesson, all of us, 


Chime of the hour, or funeral knell— 


Beneath the green-wood tree. 


The dove in the belfry must hear it well . 


Mart Howttt. 


When the tongue swings out to the midnight 

moon, 
When the sexton cheerly rings for noon, 




WILLOW SONG. 


When the clock strikes clear at morning 

light. 
When the child is waked with " nine at 


Willow ! in thy breezy moan 


I can hear a deeper tone ; 


night," 


Through thy leaves come whispering low 


Wlien the chimes play soft in the Sabbath air, 


Famt sweet sounds of long ago — 


FilUng the spii-it with tones of prayer, — 


Willow, sighing willow ! 


Whatever tale in the bell is heard. 




He broods on his folded feet unstirred. 


Many a mournful tale of old 


Or, rising half in his rounded nest. 


Heart-sick Love to thee hath told, 


He takes the time to smooth his breast. 


Gathering from thy golden bough 


Then drops again, with filmed eyes. 


Leaves to cool his burning brow — 


And sleeps as the last vibration dies. 


Willow, sighing willow I 


Sweet bird! I would that I could be 




A hermit in the crowd like thee ! 


Many a swan-like song to thee 


With wings to fly to wood and glen, 


Hath been sung, thou gentle tree ; 


Thy lot, like mine, is cast with men ; 


Many a lute its last lament 


And daily, with unwilling feet, 


Down thy moonlight stream hath sent — 


I tread, like thee, the crowded street, 


Willow, sighing willow ! 


But, unlike me, when day is o'er. 



68 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Thou canst dismiss the worhl, and soar ; 
Or, at a half-folt wish for rest, 
Oanst smooth the feathers on thy breast. 
And drop, forgetful, to thy nest. 

I woidd that, in such wings of gold, 
I could my weary heart upfold ; 
I would I could look down unmoved 
(Unloving as I am unloved), 
And while the world throngs on beneath, 
Smooth down my cares and calmly breathe ; 
And never sad with others' sadness. 
And never glad is-ith others' gladness, 
Dsten, unstirred, to knell or chime. 
And, lapped in quiet, bide my time. 

Natiiamel Paekee Willis. 



THE GEASSHOPPEE. 

TO MT NOBI.E FRIEND ME. OHAKLEa COTTON. 
ODE. 

O Tnoo, that swing'st upon the waving ear 

Of some well-filled oaten beard, 
Drunk every night with a delicious tear 

Dropped thee from heaven, where now 
thou 'rt reared ; 

The joys of air and earth are thine entire, 
That with thy feet and wings dost hop and 

fly; 

And when thy poppy works, thou dost retire 
To thy carved acorn-bed to he. 

Up witli the day, the sun thou welcom'st then ; 

Sport'st in the gilt plats of his beams. 
And all those merry days mak'st merry men, 

Thyself, and melancholy streams. 

But ah 1 the sickle 1 golden ears are cropt ; 

Ceres and Bacchus bid good-night ; 
Sharp frosty fingers all yonr flowers have topt. 

And what scythes spai'ed, winds shave otif 
quite. 

Poor verdant fool ! and now green ice, thy 
joys 

Large and as lasting as thy peroli of grass. 
Bid us lay in 'gainst winter rain, and poise 

Their floods ynth. an o'erflowing glass. 

Thou best of men and friends ! we will create 
A genuine summer in each other's breast ; 



And spite of this cold time and frozen fate, 
Thaw us a warm seat to our rest. 

Our sacred hearths shall burn eternally 
As vestal flames ; the north wind, he 

Shall strike his frost-stretched wmgs, dissolve 
and fly 
Tliis .iEtna in epitome. 

Dropping December shall come weeping in. 
Bewail th' usurping of his reign ; 

But when in showers of old Greek we begin, 
Shall cry he hath his crown again. 

Night as clear Hesper shall our tapers whip 
From the light casements where we play. 

And the dark hag from her black mantle strip, 
And stick there overlastmg day. 

Thus richer than untempted kings are we. 
That asking nothing, nothing need ; 

Though lord of aU what seas embrace, yet he 
That wants himself, is poor indeed. 

EicnAKD Lovelace. 



THE GRASSHOPPER. 

Happt insect, what can be 

In happiness compared to thee? 

Fed with nourishment dinne, 

The dewy morning's gentle wine ! 

Nature waits upon thee still. 

And thy verdant cup does fill ; 

'T is filled wherever thou dost tread. 

Nature self 's thy Ganymede. 

Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing. 

Happier than the happiest king ! 

All the fields which thou dost see, 

All the plants belong to thee ; 

All the summer hours produce. 

Fertile nuule with early juice. 

Man for thee does sow and plow, 

Farmer be, and landlord then! 

Thou dost innocently enjoy ; 

Nor does thy lusm-y destroy. 

The shepherd gladly heareth thee. 

More harmonious than he. 

Thee country hinds with gladness hear, 

Prophet of the ripened year! 

Tliee Phoebus loves, and does inspire ; 

Phcebus is himself thy sire. 



SUMMER. 



69 



To thee, of all things upon earth, 

Life is no longer than thy mirth. 

Happy insect ! happy thou, 

Dost neither age nor winter know ; 

But when thou 'st ch-unk, and danced, and 

sung 
Thy fill, the flowery loaves among, 
(Voluptuous and wise withal, 
Epicurean .anunal !) 
Sated with thy summer feast, 
Thou retir'st to endlest rest. 

Anaokeon. (Greek.) 
Translation of Abrauau Cowlet. 



A SOLILOQUY. 

OCCASIONED BY THE CniBPINa OF A 
OEASSnOPPEE. 

Happy insect ! ever blest 
With a more than mortal rest. 
Rosy dews the leaves among. 
Humble joys, and gentle song ! 
Wretched poet ! ever cm-st 
With a life of lives the worst, 
Sad despondence, restless fears, 
Endless jealousies and tears. 

In the burning summer thou 
Warblest on the verdant bough, 
Meditating cheerftd play. 
Mindless of the piercing ray ; 
Scorched in Cupid's fervors, I 
Ever weep and ever die. 

Proud to gr.itify thy will. 
Ready Nature waits thee still ; 
Balmy wines to tliee she pours, 
Weeping through the dewy flowers. 
Rich as those by Hebe given 
To the thirsty sons of heaven. 

Yet alas, we both agree. 
Miserable thou like me ! 
Each, alike, in youth rehearses 
Gentle strains and tender verses ; 
Ever wandering far from liome. 
Mindless of the days to come 
(Such as aged Winter brings 
Trembling on his icy wings), 
Both alike at last we die ; 
Thou art starved, and so am I ! 

Walter Harte. 



ON THE GRASSHOPPER. 

Happy songster, perched above, 
On the summit of the grove, 
Whom a dewdi'op cheers to sing 
With the freedom of a kuig ; 
From thy perch survey the fields, 
Where prolific Nature yields 
Nought that, willingly as she, 
Man surrenders not to thee. 
For hostility or hate 
None thy pleasures can create. 
Thee it satisfies to sing 
Sweetly the return of Spring; 
Herald of the genial hours. 
Harming neither herbs nor flowers. 
Therefore man thy voice attends 
Gladly — thou and he are friends; 
Nor thy never-ceasing strains 
Phoebus or the Muse disdains 
As too simple or too long, 
For themselves inspire the song. 
Eai'th-born, bloodless, imdeoaying. 
Ever singing, sporting, playing. 
What has nature else to show 
Godlike in its kind as thou ? 

Anaoseon. (Gre«k») 
Translation of William Cowpee. 



ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND 
CRICIvET. 

The poetry of earth is never dead : 
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun. 
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run 
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown 

mead. 
That is the grasshopper's — he takes the lead 
In summer luxury, — he has never done 
With his delights ; for, when tired out with 

fan. 
Ho rests at ease beneath some pleasant w eed. 
The poetry of earth is ceasing never. 
On a lone winter evening, when the frost 
Has wrought a sUence, from the stove thero 

shrills 
The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever. 
And seems, to one in drowsiness half lost. 
The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills. 

JOUN KeaT9. 



70 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET. 

Geeen little vaulter in the sunny grasa, 
Catching your heart up at the feel of June— 
Solo voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon 
When even the bees lag at the summoning 

brass ; 
And you, warm little housekeeper, who cUss 
With those who thiuk the candles come too 

soon. 
Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune 
Nick the glad silent moments as they pass ! 

O sweet and tiny couans, that belong. 
One to the fields, the other to the hearth. 
Both have your sunshine : both, though small, 

are strong 
At your clear hearts; and both seem given 

to earth 
To sing in thoughtfid ears this natural soug— 
In doors and out, summer and winter, mirth. 

Leiou Hunt. 



TO THE HUMBLE-BEE. 

BtTRLT, dozing humble-bee ! 
Where thou art is clime for me; 
Let them sail for Porto Rique, 
Far-oflf heats through seas to seek. — 
I will follow thee alone, 
Thou animated torrid zone ! 
Zig-zag stoerer, desert cheerer. 
Let me chase thy waving lines; 
Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, 
Sincring over shrubs and vines. 

Insect lover of the sun, 
Joy of thy dominion ! 
Sailor of the atmosphere ; 
Swimmer through the waves of air. 
Voyager of light and noon, 
Epicurean of June ! 
Wait, I prithee, till I come 
Withm e.oi-shot of thy hum, — 
^Ul without is martyrdom. 

When the south wind, in May days, 
With a net of shining haze 
Silvers the horizon wall ; 
And, with softness touching all, 



Tints the human countenance 
With the color of romance ; 
And infusing subtle heats 
Tiu-ns the sod to violets, — 
Thou in sunny solitudes. 
Rover of tlie underwoods, 
Tlie green silence dost displace 
With thy mellow breezy bass. 

Hot Midsummer's petted crone, 
Sweet to me thy drowsy tone 
TeUs of countless sunny hours, 
Long days, and solid banks of flowers ; 
Of gulfs of sweetness without bound, 
In Indian wildernesses found ; 
Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure, 
Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure. 

Auglit unsavory or unclean 
Hath my insect never seen ; 
But violets, and bilberry bells, 
Maple sap, and daiFodels, 
Grass with green flag half-mast high, 
Succory to match the sky, 
Columbine with horn of honey. 
Scented fern, and agrimony, 
Clover, catchfiy, adder's-tongue. 
And brier-roses, dwelt among : 
All beside was unknown waste. 
All was picture as he passed. 
Wiser far than human seer, 
Yellow-breeched philosopher. 
Seeing only what is fair. 

Sipping only what is sweet. 
Thou dost mock at fate and care, 

Leave the ehaft" and take the wheat. 
Wlien the fierce north-western blast 
Cools sea and land so far and fost, — 
Thou already slumberest deep ; 
Woe and want thou canst outsleep; 
Want and woe, which torture us. 
Thy sleep makes ridiculous. 

Eaipb Waldo Eueeson. 



THE BEE. 

From fruitful beds and flowery borders. 
Parcelled to wasteful ranks and orders. 
Where state grasps more than plain truth needs, 
And wholesome herbs are starved by weeds, 



THE 


BEE. 71 


To tlic wild woods I will bo gone, 


And hard by shelters on some bough 


And tho coarse meals of great Saint John. 


Hilarion's servant, the sage crow. 


When truth and piety are missed, 


Oh, purer years of light and grace I 


Both in tho rulers and the priest ; 


Great is the difference, as the space. 


When pity is not cold but dead, 


'Twist you and us, who blindly run 


And the rich eat the poor like bread ; 


After false fires, and leave the sun. 


While factious heads, with open coile 


Is not fair nature of herself 


jVnd force, first make, then share the spoile ; 


Much richer than dull paint and pelf? 


To Horeb then Elias goes. 


And are not streams at the spring head 


And in the desert grows the rose. 


More sweet than in carved stone or lead ? 




But fancy and some artist's tools 


Haile, chrystal fountaines and fresh shades, 


Frame a religion for fools. 


Where no proud look invades. 




No busio worldling hunts away 


The truth, which once was plainly taught, 


The sad retirer all the day! 


With thorns and briars now is fraught. 


Haile, happy, harmless soUtude ! 


Some part is with bold fable spotted, 


Our sanctuary from tho rude 


Some by strange comments wildly blotted ; 


And scornful world ; the calm recess 


And discord, old corruption's crest. 


Of faith, and hope, and holiness ! 


With blood and sliamo have stained the rest. 


Here something still like Eden looks ; 


So snow, which in its first descents 


Honey in woods, juleps in brooks ; 


A whiteness like pure heaven presents. 


And flowers, whose rich, unrifled sweets 


When touched by man is quickly soiled. 


With a chaste kiss the cool dew greets. 


And after trodden down and spoiled. 


When the toils of the day are done. 




And the tired world sets with the sun. 


Oh, lead me where I may bo free. 


Here flying winds and flowing wells 


In truth and spirit to serve Thee ! 


Are the wise, watchfid hermit's bells ; 


Where undisturbed I may converse 


Their busie murmurs all the night 


With Thy great Self; and there rehearse 


To praise or prayer do invite ; 


Thy gifts with thanks ; and from Thy store. 


And with an awful sound arrest, 


Who art aU blessings, beg much more. 


And piously employ his breast. 


Give me the wisdom of the bee. 




And her vm wearied Industrie ! 


When in the East the dawn doth blush, 


That, from the wild gourds of these days. 


Here cool, fresh spirits the air brush. 


I may extract he.ilth, and Thy praise. 


Herbs straight get up; flowers peep and 


Who canst turn darkness into light. 


spread ; 


And in my weakness shew Thy might. 


Trees whisper praise, and bow the head ; 




Birds, from tlie shades of night released, 


Suffer me not in any want 


Look round about, then quit the nest. 


To seek refreshment from a plant 


And with united gladness sing 


Thou didst not set ; since all must be 


The glory of tho morning's King. 


Plucked up, whose growth is not from Thee. 


The hermit hears, and with meek voice 


'T is not the garden and the bowers, 


Offers his own up, and their, joyes; 


Nor sense and forms, that give to flowers 


Then prays that all the world might be 


Their wholesomeness ; but Thy good will. 


Blest with as sweet an unity. 


Which truth and pureness purchase still. 


If sudden storms the day invade. 


Then since corrupt man hath driven hence 


They flock about him to the shade, 


Thy kind and saving influence, 


Where wisely they expect the end. 


And balm is no more to be had 


Giving the tempest time to spend ; 


In aU the coasts of Gilead ; 



12 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Go with me to the sliade and cell, 
"Where Thy best servants once did dwelL 
There let me know Thy ^vill, and see 
Exiled religion owned by Thee ; 
For Thou canst turn dark grots to halls, 
And make hills blossome like the vales, 
Decking their nntiUed heads with flowers, 
And fresh delights for all sad hours ; 
Till from them, like a laden bee, 
I may fly home, and hive with Thee. 

Henet VArOHAN. 



THE FLY. 

XJOOASIOireD BT A FLY DRINKING OUT OF THE 

author's cup. 

Bust, cnrious, thirsty fly ! 
Drink with rae, aud drink as I! 
Freely welcome to ray cup, 
Couldst thou sip aud sip it up : 
Make the most of life yon may ; 
Life is short and wears away ! 

Both alike, both mine and thine. 
Hasten quick to theii- decline ! 
Thine 's a summer ; mine no more, 
Though repeated to threescore ! 
Threescore summers, when they 're gone, 
"Will appear as short as one ! 

VlNOEST BOUENE. 



THE SPICE-TREE. 

The Spice-Tree lives in the garden green; 
Beside it the fountain flows ; 
And a fair bird sits the boughs between. 
And sings his melodious woes. 

No greener garden e'er was known 
Within the bounds of an earthly king ; 
No lovelier skies have ever shone 
Than those that illumine its constant Spring. 

That eoil-bound stem has branches three ; 
On each a thousand blossoms grow ; 
And, old as aught of time can be, 
The root stands fast in the rocks below. 

In the spicy shade ne'er seems to tire 
The fount that builds a silvery dome ; 
And flakes of purple and ruby fire 
Gush out, aud sparkle amid tlie foam. 



The fair white bird of flaming crest. 
And azure wings bedropt with gold. 
Ne'er has ho known a pause of rest. 
But sings the lament that he framed of old : 

" O Princess bright ! how long the night 
Since thou art sunk in the waters clear ! 
How sadly they flow from the depth below — 
Eow long must I sing and thou wilt not 
hear ? 

" The waters play, and the flowers are gay, 
And the skies are sunny above ; 
I would that all could fade and fall. 
And I, too, cease to mourn my love. 

" Oh ! many a year, so wakeful and drear, 
I have sorrowed and watched, beloved, for 

thee! 
But there comes no breath from the chambers 

of death. 
While the lifeless fount gushes under the tree." 

The skies grow dark, and they glare with 

red; 
The tree shakes oflf its spicy bloom ; 
The waves of the fount in a black pool spread ; 
And in thunder sounds the garden's doom. 

Down springs the bird with a long shrill cry. 

Into tlie sable and angry flood ; 

And the fiice of the pool, as he falls from 

high. 
Curdles in circling stains of blood. 

But sudden again upsweDs the fount ; 

Higher and higher the waters flow — 
In a glittering diamond arch they mount, 
And round it the colors of morning glow. 

Finer and finer the watery mound 
Softens and melts to a thin-spun veil, 
And tones of music circle around, 
jVnd bear to the stws the fountiun's tale. 

And swift the eddj-ing rainbow screen 
Falls in dew on the grassy floor; 
Under the Spice-Tree the garden's Queen 
Sits by her lover, who wails no more. 

John Steeling. 



THE ] 


PALM. 73 




With spikes of golden bloom a-blaze. 


THE ARAB TO THE PALM. 


And fruits of topaz and cbrysoprase. 


Next to thee, fair gazelle, 


And there the poets, in thy praise. 


BcJdowee girl, beloved so well ; 


Should night and morning frame new lays — 


Next to the fearless Nedjidee, 


New measures sung to tunes divine ; 


Whose fleetuess shall bear me again to thee ; 


But none, Palm, should equal mine ! 


Next to ye both, I love the Palm, 


Bataru Taylob. 


' 


With hi.s leaves of beauty, his fruit of balm ; 






THE TIGER. 


Next to ye both, I love the tree 


m t tT\* IT • 1 • 1 1 


Whose fluttering shadow wraps us three 
With love, and silence, and mystery ! 


Tiger ! Tiger ! burnmg bright. 
In the forest of the night ; 
AVliat immortal hand or eye 


Our tribe is mau}^, our poets vie 


Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 


With any under the Arab sky ; 


In what distant deeps or skies 


Yet none can sing of the Palm but I. 


Burned the ardor of thine eyes? 


Tlie marble minarets that begem 


On what wings dare he aspire ? 
What the liand dare seize the fire? 


Cairo's citadel-diadem 




Are not so light as his slender stem. 


And what shoulder, and what art. 




Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 


lie lifts his leaves in the sunbeam's glance. 


And when thy heart began to beat. 


As the Almehs hft their arms in dance — 


What dread hand forged thy dread feet? 


A slumberous motion, a passionate sign, 


What the hammer? what the chain ? 


That works in the cells of the blood like wine. 


In what furnace was thy brain ? 




What the anvil ! 'Wliat dread grasp 


Full of passion and sorrow is he. 


Dare its deadly terrors clasp ? 


Dreaming where the beloved may be. 






When the stars threw down their spears, 


And wlien the warm south winds arise. 


And watered heaven with their tears, 


He bre.athes his longmg in fer\id sighs, 


Did he smile his work to see ? 




Did He who made the lamb make thee ? 


Quickening odors, kisses of balm, 




That .drop in the lap of his chosen palm. 


Tiger! Tiger! burning bright, 




In the forest of the night ; 


The sun may flame, and the sands may stir. 


Wliat immortal hand or eye 


But tlic breath of his passion reaches her. 


Dare frame thy fearful symmetry ? 




William Blake. 


Tree of Love, by that love of thine, 
Teacli me how I shall soften mine ! 








THE LION'S RIDE. 


Give me the secret of the sun, 




Whereby the wooed is ever won ! 


The lion is the desert's king ; through his 




domain so wide 


If I were a king, stately Tree, 


Right swiftly and right royally this night he 


A likeness, glorious as might be, 


means to ride. 


In the court of my palace I 'd build for thee 


By the sedgy brink, where the wild herds 




drink, close couches the grim chief; 


With a shaft of silver, burnished bright, 


Tiie trembling sycamore above whispers with 


And leaves of beryl and mahachite ; 


every leaf. 



1i 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



At evening, on the Table Mount, when ye 

can see no more 
The changeful play of signals gay ; vrhen the 

gloom is speckled o'er 
With kraal fires ; when the CafFro wends 

home through the lone karroo; 
Wlien the boshbok in the thicket sleeps, and 

by the stream the gnu ; 

Then bend your gaze across the waste — what 

see ye ? The gu'afie, 
Majestic, stalks towards the lagoon, the tiu-- 

bid lymph to quaff; 
"With outstretched neck and tongue adust, he 

kneels him down to cool 
Ills hot thirst with a welcome draught from 

the foul and brackish pool. 

A rustling sound — a roar— a bound — the Uon 

sits astride 
Upon his giant courser's back. Did ever king 

so ride ? 
Had ever king a steed so rare, caparisons of 

state 
To match the dappled skin whereon that 

rider sits elate ? 

In the muscles of the neck his teeth are 
plunged with ravenous greed ; 

His tawny mane is tossing round the withers 
of the steed. 

Up leaping with a hollow yell of anguish and 
surprise. 

Away, away, in wild dismay, the camel-leop- 
ard flies. 

His feet have wings; see how he springs 

across the moonlit plain ! 
As from their sockets they would burst, his 

glaring eyeballs strain ; 
In thick black streams of pm-ling blood, full 

fast his life is fleeting; 
The stillness of the desert hears his heart's 

tumultuous beating. 

Like the cloud that, through the wilderness, 

the path of Israel traced — 
Like an airy phantom, dull and wan, a spirit 

of the waste — 



From the sandy sea uprising, as the water- 
spout from ocean, 

A whirling cloud of dust keeps pace with the 
courser's fiery motion. 

Croaking companion of their flight, the vul- 

tm-e whirs on high ; 
Below, the terror of the fold, the panther 

fierce and sly, 
And hyenas foul, round graves that prowl, 

join in the horrid race ; 
By the foot-prints wet with gore and sweat, 

their monarch's course they trace. 

They see him on his living throne, and quako 

with fear, the while 
"With claws of steel he tears piecemeal his 

cushion's painted pile. 
On! ou! no pause, no rest, girafic, while life 

and strength remain ! 
The steed by such a rider backed, may madly 

plunge in vain. 

Keeling upon the desert's verge, he falls, and 

breathes his last ; 
The courser, stained with dust and foam, is 

the rider's fell repast. 
O'er Madagascar, eastward fin-, a faint flush 

is descried : — 
Thus nightly, o'er his broad domain, the king 

of beasts dotli ride. 

Febuinand Fbeiligrath. (Germau.) 
AnoDymous trauslation. 



THE LION AND GIRAFFE. 

TVouLDST thou view the lion's den ? 
Search afar from haunts of men — 
Where the recd-encircled rill 
Oozes from the rocky hill. 
By its verdure far descried 
Mid the desert brown and wide. 

Close beside the sedgy brim, 
Couehant, lurks the hon grim ; 
"Watching till the close of day 
Brings the death-devoted prey. 
Heedless at the ambushed brink 
The tall girafie stoops down to drink ; 



THE DESERT. 



75 



Upon liim straight, the savage springs 

With cruel joy. The desert rings 

With clanging sound of desperate strife — 

The prey is strong, and he strives for life. 

Plunging off with frantic hound 

To shake the tyrant to the ground, 

He shrieks — ho rushes through the waste. 

With glaring eye and headlong haste 

In vain ! — the spoiler on his prize 

Rides proudly — tearing as he flies. 

For life — the victim's utmost speed 

Is mustered in this hour of need. 

For life — for life — his giant miglit 

He strains, and pours liis soul in flight ; 

And mad with terror, thirst, and pain. 

Spurns with wild hoof the thundering plain. 

'T is vam ; the thirsty sands are drinking 

His streaming blood — his strength is sinking ; 

The victor's fangs are in his veins — 

His flanks are streaked with sanguine stains ; 

Ilis panting brea.st in foam and gore 

Is batlied — ho reels — his race is o'er. 

lie falls— and, with convulsive throe, 

Iicsigns his throat to tho ravening foe ! 

— And lo ! ere quivering life is fled, 

The vultures, wheeling overhead, 

Swoop down, to watch in gaunt array, 

Till tho gorged tyrant quits his prey. 

Thomas Pkimole. 



AFAR IN THE DESERT. 

Afar in the desert I love to ride. 
With the sUent Bush-boy alone by my side. 
When the sorrows of life the soul o'ercast, 
And, sick of the present, I cling to the past ; 
When the eye is suffused with regretful tears, 
From the fond recollections of former years ; 
And shadows of things that have long since 

fled 
Flit over the brain, hko tho ghosts of the 

dead: 
Bright visions of glory that vanished too 

soon; 
Day-dreams, that departed ere manhood's 

noon ; 
Attachments by fate or falsehood reft ; 
Companions of early days lost or left — 
And my native land — whose magical name 
Thrills to the heart like electric flame ; 



The home of my childhood ; the haunts of 

my prime ; 
All tho passions and scenes of that rapturous 

time 
When the feelings were young, and the world 

was new, 
Like tho fresh bowers of Eden unfolding to 

y\Q^y ; 
All — all now forsaken — forgotten — foregone ! 
And I — a lone exile remembered of none — 
My high aims abandoned, — my good acts 

undone — 
Aweary of all that is under the sun — 
With that sadness of heart which no stranger 

may scan, 
I fly to the desert afar from man. 

Afar in the desert I love to ride. 
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side. 
Wlien the wild turmoil of this wearisome life, 
With its scenes of oppression, corruption, and 

strife — 
The proud man's frown, and tho base man's 

fear — 
The scorner's laugh, and the suftorer's tear — 
And malice, and meanness, and falsehood, 

and folly, 
Dispose me to musing and dark melancholy ; 
When my bosom is full, and my thoughts are 

high, 
And my soul is sick with tho bondman's 

sigh— 
Oh ! then there is freedom, and joy, and 

pride, 
Afar in the desert alone to ride ! 
There is rapture to vault on the champing 

steed. 
And to bound away with the eagle's speed, 
With the death-fraught firelock in my hand — 
The only law of tho Desert Land ! 

Afar in tho desert I love to ride. 
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side. 
Away — away from the dwellings of men. 
By tho wild deer's haunt, by the buff'olo'sglen ; 
By valleys remote where the oribi plays, 
Where the gnu, the gazelle, and the harte- 

beest graze. 
And the kudu and eland unhunted recline 
By the skirts of gray forest o'erhnng with 

wild vine; 



76 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Where the elephant browses at peace in his 

wood, 
And tlie river-horse gambols unscarod in the 

flood. 
And the mighty rhinoceros wallows at will 
In the feu where the wild ass is drinking his 

fill. 

Afar in the desert I love to ride, 

With the silent Bash-boy alone by my side. 

O'er the brown karroo, where the bleating 

cry 
Of the springbok's fiiwn sounds plaintively; 
And the timorous quagga's shrill whistling 

neigh 
Is heard by the fountain at twilight gray ; 
Where the zebra wantonly tosses his mane, 
With wild hoof scouring the desolate plain ; 
And the tleet-footcd ostrich over tlie waste 
Speeds like a horseman who travels in haste, 
Hieing away to the homo of her rest. 
Where she and her mate have scooped their 

nest, 
Far hid from the pitiless plunderer's view 
lu the pathless depths of the parched karroo. 

Afar in the desert I love to ride. 
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side. 
Away — away — in the wilderness vast 
Where the white man's foot hath never 

passed. 
And the quivered Coranna or Bechuan 
Hath rarely crossed with his roving clan : 
A region of emptiness, howling and drear, 
Whicli man hath abandoned from famine and 

fear; 
Which the snake and the lizard inhabit alone, 
With the twilight bat from the yawning 

stone ; 
Where grass, nor herb, nor shrub takes root. 
Save poisonous thorns that pierce the foot ; 
And the bitter-melon, for food and drink, 
Is the jiilgrira's fare by the salt-laku's brink ; 
A region of drought, where no river glides, 
Nor rippling brook witli osiered sides; 
Where sedgy pool, nor bubbling founts 
Nor tree, nor cloud, nor misty mount, 
Appears, to refresh the aching eye ; 
But the barren earth and the burning sky, 
And the blank horizon, round and round, 
Spread — void of living sight or sound. 



And here, while the night-winds round me 

sigh. 
And the stars burn bright in the midnight 

sky. 
As I sit apart by the desert stone, 
Like Elgah at Horeb's cave, alone, 
" A still small voice " comes through the wild 
(Like a father consohng his fretful child). 
Which banishes bitterness, wrath, .and fear. 
Saying — M;m is distant, hut God is near ! 

Thomas Pringliw 



THE BLOOD HORSE. 

Gamarra is a d.iinty steed. 

Strong, black, and of a noble breed, 

Full of fire, and full of bone, 

With all his lino of fathers known ; 

Fine bis nose, his nostrils thin. 

But blown abroad by the pride within ! 

His mane is like a river flowing, 

And his eyes hke embers glowing 

In the darkness of the night, 

And his pace as swift as light. 

Look — bow 'round his straining throat 
Grace and sliitting beauty float; 
Sinewy strength is in his reins. 
And the red blood gallops through his veins- 
Richer, redder, never ran 
Through tlie boasting heart of man. 
He can trace his lineage higher 
Than the Bourbon dare aspire, — 
Dougka-s, Guzman, or the Guelph, 
Or O'Brien's blood itself 1 

He, who hath no peer, was horn, 

Here, ui)on a red March morn ; 

But liis famous fathers dead 

Were Arabs all, and Arab bred. 

And the last of that great line 

Trod like one of a race divine ! 

And yet, — he was but friend to one, 

Who fed him at the set of sun, 

By some lone fountain fringed with green ; 

With him, a roving Bedouin, 

He lived (none else woiiUl lie obey 

Through all the hot Arabian day), — 



SUMMER RAIN. 11 


Anil died untamed upon the sands 


Now in fancy comes my mother 


Whore Balkh amidst the desert stands ! 


As she used to, years agone, 


Babbt Cornwall. 


To survey her darling dreamers, 




Ere she left them till the dawn. 
Oh ! I see her bending o'er mo. 






As I list to this refrain 


rNTVOCATION TO RAHSr IN SUMlvrF.R. 


Which is played upon the shingles 




By the patter of the rain. 


OE^^I-E, gentle summer rain, 




Let not the silver lily pine, 


Then my little seraph sister, 


The drooping lily pine in vain 


With her wings and wa%ing hair, 


To feel that dewy touch of thine — 


And her bright-eyed cherub brother — 


To drink thy freshness once again, 


A serene, angelic pair — 


gentle, gentle summer rain ! 


Glide around my wakeful pillow 




With their praise or mild reproof. 


In heat the landscape quivering lies ; 


As I listen to the murmur 


The cattle pant beneath the tree ; 


Of the soft rain on the roof. 


Through parching air and purple skies 




The earth looks up, in vain, for thee ; 


And another comes to thrill mo 


For thee — for thee, it looks in vain. 


With her eyes, delicious blue. 


gentle, gentle summer rain ! 


And forget I, gazing on her. 




That her heart was all untrue ! 


Come, tliou, and brim tlie meadow streams, 


I remember but to love her 


And soften all the hills with mist. 


Witli a rapture kin to pain, 


falling dew! from burning dreams 


And my heart's quick pulses vibrate 


By thee shall herb and flower be kissed ; 


To the patter of the rain. 


And Earth shaU bless thee yet agam, 




gentle, gentle summer rain ! 

\7. C. Besseit. 


There is nought in Art's bravuras 


That can work with such a spell 




In the spirit's pure, deep fountains, 




Whence the holy passions well, 


' 




As that meloily of Nature, 


RAIN ON THE ROOF. 


That subdued, subduing strain 




Which is playcil upon the shmgles 


When the humid shadows hover 


By the patter of the rain. 


Over all the starry spheres. 


AsosTMoun. 


And the melancholy darkness 
Gently weeps in rainy tears, 






'T is a joy to press the pillow 


THE CLOUD. 


Of a cottage chamber bed. 




And to listen to the patter 


I BEmo fresh showers for the thirsting flowers. 


Of the soft rain overhead. 


From the seas and the streams; 




I bear light shade for the leaves when laid 


Every tinkle on the shingles 


In their noon-day dreams. 


Has an echo in the heart ; 


From my wings are shaken the dews that 


And a thousand dreamy fancies 


waken 


Into busy being start. 


The sweet birds every one, 


And a thousand recollections 


When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, 


Weave their bright rays into woof. 


As she dances about the sun. 


As I listen to the patter 


I wield the flail of the lashing hail. 


Of the rain upon the roof. 


And whiten the green plains under; 



18 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



And then again I dissolve it in rain ; , 
And laugh as I pass in thunder. 

I sift the snow on the mountains below, 

And their great pines groan aghast ; 
And all the night, 't is my pillow white, 

While I sleep in the arms of the blast. 
Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers 

Lightning, my pilot, sits ; 
In a cavern under, is fettered the thnndor ; 

It struggles and howls at tits. 
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, 

This pilot is guiding me. 
Lured by the love of the genii that move 

In the depths of the purple sea ; 
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills. 

Over the lakes and the plains, 
Wherever he dream, under mountain or 
stream, 

The spirit he loves, remains ; 
And I all the while bask in heaven's blue 
smile. 

Whilst he is dissolving in rains. 

The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes. 

And his burning plumes outspread. 
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack. 

When the morning star .shines dead. 
As, on the jag of a mountain crag 

Which an earthquake rocks and swings. 
An eagle, alit, one moment n\ay sit 

In the light of its golden wings ; 
And when sunset may breathe, from the lit 
sea beneatli, 

Its ardors of rest and of love. 
And the crimson pall of eve may foil 

From the depth of heaven above. 
With ^\nngs folded I rest on mine airy nest, 

As still as a brooding dove. 

That orbed maiden with white fire laden, 

Whom mortals call the moon. 
Glides glinnnering o'er my fleece-like floor 

By the midnight breezes strewn ; 
And, wherever the beat of her unseen feet. 

Which only the angels hear, 
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin 
roof. 

The stars peep behind her and peer ; 
And 1 laugh to see them whirl and flee. 



Like a swarm of golden bees. 
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, 

Till the calm river, lakes, and seas. 
Like strips of the sky ftdlen through me on 
high. 

Are each paved with the moon and these. 

I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, 

And the moon's with a girdle of pearl ; 
The volcanoes are dim, and tlie stars reel and 
swim. 

When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. 
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, 

Over a torrent sea. 
Sunbeam proof, I hang like a roof. 

The mountains its columns be. 
The triumphal arch, through which I march, 

With hurricane, fire, and snow. 
When the powers of the air are chained to 
my chair, 

Is the million-colored bow ; 
The sphere-firo above, its soft colors wove. 

While the moist earth was laughing be- 
low. 

I am the daughter of the earth and water, 

And the nurseling of the sky ; 
I pass through the pores of the ocean and 
shores ; 
I ch.ange, but I cannot die. 
For after the rain, when, with never a stain, 

The pa\'ilion of heaven is bare. 
And the winds and sunbeams, witli tbeir con- 
ve.'w gleams. 
Build up the blue dome of air — 
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph. 

And out of the caverns of rain. 
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from 
the tomb, 
I rise and upbuild it again. 

Peeoy Btsshe Shelley. 



BRINiaNG. 

The thirsty earth soaks up the rain. 
And drinks, and gapes for drink again ; 
The plants suck in the earth, and are. 
With constant drinking, fresh and fair ; 



SUMMER WINDS. 



79 



TIio sea itself (which one would think 
Should have hut little need to drink), 
Drinks twice ten thousand rivers up, 
So filled that they o'erflow the cup. 
The husy sun (and one would guess 
By 's drunken flery face no less), 
Drinks up the sea, and, when he 'as done. 
The moon and stars drink up the sun : 
They drink and dance hy their own light ; 
They drink and revel all the night. 
Nothing in nature 's soher found. 
But an eternal "health " goes round. 
Fill up the bowl then, fill it high — 
Fill all the glasses there ; for why 
Should every creature drink but I; 
Why, man of morals, tell me why ? 

Anacbeon. (Greek.) 
Translation of AeitAnAJU Oowlet, 



TIIE MIDGES DANCE ABOON TEE 

BURN. 

TiiR midges dance ahoon the burn; 

The dews begin to fa' ; 
TIio pairtricks down the rushy holm 

Set up their c'ening ca'. 
Now loud and clear the blackbird's sang 

Rings through the briery shaw, 
While flitting gay, the swallows play 

Around the castle wa'. 

Beneath the golden gloainin' sky 

The mavis mends her lay ; 
The red-breast pours his sweetest strains, 

To charm the ling'ring day; 
Wliile weary yeldrins seem to wail 

Their little nestlings torn, 
The merry wren, frae den to den, 

Gaes jinking through the thorn. 

The roses fauld their silken leaves, 

The foxglove shuts its bell ; 
The honey-suckle and the birk 

Spread fragrance through the dell. 
Let others crowd the giddy court 

Of mirtli and revelry, 
Tlic simjile joys that Nature yields 

Are dearer far to me. 

EODEKT TAN.NAniLI.. 



SONG OF THE SUMMER WINDS. 

Up the dale and down the bourne, 

O'er the meadow swift we fly ; 
Now we sing, and now we mourn. 

Now we whistle, now we sigh. 

By the grassy-fringed river, * 

Through the murmuring reeds wo sweep; 

Mid the lily-leaves we quiver, 
To their very hearts we creep. 

Now the maiden rose is blushing 

At the frolic things we say. 
While aside her cheek we're rashing, 

Like some truant bees at play. 

Through the blooming groves we rustle. 

Kissing every bud we pa-ss, — 
As we did it in the bustle. 

Scarcely knowing how it was. 

Down the glen, across the mountain. 
O'er the yellow heath we roam, 

Whirling round about the fountain. 
Till its little breakers foam. 

Bending down the weeping willows. 
While our vesper hymn we sigh ; 

Then unto our rosy pillows 
On our weary wings we hie. 

There of idlenesses dreaming. 
Scarce ft-om waking we refrain, 

Moments long as ages deeming 
Till we're at our play again. 

Geokqe Dahlbt. 



TIIE WANDERING WIND. 

The Wind, the wandering Wind 

Of the golden summer eves — 
Whence is the thrilling magic 

Of its tones amongst the leaves? 
Oh ! is it from the waters. 

Or, from the long tall grass? 
Or is it from the hollow rocks 

Through which its breathings pass? 



80 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Or is it from the voices 

Of iUl in one combined, 
Tliat it wins the tone of mastery ? 

The "Wind, tlie wandering Wind ! 
No, no ! the strange, sweet accents 

That with it come and go, 
They are not from the osiers. 

Nor the fir-trees whispering low. 

Tliey are not of the waters, 

Nor of the cavernod hiU ; 
'T is the human love within us 

That gives them power to thrill : 
They touch the links of memory 

Around our spirits twined. 
And we start, and weep, and tremble. 

To the Wmd, the wandering "Wind ? 
Feuoia Dohothea Hemans. 



ODE TO THE WEST WIND. 



O WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's 

being, 
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves 

dead 
Are driven, hke ghosts from an enchanter 

fleeing — 
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, 
Pestilence-stricken multitudes ! O thou, 
Wlio chariotest to their dark, wintry bed 
The winged seeds, where they lie cold and 

low. 
Each like a corpse within its grave, until 
Tliine azure sister of the Spring shall blow 

Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill 
(Driving sweet buds, like flocks, to feed in 

air) 
With living hues and odors, plain and hill : 

Wild spirit, which art moving everywhere ; 
Destroyer and preserver ; hear, O hear ! 



Thou, on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's 

commotion. 
Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are 

shed, 



Shook from the tangled boughs of heaven and 
ocean. 

Angels of rain and lightning : there are spread 

On blue surface of thine airy surge, 

Like the bright hair uplifted from the head 

Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim 

verge 
Of the horizon to the zenith's height, 
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou 

dirge 

Of the dying year, to which this closing night 
Will bo the dome of a vast sephulchre 
Vaulted with all thy congregated might 

Of vapors ; from whose sohd atmosphere 
Black rain, and fire, and hail, will burst: O 
hear! 

in. 

Thou who didst waken from his summer 

dreams 
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay. 
Lulled by the coil of his crystallme streams, 
Beside a pumice isle in Bail's bay, 
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers. 
Quivering within the waves' intenser day, 

All overgrown with azure moss and flowers 
So sweet the sense faints picturing them! 

Thou 
For whose path the Atlantic's level powers 

Cleave themselves into chasms, while, far be- 
low. 

The sea-blooms, and the oozy woods which 
wear 

The sapless foliage of the ocean, know 

Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear. 
And tremble and despoil themselves: O 
hear! 



If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear ;— 
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee ;— 
A wave to pant beneath thy power and share 
The impulse of thy strength— only less free 
Than thou, O uncontrollable ! If even 
I were as in my boyhood, and could be 



THE SEA. 



81 



The comrade of thy waaderiugs over heaven 
As then, wlion to outstrip thy skioy speed 
Scarce scoined a vision, I would ne'er have 
striven 

As thus with thee in prayer iu my sore need. 
Oh ! lift mo as a wave, a leaf, a cloud I 
I fall upon the thorns of life I I bleed ! 

A heavy weight of hours has chained and 

bowed 
One too like thee — tameless, and swift, and 

proud. 

v. 

Make mo thy lyre, oven as the forest is. 
Wluit if my leaves are falling like its own ! 
The tumult of tliy mighty harmonies 

Will take from both adeep autunmal tone — 
Sweet though iu sadness. Bo thou, spirit 

fierce. 
My spirit ! Be thou me, impetuous one ! 

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe. 
Like withered leaves, to quicken a new birth ; 
And, by the incantation of this verso. 

Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth 
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind ! 
Be through my lips to unawakoued earth 

The trumpet of a prophecy ! O wind. 
If winter comes, can spring be far behind? 

PEROt Bysshe Suelley. 



THE SEA. 

The sea 1 the sea I the open soa ! 

The l)lue, the fresh, the over free ! 

Without a mark, without a bound. 

It runneth the earth's wide regions round ; 

It phiys with the clouds ; it mocks the skies ; 

Or like a cradled creature lies. 

I 'm on the seal I'm on the sea! 
I am where I woidd ever be ; 
With the blue above, and the blue below, 
And silence wherosoe'er I go ; 
If a storm should come and awake the deep. 
What matter ? I shall rido and sleep. 
1 



I love, oh how I love to ride 

On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide. 
When every mad wave drowns the moon, 
Or whistles aloft his tempest tuuo, 
And tells how goeth the world below, 
And why the sou'west blasts do blow. 

I never was on the didl, tame shore. 
But I loved tlio great sea more and more, 
And backward flew to her billowy breast, 
Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest; 
And a mother she was, and is, to mo; 
For I was born on the open sea ! 

The waves were white, and red tlio nu)rn. 
In the noisy hcjur when I was Iwrn; 
And the whalo it wliistled, the porpoise rolled, 
And the dolphins bared tlieir backs of gold; 
And never was hoard such an outcry wild 
As welcomed to life the ocean-child ! 

I 'vo lived since then, iu calm and strife, 
Full fifty summers, a saihu-'s life, 
With wealth to spend, and power to range. 
But never have sought nor sighed for change ; 
And Death, whenever he comes to mo. 
Shall come on the wild, unbounded sea ! 

Babry Cornwall, 



THE STORMY PETREL. 

A THOUSANI) miles from land are we. 
Tossing about on the stormy sea — 
From billow to bounding Ijillow cast. 
Like fleecy snow on the stormy blast. 
The sails are scattered aliroad like weeds ; 
The strong masts shake like quivering reeds ; 
The mighty caliles and iron chains; 
The hull, wliich .all earthly strength disdains, — 
They strain aiul they crack ; and hearts like 

stone 
Their natural, hard, j)roud strength disown. 

Up and down ! — up and down ! 

From the base of the wave to the billow's 

crown. 
And .amidst the flashing and feathery foam, 
The stormy petrol finds a home 



82 POEMS OF 


NATURE. 


A home, if such a place may be 


The wind is piping loud, my boys, 


For her who lives ou the wide, wide sea. 


The lightning flashing free ; 


On the craggy ice, ia the frozen air. 


While the hollow oak our palace is, 


And only seeketh her rocky lair 


Our heritage the sea. 


To warm her young, and to teach them to 


Allan CuNNmnuAM. 


spring 
At once o'er the waves on their stormy 






wing ! 


TWILIGHT. 


O'er the deep I — o'er tlie deep ! 




Where the whale, and the shark, and the 


The twilight is sad and cloudy ; 


sword-fish sleep — • 


The wind blows wild and free ; 


Outflying the blast and the driving rain. 


And like the wings of sea-birds 


The petrel telleth her tale — in vain ; 


Flash the white caps of the sea. 


For the mariner curseth the warning bird 




Which bringeth him news of the storm im- 


But in the fisherman's cottage 


heard ! 


There shines a ruddier light. 


Ah ! thus does the prophet of good or ill 


And a little face at the window 


Meet hate from the creatures he serveth still; 


Peers out into the night ; 


Yet he ne'er falters — so, petrel, spring 




Once more o'er the waves on thy stormy 


Close, close it is pressed to the window, 


wing! 

BaERY COKNWAIL. 


As if those childish eyes 




Were looking into the darkness. 


♦ 


To see some form arise. 




And a woman's waving shadow 


A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA. 


Is passing to and fro, 




Now rising to the ceiling. 


A WET sheet and a flowing sea — 


Now bowing and bending low. 


A wind that follows fast, 




And fills the white and rustling sail. 


What tale do the roaring ocean 


And bends the gallant mast— 


And the night-wind, bleak and wild, 


And bends the gallant mast, my boys, 


As they beat at the crazy casement, 


While, like the eagle free. 


Tell to that little child ? 


Away the good ship flies, and leaves 




Old England on the lee. 






And why do the roaring ocean. 




And the night-wind, wild and bleak. 


Oh for a soft and gentle wind ! 
I heard a fair one cry ; 


As they beat at the heart of the mother, 


Drive the color from her cheek ? 


But give to me the snoring breeze, 




Henkt "WADSwoHTn Longfellow. 


And white waves heaving high — 




And white waves heaving high, my boys, 
The good ship tight and free ; 


* 




The world of waters is our home. 




And merry men are we. 


STORM SONG. 


There 's tempest in yon horned moon, 


The clouds are scudding across the moon ; 


And lightning in yon cloud ; 


A misty light is on the sea ; 


And hark the music, mariners ! 


The wind in the shrouds has a wintry tune, 


The wind is piping loud — 


And the foam is flying free. 



THE OCEAN. 



83 



Bi-otliet-s, a night of terror and gloom 
Speaks in the cloud and gathering roar ; 

Thank God, He has given us broad sea-room, 
A thousand miles from shore. 

Down with the hatches on those who sleep ! 

The wild and whistling deck have we ; 
Good watch, my brothers, to-night we'll keep, 

"While the tempest is on the sea ! 

Though the rigging shriek in his terrible grip, 
And the naked spars be snapped away, 

Lashed to the helm, we'll drive our ship 
la the teeth of the whelming spray 1 

Hark ! how the surges o'erleap the deck ! 

Ilark ! how the pitiless tempest raves ! 
Ah, daylight will look upon many a wreck 

Drifting over the desert waves. 

Yet, courage, brothers ! we trust the wave. 
With God above us, our guiding chart. 

So, whether to harbor or ocean-grave. 
Be it still with a cheery heart ! 

Bayaed Tatlob. 



MOAN, MOAN, YE DYING GALES. 

MoAX, moan, ye dying gales 1 
Tlie saddest of your tales 

Is not so sad as life ; 
Nor have you e'er began 
A theme so wild as man. 

Or with such sorrow rife. 

Fall, fall, tliou withered leaf! 
Autumn sears not like grief, 

Nor kills such lovely flowers ; 
More terrible the storm. 
More mournful the deform, 

When dark misfortune lowers. 

Hush ! hush ! thou trembling lyre, 
Silence, ye vocal choir, 
And thou, meUittuons lute. 



For man soon breathes his last, 
And all his hope is past. 
And all his music mute. 

Tlien, when the gale is sighing, 
And when the leaves are dying. 

And when the song is o'er, 
Oh, let us think of those 
"Whose lives are lost in woes, 

Whose cup of grief runs o'er. 

HEKE7 Neils. 



SEAWEED. 

When descends on the Atlantic 

The gigantic 
Storm-wind of the equinox, 
Landward in his wrath he scourges 

The toiling surges, 
Laden with seaweed from the rocks ; 



From Bermuda's reefs ; from edges 

Of sunken ledges 
In some far-oflf, bright Azore ; 
From Bahama, and the dashing, 

Silver-flashing 
Surges of San Salvador ; 



From tlie tumbling surf that buries 

The Orkneyan sken-ies, 
Answering the hoarse Hebrides ; 
And from wrecks of ships, and drifting 

Spars, uplifting 
On the desolate, rainy seas ; — 



Ever drifting, drifting, drifting 

On the shifting 
Currents of the restless main ; 
Till in sheltered coves, and reaches 

Of sandy beaches. 
All have found repose again. 

So when storms of wild emotion 

Strike the ocean 
Of the poet's soul, ere long, 



84 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



From each cave and rocky fastness 

In its vastness, 
Floats some fragment of a song : 

From the far-oif isles enchanted 

Ueaven has planted 
With the golden fruit of truth ; 
From the flashing surf, whose vision 

Gleams elysian 
In the tropic clime of Youth ; 

From the strong will, and the endeavor 

That for ever 
"Wrestles with the tides of fate ; 
From the wreck of hopes far-scattered. 

Tempest-shattered, 
Floating waste and desolate ; — 

Ever drifting, drifting, drifting 

On the shifting 
Currents of the restless heart ; 
Till at length in books recorded, 

They, like hoarded 
Household words, no more depart. 

IlENET "WiDSWORTn LoNQFELLOW. 



GULF-WEED. 

A. WEARY weed, tossed to and fro, 

Drearily drenched in the ocean brine. 
Soaring high and sinking low. 

Lashed along without will of mine ; 
Sport of the spoom of the surging sea ; 

Flung on the foam, atar and anear, 
Mark my manifold mystery, — 

Growth and grace in their place appear. 

I bear round berries, gray and red. 

Rootless and rover though I be ; 
My spangled leaves, when nicely spread, 

Arboresee as a trnnkless tree ; 
Corals curious coat me o'er, 

White and hard in apt array ; 
'Mid the wild waves' rude uproar, 

Gracefully grow 1, night and day. 



Hearts there are on the sounding shore. 

Something whispers soft to me. 
Restless and roaming for evermore, 

Like this weary weed of the sea; 
Bear they yet on each beating breast 

The eternal type of the wondrous whole 
Growth unfolding amidst unrest, 

Grace informing with silent soul. 

CoKNELirs Gbokge Fennee. 



THE SEA— IN CALM. 

Look what immortal floods the sunset pours 
Upon us — Mark ! how still (as though in 

dreams 
Bound) the once wild and terrible ocean 

seems ! 
How silent are the winds ! no billow roars ; 
But all is tranquil as Elysian shores. 
The sUver margin which aye runneth round 
The moon-enchanted sea, hath here no sound; 
Even Echo speaks not on these radiant moors ! 
What ! is the giant of the ocean dead. 
Whose strength was all unmatched beneath 

the sun ? 
No : he reposes ! Now his toils are done ; 
More quiet than the babbling brooks is he. 
So mightiest powers by deepest calms are fed, 
And sleep, how oft, in things that gentlest be ! 

BAEET COEirWALL. 



THE LITTLE BEACH-BIRD. 



TnoTT little bird, thou dweller by the sea, 

Why takest thou its melancholy voice, 
And with that boding cry 
O 'er the waves dost thou fly ? 
Oh ! rather, bird, with me 
Through the fair land rejoice ! 



Thy flitting form comes ghostly dim and pale. 
As driven by a beating storm at sea; 
Thy cry is weak and scared. 
As if thy mates had shared 
The doom of ns. Thy wail — 
What does it brine to me ? 



HAMPTON BEACH. 



85 



rhou call'st along tlie sand, and haunt 'st the 
surge, 
Restless and sad ; as if, in strange accord 
With the motion and the roar 
Of waves that drive to shore. 
One spirit did ye urge — 
The Mystery — the Word. 



Of thousands thou both sepulchre and pall. 
Old Ocean, art ! A requiem o 'er the dead 
From out thy gloomy cells 
A tale of mourning tells — 
Tells of man's woe and fall, 
Ills sinless glory fled. 



Then turn thee, little bird, and take thy flight 
Where the complaining sea shaU sadness 
bring 
Thy spirit never more. 
Come, quit with me the shore 
For gladness, and the light 
Where birds of summer sing. 

RicQAED Henry Dana. 



THE CORAL GROVE. 

Deep in the wave is a coral grove. 

Where the purpla mullet and gold-fish rove ; 

Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of 

blue 
That never are wet with falling dew. 
But in bright and changeful beauty shine 
Far down in the green and glassy brine. 
The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift, 
And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow; 
From coral rooks the sea-plants lift 
Their boughs, where the tides and billows 

flow; 
The water is calm and still below. 
For the winds and waves are absent there. 
And the sands are bright as the stars that 

glow 
In the motionless fields of upper air. 



There, with its waving blade of green, 

The sea-flag streams through the silent water, 

And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen 

To blush, IIko a banner bathed in slaughter. 

There, with a light and easy motion. 

The fan-coral sweeps through the clear, deep 

sea; 
And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean 
Are bending like corn on the upland lea. 
And life, in rare and beautiful forms. 
Is sporting amid those bowers of stone. 
And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms 
Has made the top of the wave his own. 
And when the ship from his fury flies, 
Where the myriad voices of ocean roar. 
When the wind-god frowns in the murky 

skies. 
And demons are waiting the wreck on shore ; 
Then, far below, in the peaceful sea. 
The purple mullet and gold-fish rove 
Where the waters murmur tranquilly. 
Through the bending twigs of the coral grove. 
James Gates PERorvAL. 



HAMPTON BEACH. 

The sunlight glitters keen and bright, 

Where, miles away. 
Lies stretching to my dazzled sight 
A luminous belt, a misty light, 
Beyond the dark pine blufl's and wastes of 
sandy gray. 

The tremulous shadow of the sea ! 

Against its ground 
Of silvery light, rock, hill, and tree. 
Still as a picture, clear and free. 
With varying outhne mark the coast foi 
miles around. 

On — on — we tread with loose-flung rein 

Our seaward way, 
Through dark-green fields and blossoming 

grain. 
Where the wild brier-rose skirts the lane. 
And bends above our heads the flowering- 
locust spray. 



815 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Ha ! like a kind hand on my brow 

Comes this fresh breeze, 
Cooling its dull and feverish glow, 
"While through my being seems to flow 
The breath of a new life — the healing of the 
seas! 

Now rest we, where this grassy mound 

His feet hath set 
In the great waters, which have bound 
His granite ankles greenly round 
With long and tangled moss, and weeds with 
cool spray wet. 

Good-bye to pain and care ! I take 

Mine ease to-day ; 
Here, where these sunny waters break, 
And ripples this keen breeze, I shake 
All burdens from the heart, all weary 
thoughts away. 

I draw a freer breath ; T seem 

Like all I see — 
"^'aves in the sun — the white-winged gleam 
Of sea-birds in the slanting beam — 
And far-off sails which flit before the south 
wind free. 

So when Time's veil shall fall asunder, 

The soul may know 
No fearful change, nor sudden wonder, 
Nor sink the weight of mystery under. 
But with the npward rise, and with the vast- 
ness grow. 

And all we shrink from now may seem 

No new revealing — 
Familiar as our childhood's stream. 
Or pleasant memory of a dream. 
The loved and cherished Past upon the new 
life stealing. 



Serene and mild, the untried light 

May have its dawning ; 
And, as in Summer's northern light 
The evening and the dawn unite. 
The sunset hues of Time blend with the soul's 
new morning. 



I sit alone ; in foam and spray 

Wave after wave 
Breaks on the rooks which, stern and gray. 
Beneath like fallen Titans lay. 
Or murmurs hoarse and strong through mossy 
cleft and cave. 

"What heed I of the dusty land 

And noisy town ? 
I see the mighty deep expand 
From its white line of glimmering sand 
To where the blue of heaven on bluer waves 
shuts down ! 

In listless quietude of mind, 

I yield to all 
The change of cloud and wave and wind ; 
And passive on the flood reclined, 
I wander with the waves, and with tliem rise 
and fall. 

But look, thou dreamer ! — wave and shore 

In shadow lie ; 
The night-wind warns me back once more 
To where my native hill-tops o'er 
Bends like an arch of fire the glowing sunset 
sky! 

So then, beach, bluft', and wave, farewell ! 

I bear with me 
No token stone nor glittering shell. 
But long and oft shall Memory tell 
Of this brief, thouglitful, hour of musing by 
the sea. 

John Obeenleaf Wuhtieb. 



TO SENECA LAKE. 

On thy fair bosom, silver lake. 
The wild swan spreads his snowy sail, 

And round his breast the ripples break. 
As down he bears before the gale. 

On thy fair l)osom, waveless stream, 
The dipping paddle echoes far. 

And flashes in tlie moonlight gleam. 
And bright reflects the polar star. 



YARROW. 



87 



The waves along thy pebbly shore, 

As blows the north-wind, heave their foam 

And curl around the dashing oar, 
As late the boatman hies him home. 

How sweet, at set of sun, to view 
Thy golden mirror spreading wide, 

And see the mist of mantling blue 

Float round the distant mountain's side. 

At midnight hour, as shines the moon, 
A sheet of silver spreads below. 

And swift she cuts, at highest noon, 
Light clouds, like wreaths of purest snow. 

On thy fair bosom, silver lake. 
Oh! I could ever sweep the oar, — 

When* early birds at morning wake. 
And evening tells us toil is o'er. 

James Gates Peecital. 



YARROW UNVISITED.* 

Fkom Stirling castle we had seen 
The raazy Forth unravelled ; 
Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay, 
And with the Tweed had travelled ; 
And when we came to Clovenford, 
Then said my " winsome marrow :" 
" Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside. 
And see the braes of Yarrow." 

"Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town. 

Who have been buying, selling. 

Go back to Yarrow ; 'tis their own — 

Each maiden to her dwelling ! 

On Yarrow's banks let herons feed. 

Hares couch, and rabbits burrow ! 

But we will downward with the Tweed, 

Nor turn aside to Yarrow. 

" There 's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, 
Both lying right before ns ; 
And Dryhorough, where with chiming Tweed 
The lintwhites sing in chorus ; 

* See the various poems, the scene of which is laid upon 
the banks of the Yarrow; in particular, the exquisite 
oallafl of Hamilton, on page 450 of this volume, begin- 
ning: 

" Buslt ye, busk ye, ray bonny, bonny Bride, 
Busk ye, bust ye, my winsome Marrow ! ^' 



There 's pleasant Teviot-dale, a land 
Made blithe with plough and harrow : 
Why throw away a needful day 
To go in search of Yarrow ? 

"What's Yarrow but a river bare, 

That glides the dark hills under ? 

There are a thousand such elsewhere. 

As worthy of your wonder." 

Strange words they seemed, of slight and 

scorn ; 
My true-love sighed for sorrow. 
And looked me in the face, to think 
I thus could speak of Yarrow ! 

" Oh, green," said I, " are Yarrow's holms, 
And sweet is Yarrow flowing ! 
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock. 
But we wlU leave it growing. 
O'er hilly path, and open strath, 
AVe'll wander Scotland thorough; 
But, though so near, we will not turn 
Into the dale of Yarrow. 

"Let beeves and homebred kine partake 
The sweets of Burn-mUl meadow ; 
The swan on still St. Mary's Lake 
Float double, swan and shadow ! 
We will not see them ; will not go 
To-day, nor yet to-morrow ; 
Enough, if in our hearts we know 
There 's such a place as Yarrow. 

"Bo Yarrow stream unseen, unknown! 
It must, or we shall rue it : 
We have a vision of our own ; 
Ah! why should we undo it? 
The treasured dreams of times long past. 
We '11 keep them, winsome Marrow ! 
For when we're there, although 'tis fair, 
'T will be another Yarrow ! 

"If care with freezing years should come, 
And wandering seem but folly, — 
Should we be loth to stir from home. 
And yet be melancholy, — 
Should life be dull, and spirits low, 
'Twill soothe us in our sorrow. 
That earth has something yet to show — 
The bonny holms of Yarrow ! " 

William Wobdbworth, 



88 POEMS OF NATURE. 




Meek loveliness is round thee spread — 


YARROW VISITED. 


A softness still and holy. 


And is this — Yiirrow ? — This tho stroaiu 


The grace of forest, charms decayed, 


Of which my fancy cherished, 


And pastoral melancholy. 


80 fnithfiilly, n wnkiiifc drcniii? 




An iniiifio that liatli pofisliod! 


That region left, the vale unfolds 


that some ininstrol's liai'p were near, 


Rich groves of lofty stature. 


To utter notes of gladness, 


With Yarrow winding through the pomp 


And ciiase this silence from the air, 


Of cultivated nature; 


That fills my heart with sadness ! 


And, rising from those lofty groves, 




Rehold a ruin hoary I 


Yet why? — a silvery current flows 


The shattered front of Newark's towers, 


With uncontrolled nieanderiiif^s ; 


Renowned in border story. 


Nor have those eyes hy ^-recner hills 




Been soothed, in all my wanderings. 


Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom 


And, through her depths, Saint Mnry'a lake 


For sportive youth to stray in ; 


Is visihly delighted; 


For manhood to enjoy his strength, 


For not a feature of those hills 


And ago to wear away in ! 


Is in the mirror slighted. 


Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss, 




A covert for protection 


A blue sl;y bends o'er Yarrow vale, 


Of tender thoughts, that nestle there, — 


Save where tliat pearly whiteness 


The brood of chaste atVection. 


Is round the rising sun diffused — 




A tender, hazy brightness; 


How sweet, on this autumnal day. 
The wild-wood fruits to gather. 


ilild dawn of promise! that excludes 


All profitless dejection ; 


And on my true-love's forehead plant 
A crest of blooming heather ! 


Though not unwilling here to admit 


A pensive recollection. 


And what if I inwreathod my own! 


Where was it that the famous Flower 


'T were no oflenco to reason ; 


Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding? 


Tho sober hills thus deck their brows 


llis bed perobaiu'o was yon smooth mound 


To meet the wintry season. 


On which the herd is feeding; 




And haply from this crystal pool. 


I see, — but not by sight alone, 


Now peaceful as tho morning. 


Loved Yarrow, have I won theo ; 


Tho water-wraith ascended thrice, 


A ray of fancy still survives, — 


And gave his doleful warning. 


Her sunshine plays upon theo ! 




Thy ever-youthful waters keep 


Delieious is the lay that sings 


A course of lively pleasure; 


The haunts of hnjipy lovers — 


And gladsome notes my lips can breathe, 


The path that leads them to tho gi'ove. 


Accordant to the measure. 


The leafy grove that covers ; 




And pity sanctifies the verse 


The vapors linger round tho heights ; 


That paints, by strength of sorrow. 


They melt, and soon must vanish ; 


The unconquerable strength of love: 


One hour is theirs, nor more is mine : 


Bear witness, rueful Yarrow ! 


Sad thought, which T woidd banish 




But that I know, where'er I go. 


Rut thou, that didst appear so fair 


Thy genuine image, Yarrow, 


To fond imogin.ation, 


Will dwell with me, to heighten joy. 


Dost rival in the light of day 


And cheer my mind in sorrow. 


Iter delicate creation. 


William M'oitDswoitTU. 



YAUROW. 



89 



YARROW REVISITED. 



The following otanzas aro a momorliil of a day i)asso<I 
with Sir Walter Scottanil other friends, visiting the banka 
of tho Tarrow under his guidance— Immediately before 
Ills departure from Abbotsford, for Naples. 



TiiK galliiiit yoiitli, wlio may have gained, 

Or seeks, a "winsome marrow," 
Was but an infant in tlie lap 

When iiret I looked on Yarrow ; 
Onco more, by Newark's castle-gate — 

Long left witlioiit a warder, 
I stood, looked, listened, and with thee. 

Great Minstrel of the Border 1 



Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day. 

Their dignity installing 
In gentle bosoms, while sero leaves 

Were on tho bougli, or falling; 
But breezes played, and sunshine gleamed, 

Tlie forest to embolden ; 
Reddened the fiery hues, and shot 

Transparence through the golden. 



For busy thoughts, the stream flowed on 

In foamy agitation ; 
And slept in many a crystal pool 

For (|uiet oontemplation. 
No public and no jirivate care 

Tlie freeborn mind enthralling, 
We made a day of liappy hours, 

Our happy days recalling. 



Brisk Youth appeared, the morn of youth. 

With freaks of gracefid folly, — 
Life's temjierate noon, her sober eve, 

Her niglit not melancholy; 
Past, present, future, all appeared 

In harmony united, 
Like guests that meet, and some from fur, 

By cordial love invited. 

And if, as Yarrow, throngh the woods 
And down the meadow ranging, 

Did meet us with unaltered face, 
Though we were changed and changing- 



If, then, some natural shadows spread 

Our inward ])rospect over, 
Tho soul's deep valley was not slow 

Its brightness to recover. 

Eternal blessings on tho Muse, 

And her divine employment! 
The blameless Muse, who trains her sons 

For hope and calm enjoyment; 
Albeit sickness, lingering yet. 

Has o'er their pillow brooded; 
And care waylays their steps, — a sprite 

Not easily eluded. 

For thee, O Scott ! compelled to change 

Green Eildon Hill and Cheviot 
For warm Vesuvio's vine-clad slopes; 

And leave thy Tweed and Teviot 
For mild Sorrento's breezy waves; 

May classic fancy, linking 
With native fancy her fresh aid. 

Preserve thy lieart from sinking! 

O, while they minister to thee, 

Each vying with the other, 
May Iiealth return to mellow age, 

Witli strength, her venturous brother; 
And Tiber, and each brook and rill 

Renowned in song and story, 
With nnimagined beauty shine, 

Nor lose one ray of glory ! 

For thou, upon a hundred strcama, 

By tales of love and sorrow, 
Of faithful love, undaunted truth, 

Ilast shed the power of Yarrow; 
And streams unknown, hills yet unseen, 

Wherever tliey invite thee, 
At parent Nature's grateful call 

With gladness must requite thee. 

A gracious welcome shall be thine — 

Such looks of love and honor 
As thy own Yarrow gave to me 

When first I gazed upon her — 
Beheld what I had feared to see. 

Unwilling to surrender 
Dreams treasurcil up from early days 

The holy and the tender. 



90 POEMS OF NATURE. 


And wliat, for this frail world, were all 


And lovers now, with many a kiss, 


That mortals do or suffer, 


Their long fiu-ewells ai-e sighing. 


Did no responsive harp, no pen. 


"Wliy is Earth so gayly drest ? 


^Memorial tribute offer? 


This pomp, that Autumn beareth. 


Yea, what were mighty Nature's self — 


A funeral seems, where every guest 


Iler features, could they win us. 


A bridal garment weareth. 


Unhelped by the poetic voice 




That hourly speaks within us ? 


Each one of us, perchance, may here, 




On some blue morn hereafter. 


Nor deem that locaUzed romance 


Return to view the gaudy year. 


Plays ftilse with our affections : 


But not with boyish laugliter. 


Unsanotifies our tears, — made sport 


"We shall then be wrinkled men. 


For fanciful dejections. 


Our brows with silver laden. 


Ah, no! tlio visions of the past 


And thou this glen mayst seek again, 


Sustain the heart in feeling 


But nevermore a maiden ! 


Life as she is, — our changeful life. 




"With friends and kindi'od dealing. 


Nature perhaps foresees that Spring 




AVill touch her teeming bosom. 


Bear witness, ye, whose thoughts that day 


And that a few brief months will bring 


In Yarrow's groves were centred ; 


The bird, the bee, the blossom ; 


Wlio tlirough the silent portal arch 


Ah ! these forests do not know — 


Of mouldering Newark entered ; 


Or would less brightly wither — 


And clomb the winding stair that once 


The virgin that adorns them so 


Too timitlly was mounted 


Will never more come hither ! 


By the "last Minstrel" (not the last!). 


TnOMA8 'WllLIAM PAHSONa 


Ere he his tale recounted I 
Flow on for ever. Yarrow stream ! 






Fulfil thy pensive duty. 




Well pleased that future bards should chant 


ROBIN REDBREAST. 


For simple hearts thy beauty ; 


Good-bye, good-bye to Summer 1 


To dream-light dear while yet unseen. 


For Summer 's nearly done ; 


Dear to the common sunshine. 


The garden smiling faintly. 


And dearer still, as now I feel, 


Cool breezes in the sun; 


To memory's shadowy moonshine ! 


Our thrushes now are silent. 


WlLLIiM WOUDSWOKTU. 


Our swallows flown away, — 




But Robin 's hero in coat of brown, 
And scarlet breast-knot gay. 




A SONG FOR SEPTEMBFR. 


Robin, robin redbreast. 




Robin dear! 


SEPTP-JtEEn strews the woodland o'er 


Robin sings so sweetly 


"With many a brilliant color ; 


In the falling of the year. 


The world is brighter than before — 




"Why should our hearts bo duller? 


Bright yellow, rod, and orauge. 


Sorrow and the scarlet leaf, 


The leaves come down in hosts ; 


Sad thoughts and sunny weather! 


The trees ai'e Indian princes. 


Ah mo ! this glory and this grief 


But soon they '11 turn to ghosts ; 


Agree not well together. 


The leathery pears and apples 




Hang russet on the bough ; 


This is the parting season — this 


It 's autumn, autumn, autumn late. 


The time when friends are flying; 


'T will soou be winter now. 



AUTUMN. 91 


Robin, robin redbreast, 


Thitlier the rainbow comes, the cloud. 


Robin dear ! 


And mists that spread the flying shroud ; 


And what will this poor robin do? 


And sunbeams ; and the sounding blast. 


For pinching days are near. 


Tliat, if it could, would hurry past; 




But that enormous barrier holds it fast. 


The fire-side for the crieket, 




The wheat-stack for the mouse, 


Not free from boding thoughts, awhile 


"When trembling night-winds whistle 


The shepherd stood ; then makes his way 


And moan all round the house. 


O'er rocks and stones, following the dog 


The frosty ways like iron, 


As quickly as he may ; 


Tlie branches plumed with snow, — 


Nor far had gone before he found 


Al.^s ! in winter dead and dark, 


A human skeleton on the ground. 


Where can poor Robin go ? 


The ai)palled discoverer witli a sigh 


Robin, robin redbreast. 


Looks round, to learn the history. 


Robin dear 1 




And a crumb of bread for Robin, 


From those aliru[)t and perilous rocks 


His little breast to cheer. 


The man had fallen, that place of fear ! 


William ALLiNonAM. 


At length upon the shepherd's mind 




It breaks, and all is clear. 

He instantly recalled the name, 




FIDELITY. 


And who he was, and whence lie came ; 




Remembered, too, the very day 


A BAUKiNQ sound the shepherd hears. 


On which the traveller passed this way. 


A cry as of a dog or fox ; 




He halts, — and searches with his eyes 


But hear a wonder, for whoso sake 


Among the scattered rocks ; 


This lamentable tale I tell ! 


And now at distance can discern 


A lasting monument of words 


A stirring in a brake of fern ; 


This wonder merits well. 


And instantly a dog is seen, 


The dog, which still was hovering nigh. 


(ilancing through that covert green. 


Repeating the same timid cry. 


The dog is not of mountain breed; 


This dog had been through three months' 


Its motions, too, are wild and shy — 
"With something, as the shepherd thinks, 


space 
A dweller in that savage place. 


Unusual in its cry ; 


Yes, proof was plain that, since the day 


Xor is there any one in Sight 


"When this ill-fated traveller died, 


All round, in lioUow or on height ; 


The dog had watched about the spot, 


Nor shout nor whistle strikes his ear. 


Or by his master's side. 


What is the creature doing here 2 


How nourished here through such longtime 


It was a cove, a huge recess. 


lie knows who gave that love sublime. 


That keeps, till June, December's snow ; 


And gave that strength of feelmg, great 


A lofty precipice in front. 


Above all human estimate ! 


A silent tarn below ! 


WlLUAM "WoRDSWOEXa 


Far in the bosom of Ilelvellyn, 




Remote from public road or dwelling. 




' 


Pathway, or cultivated land, — 




From trace of human foot or hand. 


TO ME^VDOWS. 


There sometimes doth a leaping fish 


Ye have been fresh and green ; 


Send through the t.arn a lonely cheer ; 


Ye have been tilled with flowers j 


The crags repeat the raven's croak 


And ye the walks have been 


In symphony austere ; 


"Where maids have spent their hours ; 



92 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Ye have beheld where they 

■With wicker ai-ts did come, 
To kiss and bear away 

The richer cowslips home ; 

You 've heard them sweetly sing, 

And seen them in a round ; 
Each virgin, like the Spring, 

AVith honeysuckles crowned. 

But now we see none here 
Whose silvery feet did tread. 

And with dishevelled hah' 
Adorned this smoother mead. 

Like unthrifts, havmg spent 
Your stock, and needy grown, 

You 're left here to lament 
Your poor estates alone. 

KOBEBT HebRICK. 



THE HUSBANDMAN. 

Earth, of man the bounteous mother, 
Feeds him still with corn and wine ; 

He who best would aid a brother. 
Shares with him these gifts diWue. 

Many a power within her bosom. 
Noiseless, hidden, works beneath ; 

Hence are seed, and leaf, and blossom, 
Golden ear and clustered wreath. 

These to swell witli strength and beauty 

Is the royal task of man ; 
Man 's a king ; his throne is duty. 

Since his work on earth began. 

Bud and harvest, bloom and vintage — 
These, like man, ai-e fruits of earth ; 

Stamped in clay, a heavenly mintage, 
All from dust receive their birth. 

Barn and mill, and wine-vat's treasures. 

Earthly goods for earthly lives — 

These are Nature's ancient pleasures ; 

These her child from her derives. 

What the dream, but vain reheUing, 
Kfrom earth we sought to flee? 

'Tis om' stored and ample dwelling; 
'T is from it the skies we see. 



Wind and frost, and hour and season, 
Land and water, sun and shade — 

Work with these, as bids thy reason, 
For they work thy toU to aid. 

Sow thy seed, and reap in gladness ! 

Man himself is all a seed ; 
Hope and hardship, joy and sadness — 

Slow the plant to ripeness lead. 

JOHU Steblino. 



TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN. 

Tnou blossom, bright with autumn dew, 
And colored with the heaven's own blue, 
That openest when the quiet light 
Succeeds the keen and frosty night ; 

Tliou comest not when Violets lean 
O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, 
Or cohmibines, in purple dressed. 
Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. 

Thou waitest late, and com'st alone. 
When woods are bare and birds are flown, 
And frosts and shortening days portend 
The aged Year is near his end. 

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye 
Look through its fringes to the sky, 
Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall 
A flower from its cerulean wall. 

I would that thus, when I shall see 
The hour of death draw near to me, 
Hope, blossoming within my heart, 
May look to heaven as I depart. 

William Cttllen Bryant. 



CORNFIELDS. 

When on the breath of autumn breeze. 
From pastures dry and brown. 

Goes floating like an idle thought 
Tlie fair white thistle-down. 

Oh then what joy to walk at will 

Upon the golden harvest hiU ! 

Wliat joy in dreamy ease to lie 

Amid a field new shorn. 
And see all round on sun-lit slopes 

The piled-up stacks of corn ; 



AUTUMN. 98 


And send the fancy wandering o'er 


Pale flowers ! pale perishing flowers ! 


All pleasant harvest-fields of yore. 


Ye 're types of precious things ; 




Types of those bitter moments, 


I feel the day— I see the field, 


That flit, like life's enjojTiients, 


The quivering of the leaves, 
And good old Jacob and his house 


On rapid, rapid wings : 


Binding the yellow sheaves ; 


Last hours with parting dear ones 


And at this very hour I seem 


(That Time the fastest spends), 


To be with Joseph in his dream. 


Last tears in silence shed. 




Last words half uttered. 


I see the fields of Bethlehem, 


Last looks of dying friends. 


And reapers many a one, 




Bending unto their sickles' stroke — 


Who but would fain compress 


And Boaz looking on ; 


A life into a day, — 


And Euth, the Moabite so fair. 


The last day spent with one 


Among the gleaners stooping there. 


Who, ere the morrow's sun. 




Must leave us, and for aye ? 


Again I see a little child. 




His mother's sole delight, — 


precious, precious moments ! 


God's li^ang gift of love unto 


Pale flowers! ye 're types of those ; 


The kind good Shunammite ; 


The saddest, sweetest, dearest, 


To mortal pangs I see him yield, 


Because, like those, the nearest 


And the lad bear him from the field. 


To an eternal close. 


The sun-bathed quiet of the hDls, 


Pale flowers ! pale perishing flowers ! 


The fields of Galilee, 


I woo your gentle breath — 


That eighteen liundred years ago 


I leave the Summer rose 


Were full of corn, I see ; 


For younger, blither brows ; 


And the dear Saviour takes His way 


Tell me of change and death ! 


'Mid ripe ears on the Sabbath day. 
Oh, golden fields of bending corn, 


C'AEOLtsE Bowles SournEY. 




How beautiful they seem ! 


THE DEATH OF THE FLOWEPvS. 


Tlie reaper-folk, the piled-up sheaves, 




To me are like a dream. 


The melancholy days are come, the saddest 


The sunshine and the very air 


of the year, 


Seem of old time, and take me there. 


Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and 


Mart Howitt. 


meadows brown and sere. 




Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the au- 
tumn leaves lie dead ; 




AUTUMN" FLOWERS. 


They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the 




rabbit's tread. 


Those few pale Autumn flowers. 


The robin and the wren are flown, and from 


How beautiful they are ! 


the shrubs the jay. 


Than all that went before, 


And from the wood-top calls the crow through 


Than all the Summer store, 


all the gloomy day. 


How lovelier far ! 






Where are the flowers, the fair young flow- 


And why ? — They are the last ! 


ers that lately sprang and stood 


The last! the last! the last! 


In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous 


Oh! by that little word 


sisterhood ? 


How many thoughts are stirred 


Alas ! they all are in their graves ; the gentle 


That whisper of the past ! 


race of flowers 



94 POEMS OF 


NATURE. 


Are lying in tlieir lowly beds, with the fair 


No flower of her kindred. 


and good of ours. 


No rosebud is nigh, 


The rain is falling whore they lie; but the 


To reflect back her blushes, 


cold Kovember rain 


Or give sigh for sigh ! 


Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely 




ones again. 


I '11 not leave thee, thou lone one, 
To pine on the stem ; 


The wind-flower and the violet, they per- 


Since the lovely are sleeping. 


ished long ago. 


Go, sleep thou with them. 


And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid 


Thus kindly I scatter 


the summer glow ; 


Thy leaves o'er the bed 


But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster 


Wliere thy mates of the garden 


in the wood. 


Lie scentless and dead. 


And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in 




autumn beauty stood, 


So soon may I follow. 


TiU fell the frost from the clear cold heaven. 


When friendships decay, 


as falls the plague on men. 


And from Love's shining circle 


And the brightness of their smile was gone, 


The gems drop away ! 


from upland, glade, and glen. 


When true hearts lie withered. 




And fond ones are flown, 


And now, when comes the calm mild day, as 


Oh ! who would inhabit 


still such days will come, 


This bleak world alone ? 


To call the squirrel and the bee from out their 


Thomas Mooke. 


winter home ; 
When the sound of dropping nuts is hoard, 






though all the trees are still, 


THE HUNTER OF THE PRAIRIES. 


And twinkle in the smoky hght the waters 


At, this is fi-eedom ! — these pure skies 


of the rill. 


Were never stained with ^^Uage smoke ; 


The south wind searches for the flowers 


The fragr.ant wind, that through them flies, 


whose fragrance late he bore, 


Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke. 


And sighs to find them in the wood and by 


Here, with my rifle and my steed. 


the stream no more. 


And her who left the world for me, 


And then I think of one who in her youthful 


I plant me where the red deer feed 


beauty died. 


In the green desert— and am tree. 


The fair meek blossom that grew up jmd 




faded by my side. 


For here the fair savannas know 


In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the 


No barriers in the bloomy grass; 


forests cast the leaf. 


Wherever breeze of heaven may blow, 


And we wept that one so lovely should have 


Or beam of heaven may glance, I pass. 


a life so brief ; 


In pastures, measureless as air. 


Yet not unmeet it was that one like that 


The bison is my noble game ; 


young friend of ours. 


The bounding elk, whose antlers tear 


So gentle and so beautiful, should perish -svith 


The branches, falls before my aim. 


the flowers. William Citilen Bktant. 


Mine are the river-fowl that scream 




From the long stripe of waving sedge ; 




'T IS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. 


The bear that marks my weapon's gleam 
Hides vainly in the forest's edge ; 


'Tis the last rose of Summer 


In vaiu the she- wolf stands at bay ; 


Left blooming alone ; 


The brinded ciitamount, that lies 


All her lovely companions 


High in the boughs to watch his prey. 


Are faded and gone ; 


Even in the act of springing dies. 



THE UUNTER'S SONG. 



9c 



With what free growth the ehn and plane 

Fling their huge arms across my way — 
Gray, olJ, and cumbered with a train 

Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray ! 
Free stray the lucid streams, and find 

No taint in these fresh lawns and shades ; 
Free spring the flowers that scent the wind 

Where never scythe has swept the glades. 

Alone the fire, when frost- winds sere 

The heavy herbage of the ground. 
Gathers his annual harvest here — 

With roaring like the battle's sound, 
And liurrying flames that sweep the plain, 

And smoke-streams gushing up the sky. 
I meet the flames with flames again, 

And at iny door they cower and die. 

Here, from dim woods, the aged Past 

Speaks solemnly ; and I behold 
The boundless Future in the vast 

And lonely river, seaward rolled. 
Who feeds its founts with rain and dew ? 

Who moves, I ask, its gliding mass. 
And trains the bordering vines whose blue 

Briglit clusters tempt me as I pass ! 

Broad are these streams — my steed obeys. 

Plunges, and bears me through the tide : 
Wide are these woods — I thread the maze 

Of giant stems, nor ask a guide. 
I hunt till day's last glimmer dies 

O'er woody vale and grassy height ; 
And kind the voice and glad the eyes 

That welcome my return at night. 

William Cullen Ekyant. 



MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not 

here ; 
My lieart's in the Highlands a-chasing the 

deer; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe. 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the 

North, 
The birth-place of valor, the country of worth ; 
Wherever I wander, wlierever I rove, 
Tlie hills of the Highlands for ever I love. 



Farewell to the mountains high covered with 

snow ; 
Farewell to the straths and green valleye 

below ; 
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging 

woods ; 
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring 

floods. 
My heart's in the Highlands, my hcirt is not 

here. 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasiug the 

deer; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, 
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. 

KoBERT Burns, 



THE HUNTER'S SONG. 

Rise 1 Sleep no more ! 'T is a noble morn. 
The dews hang thick on the fringed thorn, 
And the frost shrinks back, like a beaten 

hound. 
Under the steaming, steaming ground. 
Behold, where the billowy clouds flow by. 
And leave us alone in tlie clear gray skyl 
Our horses are ready and steady. — So, ho! 
I'm gone, like a dart from the Tartar's bow. 
Ilarlc, liarh ! — Who calleth the maiden Morn 
From her sleep in the woods and the stubhle 

corn ? 

The horn, — the horn! 
The merry, sweet ring of the hiinter^s horn. 

Now, through the copse where the fox is 

found. 
And over the stream at a mighty bound, 
And over the high lands, and over the low. 
O'er furrows, o'er meadows, the hunters go 1 
Away 1 — as a hawk flies full at his prey, 
So flieth the hunter, away, — away ! 
From the burst at the cover till set of sun, 
When the red fox dies, and — the day is done! 
Harlc, hark ! — What sound on the wind in 

home ? 
' T is the conquering voice of the huntcr^s horn : 

The horn, — tfie horn! 
The merry, hold voice of t!ie liuntcr^s horn. 



96 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Sound 1 Sound the horn ! To the hunter good 
"What's the gully deep or the roaring flood? 
Eight over he bounds, as the wild stag bounds, 
At the heels of his swift, sure, silent hounds. 
Oh, what delight can a mortal lack, 
When he once is firm on his horse's back. 
With his stirrups short, and his snaffle strong. 
And the blast of the horn for his mornin 

song? 
ITark, harh! — iVtfic, home! and dream till 

morih 
Of the hold, sweet sound of the Itunter's horn' 

The horn, — the horn ! 
Oh,the sound of all sounds is the hunter's Kwn! 
Barky Coenwall. 



TO AUTUMN". 

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness ! 

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun! 
Conspiring with him how to load and bless 
With fruit the vines that round the thatch- 
caves run — 
To bend with ajiples the mossed cottage trees. 
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core — 
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel 
shells 
With a sweet kernel — to set budding, more 
And still more, later flowers for the bees, 
Until they think warm days will never cease. 
For Summer has o'er-brimmed their 
clammy cells. 

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store ? 

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find 
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor. 

Thy hair soft-lifted by the w innowing wind ; 
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep. 
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while 
thy hook 
Spares the next swath uuJ all its twined 
flowers; 
And sometime like a gleaner thou dost keep 
Steady thy laden head across a brook ; 
Or by a cider-press, with patient look. 
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by 
hours. 



Where are the songs of Spring ? Ay, where 

are they ? 

Think not of them — thou hast thy music 

too : 

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying daj-, 

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; 

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats moui'n 

Among the river sallows, borne aloft 

Or sinking, as the light wind lives or dies ; 

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly 

bourn ; 

Hedge-crickets sing ; and now with treble 

soft 

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft. 

And gathering swallows twitter in the 

skies. 

John Keat8. 



AUTUMN— A DIEGE. 



wailing; 
The bare boughs are sighing; the pale flowers 
are dying ; 

And the Tear 
On the eai'th, her death-bed, in shroud of 
leaves dead, 

Is lying. 
Come, months, come away, 
From November to May ; 
In your saddest array 
Follow the bier 
Of the dead, cold Year, 
And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre. 

The chill rain is falling ; the nipt worm U 

crawling ; 
The rivers are swelling ; the thunder is knell- 
ing 

For the Year ; 
The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards 
each gone 

To his dwelling ; 
Come, months, come away ; 
Put on white, black, and gray ; 
Let your light sisters play — 
Ye, follow the bier 
Of the dead, cold Year, 
And make her grave green with tear on tear. 
Percy Eyssre Shelley 



AUTUMN. 


97 


AUTUMN. 


AUTUMN'S SIGHING. 




The Autumn is old ; 


Autumn's sighing, 




The sore leaves are flying; 


Moaning, dying; 




lie hath gathered up gold, 


Clouds are flying 




And now he is dying : 


On like steeds ; 




Old age, begin sighing 1 


While their shadows 
O'er the meadows 
Walk like widows 




The vintage is ripe ; 
The harvest is heaping ; 


Decked in weeds. 




But some that have sowed 


Red leaves trailhig. 




Have no riches for reaping : — 


Fall unfailing, 




Poor wretch, fall a-weeping! 


01 
Dropping, sailing, 
From the wood, 




The year's in the wane; 


That, unpliant. 




There is nothing adorning ; 


Stands defiant. 




The night has no eve, 


Like a giant 




And the day has no morning; 


Dropping blood. 




Cold winter gives warning. 


Winds are swelling 




The rivers run chill ; 


Round our dwelling, 




The red sun is sinking; 


All day telling 




And I am grown old, 


Us their woe ; 




And life is fiist shrinking ; 


And at vesper 




Here's enow for sad thinking! 


Frosts grow crisper, 




Thomas Hood. 


As they whisper 
Of the snow. 

From th' unseen land 






THE LATTEPw RAIN. 


Frozen inland, 
Down from Greenland 




The latter rain, — it fiiUs in anxious haste 


Winter glides. 
Shedding lightness 




Upon the sun-dried fields and branches bare, 




Loosening with searching drops the rigid 


Like the brightness 




waste 


When moon-whiteness 




As if it would each root's lost strength repair ; 


Fills the tides. 




But not a blade grows green as in the Spring ; 






No swelling twig puts forth its thickening 


Now bright Pleasure's 




leaves ; 


Sparkling measures 




The robins only mid the harvests sing. 


With rare treasures 




Pecking the grain that scatters from the 


Overflow ! 




sheaves ; 


With this gladness 




The rain falls still, — the fruit all ripened 


Comes what sadness! 




drops, 


Oh, what madness ! 




It pierces chestnut-burr and walnut-shell ; 


Oh, what woe ! 




The furrowed fields disclose the yellow crops ; 






Each bursting pod of talents used can tell ; 


Even merit 




And all that once received the early rain 


May inherit 




Declare to man it was not sent in vain. 


Some bare garret, 




JoNE3 Very. 
8 


Or the ground ; 





98 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Or, a worse ill, 
Beg a morsol 
At some door sill, 
Like a hoimd ! 

Storms are trailing ; 
"Winds are wailing, 
Howling, railing 

At each door. 
'Midst this trailing. 
Howling, railing, 
List the wailing 

Of the poor I 

TH0.MA8 BuOnANAN KbAD. 



THE IVY GREEN. 

On I a dainty plant is the Ivy green, 

That creepcth o'er ruins old! 
Of right choice food are his meals I ween, 

In his cell so lone and cold. 
The walls must be crumbled, the stones de- 
cayed. 
To pleasure his dainty whim ; 
And the mouldering dust that years have 
made 
Is a merry meal for him. 

Creeping where no life is soon, 
A rare old plant is tlie Ivy green. 

Fast ho stealeth on, though ho wears no 
wings. 
And a staunch old heart lias he ! 
How closely he twineth, how tight he clings 

To l~.is friend, the huge oak tree ! 
And slyly he trailetli along the ground. 

And his leaves ho gently waves. 
And ho joyously twines and hugs around 
The rich mould of dead men's graves. 
Creeping where no life is seen, 
A rare old plant is the Ivy green. 

Whole ages have fled, and their works de- 
cayed, 

And nations scattered lieen ; 
Hut the stout old Ivy shall never fade 

From its hale and liearty green. 



The bravo old plant in its lonely days 

Shall fatten upon tlie jiast ; 
For tlie stateliest building man can raise 
Is the Ivy's food at last. 

Creeping where no life is seen, 
A rare old plant is the Ivy green. 

CnAKLES Dickens. 



NOVEMBER. 

The mellow year is hasting to its close ; 
The littlo birds have almost sung their last, 
Their small notes twitter in the dreary blast — 
That shrill-piped harbinger of early snows ; 
The patient beauty of the scentless rose. 
Oft with the morn's hoar crystal quaintly 

glassed. 
Hangs, a pale mourner for tlio summer past, 
And makes a little summer where it grows. 
In the chill sunbeam of the faint brief day 
The dusky waters shudder as they shine ; 
The russet leaves obstruct the straggling way 
Of oozy brooks, which no deep banks detine ; 
And tlio gaunt woods, in ragged, scant array. 
Wrap tlieir old limbs with sombre ivy twine. 
Hartley CoLSRiuaB. 



GRONGAR HILL. 

Silent nymph, with curious eyoi 
"Who, the purple evening, lie 
On tlie mountain's lonely van, 
Beyond the noise of busy man — 
Painting fair the form of things, 
While the yellow linnet sings. 
Or the tuneful nightingale 
Charms the forest with her tale — 
Come, with all thy various hues, 
Come, and aid thy sister Muse. 
Now, whilo rha>bus, riding high, 
Gives lustre to the land and sky, 
Grongar Hill invites my song — 
Draw the landscape bright and strong ; 
Grong.oi-, in whose mossy cells 
Sweetly musing Quiet dwells; 
Grongar, in whose silent shade, 
For the modest Muses made, 



GRONGAH UILL. 



no 



So oft I have, the evening still, 

At the fountain of a rill. 

Sat upon a flowery bed, 

AVith my hand beneath my head, 

'While strayed my eyes o'er Towy's flood, 

Over mead and over wood, 

From house to house, from hill to bill, 

Till Contemplation had her fill. 

About bis checkered sides I wind, 
And leave his brooks and meads behind, 
And gi'oves and grottoes where I lay. 
And vistas shooting beams of day. 
Wide and wider spreads the vale. 
As circles on a smooth canal. 
The mountains round, unhappy fate ! 
Sooner or later, of all height, 
Withdraw their summits from the skies. 
And lessen as the others rise. 
Still the prospect wider spreads, 
Adds a thousand woods and meads ; 
Still it widens, widens still. 
And sinks the newly-risen hill. 

Now I gain the mountain's brow ; 
What a landscape lies below ! 
No clouds, no vapors intervene ; 
Hut the gay, the open scene 
Does the face of Nature show 
In all the hues of heaven's bow ! 
And, swelling to embrace the light, 
Spreads around beneath the sight. 

Old castles on the cliff's arise, 
Proudly towering in the skies; 
liusliing from the woods, the spires 
Seem from hence ascending fires ; 
Half his beams Apollo sheds 
On the yellow mountain-heads 
Gilds the fleeces of the flocks. 
And glitters on the broken rocks. 

Below me trees unnumbered rise, 
Beautiful in v.arious dyes : 
The gloomy pine, the poplar blue. 
The yellow beech, the sable yew, 
The slender fir that taper grows, 
Tlie sturdy oak with broad-spread boughs ; 
And beyond, the purple grove. 
Haunt of Phyllis, queen of love ! 
Gaudy as the opening dawn. 
Lies a long and level lawn. 
On which a dark hill, steep and liigh, 
Holds and charms the wandering eye ; 
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood : 



His sides are clothed with waving wood ; 
And ancient towers crown his brow, 
That cast an awful look below ; 
W^boso ragged walls the ivy creeps, 
And with her arms from falling keeps ; 
So both, a safety from the wind 
In mutual dependence find. 
'T is now the raven's bleak abode ; 
'T is now th' apartment of the toad ; 
And there the fox securely feeds ; 
And there the poisonous adder breeds. 
Concealed in ruins, moss, and weeds ; 
While, ever and anon, tliere fall 
Huge heaps of hoary, mouldered wall. 
Yet Time has seen — that lifts the low 
And level lays the lofty brow — 
Has seen this broken [lilo complete, 
Big with the vanity of state. 
But transient is the smile of Fate I 
A little rule, a little sway, 
A sunbeam in a winter's day. 
Is all the proud and mighty have 
Between the cradle and the grave. 

And see the rivers, how they run 
Through woods and meads, in shade and SUD 
Sometimes swift, sometinies .slow — 
Wave succeeding wave, they go 
A various journey to the deei>. 
Like human life to endless sleep I 
Thus is Nature's vesture wrought 
To instruct our wandering tliought; 
Thus .she dresses green and gay 
To disperse our cares away. 

Ever charming, ever new, 
When will the landscape tiro the view ! 
The fountain's fall, the river's flow ; 
The woody valleys, warm and low ; 
The windy summit, wild and higli, 
Itougbly rusliing on the sky ; 
The jilcasant scat, the ruined tower. 
The naked rock, the shady bower; 
The town and village, dome and farm- 
Each gives each a double charm. 
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm. 

See on the mountain's soutliern side, 
Where the prospect opens wide, 
Where the evening gilds the tide. 
How close and small the hedges lie; 
What streaks of meadow cross the eye I 
A step, metliinks, may pass the stream. 
So little distant dangers seem ; 



100 POEMS OF 


NATURE. 


So we mistake the Future's face, 


Hanging on their velvet heads. 


Eyed through Hope's deluding glass ; 


Like a string of crystal beads. 


As yon summits, soft and fair. 


See the heavy clouds low falling 


Clad in colors of the air, 


And bright Hesperus ilown calling 


AVhioh to those who journey near, 


The dead night from under ground ; 


Barren, hrown, and rough appear ; 


At whose rising, mists unsound. 


Still we tread the same coarse way — 


Damps and vapors, fly apace. 


The present 's still a cloudy day. 


And hover o 'er the smiling face 


Oh may I with myself agree, 


Of these pastures ; where they come, 


And never covet what I see ; 


Striking dead both bud and bloom. 


Content me with an humble sliade, 


Therefore from such danger lock 


My passions tamed, my wishes laid ; 


Every one his loved flock ; 


For while our wishes wildly roll, 


And let your dogs lie loose without, 


We banish quiet from the soul. 


Lest the wolf come as a scout 


'T is thus the busy beat the air. 


From the mountain, and ere day, 


And misers gather wealth and care. 


Bear a lamb or kid away ; 


Now, even now, my joys run high. 


Or the crafty, thievish fox, 


As on tlie mountain turf I lie ; 


Break upon your simple flocks. 


While the wanton Zephyr sings, 


To secure yourself from these, 


And in the vale perfumes his wings ; 


Be not too secure in ease ; 


While the waters murmur deep ; 


So shall you good shepherds prove. 


While the shepherd charms his sheep ; 


And deserve your master's love. 


Wliile the birds nnbounded fly. 


Now, good night ! may sweetest slumhera 


And with music till the sky. 


And soft silence fall in numbers 


Now, even now, my joys run high. 


On your eyelids. So farewell : 


Be full, ye courts ; be great who will ; 


Thus I end my evening knell. 


Search for Peace with all your skill ; 


Beaumont asd Fletcher. 


Open wide the lofty door. 




Seek her on the marble floor. 




In vain you search ; she is not here ! 


— ^ 


In vain you search the domes of Care ! 




Grass and flowers Quiet treads. 


BUGLE SONG. . 


On the meads and mountain-heads. 




Along with Pleasure — close allied. 


The splendor fiills on castle walls 


Ever by each other's side ; 


And snowy summits old in story ; 


And often, by the murmuring rill, 


The long light sliakcs across the lakes. 


Hears the thrush, while all is still 


And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 


Within the gi-oves of Grongar Hill. 


Blow, bugle, blow ! set the wild echoes fly- 


John Dtee. 


ing; 




Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes — dying, dying, 
dying ! 




FOLDING THE FLOCKS. 


Oh hark, oh hear! how thin and clear. 




And thinner, clearer, further going ! 


Shepherds all, and maidens fair, 


sweet and far, from clifl' and scar, 


Fold your flocks up ; for the air 


The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! 


'Gins to thicken, and the sun 


Blow ! let us hear the purple glens reply- 


Already his great course hath run. 


ing; 


See the dew-drops, how they kiss 


Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes — dying, dying, 


Every little flower that is ; 


dying ! 



EVENING. 



101 



O love, they die in yon rich sky ; 

They faint on hill or field or river : 

Our echoes roll from soul to soul, 

And grow for ever and for ever. 

Blow, bugle, blow ! set the wild echoes flying. 

And answer, echoes, answer — dying, dying, 

dying! 

Alfred Teshtsok. 



THE EVENING yflKD. 

Spirit thatbreathest through my lattice ! thou 
That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day! 
Gratefully flows thy freshness round my 
brow ; 
Thou bast been out upon the deep at play, 
Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, 
Roughening their crests, and scattering 
high their spray, 
And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee 
To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the 
sea! 



Nor I alone — a thousand bosoms round 
Inhale thee in the fulness of delight ; 

And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound 
Livelier, at coming of the wind of night ; 

And languishing to hear thy welcome sound. 
Lies the vast inland, stretched beyond the 
sight. 

Go forth into the gathering shade; go forth — 

God's blessing breathed upon the fainting 
earth ! 



Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest ; 
Curl the still waters, bright with stars; and 
rouse 
The wide, old wood from his majestic rest, 

Summoning, from the innumerable boughs. 
The strange deep harmonies that haunt his 
breast. 
Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly 
bows 
The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, 
And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep 
the grass. 



Stoop o'er the place of graves, and softly swaj 
The sighing herbage by the gleaming stone; 

That they who near the churchyard wiUowa 
stray, 
And listen in the deepening gloom, alone, 

May think of gentle souls that passed away, 
Like thy pure breath, into the vast unknown, 

Sent forth from heaven among the sons of 
men, 

And gone into the boundless heaven again. 

The faint old man shall lean his silver head 
To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child 
asleep. 

And dry the moistened curls that overspread 
His temples, while his breathing grows 
more deep ; 

And they who stand about the sick man's bed 
Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep, 

And softly part his curtains to allow 

Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow. 

Go — but the circle of eternal change. 

Which is the life of Nature, shall restore, 
With sounds and scents from all thy mighty 
range, 
Thee to thy birth-place of the deep onco 
more. 
Sweet odors in the sea air, sweet and strange. 
Shall tell the home-sick mariner of tlie 
shore ; 
And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem 
He hears the rustling leaf and running stream. 
William Cullen Bktant. 



EVENING. 

Sweet after showers, ambrosial air. 
That rollest from the gorgeous gloom 
Of evening over brake and bloom 

And meadow, slowly breathing bare 

The round of space, and rapt below. 
Through all the dewy-tasselled wood. 
And shadowing down the horned flood 

In ripples — fan my brows and blow 



102 POEMS OF NATUKE. 


Tho lover from iny chook, and sigh 


And many a nymph who wreathes her browj 


The full new life tlint feeds thy broalh 


with sedge. 


Tliroiighoutiny friimc, till Doubtiiiul Ueiitli, 


And sheds the freshening dew ; and, lovelier 


111 liretlireii, let the fmioy tly 


.still, 




The pensive pleasures sweet. 


l"i(-m lu'lt t(. bolt nt' criinsoii sseiis, 


rrejiare thy shadowy ear. 


iMi lengues of odor stromiiiiig far, 

To where, in yonder orient star, 

A liiuidred spirits whisper "I'eiico! " 

Al,KKKl> TkNNYSON. 


Then lot 010 rove some wild and heathy 

soono ; 
Or lind some ruin, 'midst its dreary dolls, 
Whoso walls more nwful nod 




Hy tliy religions gleams. 
Or, if ehiU blustering winds, or driving rain. 




ODE TO EVENING. 


Prevent my willing foot, be miite the hut 




'I'hat, from tho mountain's side, 


Ik aught of oateu stop, or pastoral song. 


"Views wilds, and swelling tloods. 


May hope, chaste Eve, to sootho thy modest 

ear. 


And hamlets brown, and dim disooverod 


Like thy own brawling springs, 
Thy springs, and dying gales — 


spires ; 
.Vnd hears their simple bell, and marks o'er 
all 


Nymph reserved, while now the bright- 
haired Sun 


Thy dewy tingors draw 
The gradual dusky veil. 


Sits in yon western tent, whoso elouily skirls, 
With brede ethereal wove, 


AVhilo Spring shall pour his showers, as oft 
bo wont. 


i)"erhaug his wavy bed. 


And bathe thy breathing tresse.s, meekest Eve! 




■\Vhilo Summer loves to sport 


Now air is luished, save whore tho woak- 


lionoath thy lingering light; 


eyed bat 
With short shrill shriek tlifs by on leathern 
wing; 


Wliilesallow Autiunn tills thy lap with leaves; 
Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air. 


Or where the beetle winds 


AllVights thy slu'inkiug train, 


His small but snllen horn. 


And rudely rends thy robes; 


.\s oft he rises 'midst the twilight path, 
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum ; 
Now teaoh me, maid eoinposed. 
To breathe some softened strain. 


So long, regardl'ul of thy ipiiot rule. 
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Sciouce, sniiling 
reaee, 

Thy gentlest inllueiu'o own. 

And love thy favorite name ! 


Wlioso \nnnbers, stealing through thy dark- 
ening vale, 


WlIXIAM COLLtHS. 




May not unseen\ly with its stillness suit ; 
As, musing slow, I hail 


TO THE EVENING STAR. 


Thy genial, lovod return! 


St.m! that bringest home the bee. 




And sett'st the weary laborer free! 


I'or when thy folding star arising shows 


If any star shed peace, 'tis thou. 


His paly eirelet, at his warning lamp 


That sond'st it Irom above, 


The fragrant Hours, and elves 


Ajipearing when Heaven's breath and brow 


Mho slept in buds the day, 


Are sweet as hers we love. 



EVENING. 



103 



Come to tbo luxuriant skies, 
AVliilst tlio landscape's odors rise, 
Wliilst, far oft", lowing herds are lioard, 

And songs when toil is done, 
From cottages whose smoko unstirred 

Curls yellow in the sun. 

Star of love's soft interviews, 
Parted lovers on thee muse ; 
Their remembrancer in Heaven 

Of thrilling vows thou art. 
Too delicious to he riven, 

By absence, from the heart. 

TnoMAS CAuruELi.. 



EVENING IN THE ALPS. 

Come, golden Evening ! in the west 

Enthrone tlic storm-dispelling sun. 
And let tlie trijile rainbow rest 

O'er all the mountain-tops. 'Tis done ;- 
The tempest ceases ; bold and bright. 

The r.ainbovv shoots from liill to hill ; 
Down sinks the sun ; on presses night ; — 

Mont Blanc is lovely still ! 

Tliero take thy stand, my spirit; — spread 

The world of shadows at thy feet ; 
And mark how calmly, overhead. 

The stars, like saints in glory, meet. 
While hid in solitude sublime, 

Methinks I muse on Nature's tomb. 
And hear the passing foot of Time 

Step tlirough the silent gloom. 

All in a moment, crasli on crash, 

From jireoipice to precipice 
An avalanche's ruins dash 

Down to the nethermost abyss. 
Invisible ; the ear alone 

Pursues the uproar till it dies ; 
Echo to echo, groan for groan, 

From deep to deep replies. 

Silence again the darkness seals. 

Darkness that may be felt ; — but soon 

The silver-clouded east reveals 
Tlio midniglit spectre of the moon. 



In half-eclipse she lifts her horn. 
Yet o'er the host of heaven supremo 

Brings tlie faint semblance of a morn, 
With her awakening beam. 

Ah ! at her touch, these Alpine heights 

Unreal mockeries appear; 
With blacker shadows, gliastlicr lights, 

Emerging as she climbs tbo sphere; 
A crowd of aiijiaritions palo I 

I hold my breath in chill suspense — 
They seem so exquisitely frail — 

Lest they should vanish hence. 

I breathe again, I freely breathe ; 

Thee, Lcman's Lake, once more I trace, 
Like Dian's crescent far beneath. 

As beautiful as Dian's face : 
Pride of the land that gave me birth ! 

All that thy waves reflect I love. 
Where heaven itself, brouglit down to oartli. 

Looks fairer than above. 

Safe on thy banks again I stray ; 

The trance of poesy is o'er. 
And I am here at dawn of day. 

Gazing on mountains as before. 
Where all the strange mutations wrouglit 

Were magic feats of my own miud ; 
For, in that fairy land of thought, 

Whatc'er I seek, I find. 

Yet, O ye everlasting hills ! 

Buildings of God, not made with hands, 
Wlioso word performs whatc'er lie wills, 

AVhose word, thongli ye shall [lerish, stands; 
Can there bo eyes that look on you. 

Till tears of rapture make them dim. 
Nor in his works the Maker view, 

Then lose his works in Him ? 

By mo, when I behold Him not, 

Or love Him not wlien I behold. 
Be all I over knew forgot — 

My pulse stand still, my heart grow cold ; 
Transformed to ice, 'twixt earth and sky, 

On yonder cliff my form be seen. 
That all may ask, but none reply, 

Wliat my offence hath been. 

James Montoomeet. 



104 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



TO NIGHT. 

Swiftly walk over the western wave, 

Spii-it of night ! 
Out of the misty eastern cave, 
"Where, all the long and lone daylight. 
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear 
Which make thee terrible and dear — 

Swift he thy flight ! 

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray, 

Star-inwrought ; 
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day, 
Kiss her until she be wearied out ; 
Then wander o'er city and sea and land. 
Touching all with thine opiate wand — 

Come, long-sought! 

When I arose and saw the dawn, 

I sighed for thee ; 
When light rode high, and the dew was gone, 
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree. 
And the weary Day turned to her rest. 
Lingering like an unloved guest, 

I sighed for thee ? 

Thy brother Death came, and cried, 

" Wouldst thou me ? " 
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, 

Murmm-ed like a noontide bee, 
" ShaU I nestle near thy side ? 
Wouldst thou me? " — And I replied, 

"No, not thee!" 

Deatli will come when thou art dead, 

Soon, too soon — 
Sleep will come when thou art fled ; 
Of neither would I ask the boon 
I ask of thee, beloved Night — 
Swift be thine approaching flight. 

Come soon, soon ! 

Percy Bysshe Shellky. 



TO CYNTHIA. 

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair. 
Now the sun is laid to sleep. 

Seated in thy silver chair. 

State in wonted manner keep : 

Hesperus entreats thy liglit, 
Goddess excellently bright ! 



Earth, let not thy ennous shade 

Dare itself to interpose ; 
Cynthia's shining orb was made 

Heaven to clear when day did close; 
Bless us, then, with wished sight. 
Goddess excellently bright ! 

Lay thy bow of pearl apart. 

And thy crystal-shining quiver ; 

Give unto thy flying hart 

Space to breathe, how short soever ; 

Thou that makest a day of night. 

Goddess excellently bright ! 

Ben Jonson. 



MOONPJSE. 

What stands upon the higldand ? 

Wliat walks across the rise. 
As though a starry island 

Were sinking down the skies ? 

What makes the trees so golden ? 

What decks the mountain side. 
Like a veil of silver folden 

Bound the white brow of a bride ? 

The magic moon is breaking, 
Like a conqueror, from the east. 

The waiting world awaking 
To a golden foiry feast. 

She works, with touch ethereal, 
By changes strange to see. 

The cypress, so funereal. 
To a lightsome fairy tree ; 

Black rocks to marble tiu-ning. 

Like palaces of kings ; 
On rum windows burning, 

A festal glory flings ; 

The desert halls uplightmg. 
While falling shadows glance, 

Like courtly crowds uniting 
For the banquet or the dance; 

With ivory wand she numbers 

The stars along the sky ; 
And breaks the billows' slumbers 

With a love-glance of her eye ; 



THE HARVEST MOON. 



106 



Along tlie cornfields dances, 

Brings bloom npon the sheaf; 
From tree to tree she glances, 

And touches leaf by leaf; 

Wakes birds that sleep in shadows ; 

Through their half-closed eyelids gleams ; 
"With her white torch through the meadows 

Lights the shy deer to the streams. 

The magic moon is breaking, 
Like a conqueror, from the east, 

And the joyous world partaking 
Of her golden fairy feast. 

Ernest Jones. 



SONNET. 

The crimson Moon, uprising from the sea, 
With large deUght foretells the harvest near. 
Ye shepherds, now prepare your melody, 
To greet the soft appearance of her sphere ! 

And like a page, enamored of her train, 
The star of evening glimmers in the west : 
Then raise, ye shepherds, your observant 

strain, 
That so of the Great Shepherd here are blest! 

Our fields are full with the time-ripened grain, 
Our ■vineyards with the purple clusters swell; 
Her golden splendor glunmers on the main. 
And vales and mountains her bright glory 

tell. 
Then sing, yc shepherds! for the time is come 
When we must bring the enriched harvest 

home. 

LOBD TnUELOW. 



TO THE HARVEST MOON. 

Cum ruit imbriferum ver: 
Bpicea jam campis cum moesis inhorrait, et cum 
Frumenta in viridi stipula lactentia turgeut. 

Cuncta tibi Cererem pnbes agi-estis adorct. 

YlEGIL. 

Moon of Harvest, herald mild 

Of Plenty, rustic labor's child. 

Hail ! oh hail ! I greet thy beam. 

As soft it trembles o'er the stream. 

And gilds the straw-thatched hamlet -ndde, 

Wliero Innocence and Peace reside ! 



'Tis thou that gladd'st with joy tlie rustic 

throng. 
Promptest the tripping dance, the exhilai-at- 

ing song. 

Moon of Harvest, I do love 

O'er the uplands now to rove, 

While thy modest ray serene 

Gilds the wide surrounding scene ; 

And to watch thee riding high 

In the blue vault of the sky. 
Where no thin vapor intercepts thy ray, 
But m unclouded majesty thou widkest on 
thy way. 

Pleasing 't is, O modest Moon ! 
Now the night is at her noon, 
'Neath thy sway to musing lie. 
While around the zephyrs sigh. 
Fanning soft the sun-tanned wheat, 
Ripened by the summer's heat ; 
Picturing all the rustic's joy 
When boundless plenty greets his eye, 

And thinking soon, 

modest Moon ! 
How many a female eye will roam 

Along the road. 

To see the load. 
The last dear load of harvest-home. 

Storms and tempests, floods and rains, 

Stern despoilers of the plains, 

Hence, away, the season flee. 

Foes to light-heart jollity ! 

May no winds careering high 

Drive the clouds along tlie sky, 
But may all Nature smile with aspect boon. 
When in the lieavens thou show'st thy face, 
O harvest Moon ! 

'Neath yon lowly roof he lies. 
The husbandman, with sleep-sealed eyes : 
He dreams of crowded barns, and round 
The yard he hears the flail resound ; 
Oh ! may no hurricane destroy 
His visionary views of joy ! 
God of the winds ! oh, hear his humble prayer, 
And while the Moon of Haiwest shines, thy 
blustering whirlwind spare. 

Sons of luxury, to you 

Leave I Sleep's dull power to woo ; 



106 POEMS OF 


NATURE. 


Press ye still tlie do-\\Tiy bed, 


Why do we, then, shun Death with anxious 


While foverisli dreams surround your head ; 


strife? — 


I will seek the woodland glade, 


K Light can thus deceive, wherefore not Life ? 


Penetrate the thickest shade, 


Blanco "Whitk. 


Wrapped in Contemplation's di-eams, 


4 


Musing high on holy themes, 




While on the gale 


SONG.— THE OWL. 


Shall softly sail 




The nightingale's enchanting tune. 


When cats run home and light is come, 


And oft my eyes 


And dew is cold upon the ground. 


Shall grateful rise 


And the far-otf stream is dumb, 


To thee, the modest Harvest Moon ! 


And the whirring saU goes round, 


Henky Kikke White. 


And the whirring sail goes round ; 




Alone and warming his five wits, 
The white owl in the belfry sits. 




NIGHT SONG. 


When merry milkmaids click the latch. 


The moon is up in splendor. 


And rarely smeUs the new-mo^vn hay, 


And golden stars attend her ; 


And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch 


The hea\'ens are calm and bright ; 


Twice or thrice his roundelay, 


Trees east a deepening shadow. 


Twice or thrice his roundelay ; 


And slowly off the meadow 


Alone and warming his five wits. 


A mist is rising silver-white. 


The white owl in the belfry sits. 


Night's curtains now are closing 




Round half a world reposing 






SECOSTD SONO TO THE SAME. 


In calm and holy trust. 




i\l\ seems one vast, still chamber, 


Thy tuwhits are lulled, I wot, 


Where weary hearts remember 


Thy tuwhoos of yesternight. 


No more the sorrows of the dust. 


Wliich, upon the dark afioat. 


MATrniAS Claudids. (German.) 


So took echo with delight. 


Translation of C. T. Brooks. 


So took echo with delight. 




That her voice, untuneful grown. 
Wears all day a fainter tone. 




TO NIGHT. 






I would mock thy chaunt anew ; 


MvsTEKiors Night ! wlien our first parent 


But I canuot mimic it ; 


knew 


Not a whit of thy tuwhoo. 


Thee from report divine, and heard thy name. 


Thee to woo to thy tuwhit. 


Did he not tremble for this lovely frame. 


Thee to woo to thy tuwhit. 


This glorious canopy of light and blue ? 


With a lengthened loud halloo. 


Yet 'neath the curtain of translucent dew. 


Tuwhoo, tuwhit, tuwhit, tuwhoo-o-o. 


Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, 


Ajlfked Tennyson. 


Hesperus with the host of heaven came. 
And lo ! creation widened in man's \'iew. 






AVho could liavo thought such darkness lay 


THE OWL. 


concealed 




Within thy beams, Sun ! or who could find. 


WniLE the moon, with sudden gleam, 


While fly, and leaf, and insect lay revealed. 


Through the clouds that cover her, 


That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us 


Darts her light upon the stream. 


blmd! 


And the poplars gently stir ; 



A DOUBTING HEART. 101 


Pleased I hear thy boding cry, 




Owl, that lov'st the cloudy sky ! 


TO A CRICKET. 


Sure thy notes are harmony. 


Voice of Summer, keen and shrUl, 


While tlie maiden, pale mth care, 


Chirping round my winter fire, 


"Wanders to the lonely .shade, 


Of thy song I never tiro, 


Sighs her sorrows to the air, 


Weary others as they will ; 


While the flowerets round her fade, — 


For thy song with Summer's filled — 


Shrinks to hear thy boding cry ; 


Filled with sunshine, filled with June ; 


Owl, that lov'st the cloudy sky, 
To her it is not harmony. 


Firelight echo of that noon 
Heard in fields when all is stilled 




In the golden light of May, 


While the wretch with mournful dole, 


Bringing scents of new-mown hay. 


Wrings his hands in agony. 


Bees, and birds, and flowers away : 


Praying for hi.s brother's soul. 


Prithee, haunt my fireside still. 


Whom he pierced suddenly, — 


Voice of Summer, keen and shrUl ! 


Shrinks to hear thy boding cry; 


William C. Bennctx., 


Owl, that lov'st the cloudy sky, 




' 


To him it is not harmony. 

Anonymous. 


THE DEPAETURE OF THE SWALLOW. 




And is the swallow gone ? 
Who beheld it? 






Which way sailed it ? 


THE CPvICKT.T. 


Farewell bade it none ? 


Little inmate, full of mirth, 


No mortal saw it go : — 


Chirping on my kitchen hearth, 


But who doth hear 


AVheresoe'er be thine abode 


Its summer cheer 


Always harbinger of good, 


As it flitteth to and fro ? 


Pay me for thy warm retreat 




AVith a song more soft and sweet ; 


So the freed spirit flies ! 


In return thou slialt receive 


From its surrounding clay 


Such a strain as I can give. 


It steals away 




Like the swallow from the skies. 


Thus thy praise shall be expressed. 




Inoffensive, welcome guest ! 


Whither? wherefore doth it go? 


While the rat is on the scout. 


'Tis all unknown; 


And the mouse with curious snout, 


We feci alone 


With what vermin else infest 


That a void is left below. 


Every tlish, and spoil the best; 


William Howiit. 


Frisking thus before the fire. 




Thou hast all thy heart's desire. 


A DOUBTING HEART. 


Though in voice and shape they be 


WuEEE are the swaUows fled ? 


Formed as if akin to thee. 


Frozen and dead 


Thou surpassest, happier far, 


Perchance upon some bleak and stormy shore 


Happiest grasshoppers that are ; 


doubting heart ! 


Theirs is but a summer's song — 


Far over purple seas. 


Thine endures the winter long, 


They wait, in sunny ease. 


Unimpaired, and shrill, and clear. 


The balmy southern breeze 


Melody throughout the year. 


To bring them to their northern homes once 


■William Cowpee. 


more. 



108 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Why must the flowers die ? 

Prisoned they lie 
In the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain. 
O doubting heart ! 
Tliey only sleep below 
Tlie soft white ei'mine snow 
"While winter winds sliall blow, 
To breathe and smile upon you soon again. 

The sun has hid its rays 

Tliese many days ; 
TrViU dreary liours never leave tlie earth ? 
O doubting heart ! 
Tlie stormy clouds on high 
Veil the same sunny sky 
That soon, for Spring is nigh, 
Sliall wake the Summer into gokleu mirth. 

Fair liope is dead, and hght 

Is quenclied in night ; 
What sound can break the silence of despair ? 
O doubting heart ! 
The sky is overcast, 
Yet stars shall rise at last, 
Brighter for darkness past, 
And angels' silver voices stir the air. 

Adelaide Axnb Procteb. 



FAXCY. 



EvEK let the Fancy roam ; 

Pleasure never is at home : 

At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth 

Like to bubbles wlion rain pelteth ; 

Then lot winged Fancy wander 

Tlirough the thouglit still spread beyond her ; 

Open wide the mind's cage-door— 

She "11 dart forth, and cloudward soar. 

O sweet Fimcy ! let her loose ! 

Siunmer's joys are spt>ilt by use. 

And the enjoying of the Spring 

Fades as does its blossoming. 

Autumn's red-lipped fruitage too. 

Blushing through the mist and dew, 

Cloys with tasting. What do then ? 

Sit thee by the ingle, when 

The soar faggot blazes briglit. 

Spirit of a winter's night ; 

Wlien tlie soundless earth is muffled, 

And the caked snow is shuffled 



From the ploughboy's heavy shoon ; 

When the Night doth meet the Noon 

In a dark conspiracy 

To banish Even from her sky. 

Sit thee there, and send abroad, 

With a mind self-overawed, 

Fancy, high-commissioned ; — send her ! 

She lias vassals to attend her ; 

She ^vill bring, in spite of frost. 

Beauties that the earth hath lost; — 

She will bring thee, all together. 

All delights of summer weather ; 

All the buds and bells of May, 

From dewy sward or thorny spray ; 

All the heaped Autumn's wealth ; — 

With a still, mysterious stealth ; 

She will mi.x these pleasures up 

Like three fit wines in a cup. 

And thou shalt quaff it, — thou shalt hear 

Distant harvost-carols clear — 

Rustle of the reaped corn ; 

Sweet birds antheming the morn ; 

And, in the same moment — hark ! 

'T is the early AprU lark, — 

Or the rooks, with busy caw, 

Foraging for sticks and straw. 

Thou shalt, at one fflance, behold 

The daisy and tho marigold ; 

White-phimod lilies, and the first 

Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst ; 

Shaded hyacinth, alway 

Sapi)hire queen of tho mid-May ; 

And every loaf, and every flower 

Pearled with tho self-same shower. 

Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep 

Meagre from its celled sleep : 

And the snake, all winter-thin. 

Cast on sunny bank its skin ; 

Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see 

Hatching in tho hawtliorn-treo. 

When the hen-bird's wing doth rest 

Quiet on her mossy nest ; 

Then the hurry and alarm 

When the bee-hive casts its swarm ; 

Acorns ripe down-pattering 

While the autumn breezes sing. 

Oh sweet Fancy ! let her loose ! 
Every thing is spoilt by use ; 
Where 's tho cheek that doth not fade. 



WINTER FANCIES. 



109 



Too much gazed at ? Where 's the maid 

Whose Up mature is ever new ? 

Where 's the eye, however hlue, 

Doth not weary? Where 's the face 

One would meet in every jjlace ? 

Where 's the voice, however soft, 

One would hear so very oft ! 

At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth 

Like to buhbles when rain pelteth. 

Let, then, winged Fancy find 

Thee a mistress to thy mind : 

Dulcet-eyed as Ceres' daughter 

Ere the god of Torment taught her 

How to fro'ivn and how to chide ; 

With a waist and with a side 

White as Hebe's when her zone 

Slipt its golden clasp, and down 

Fell her kirfle to her feet. 

While she held the goblet sweet. 

And Jove grew languid. — Break the mesh 

Of the Fancy's silken leash ; 

Quickly break her prison-string. 

And such joys as these she 'II bring. — 

Let the winged Fancy roam ; 

Pleasure never is at home. 

John Keats. 



THE WINDY NIGHT. 

Alow and aloof. 

Over the roof. 
How the midnight tempests howl ! 

With a dreary voice, like the dismal tune 
Of wolves that bay at the desert moon ; 

Or whistle and shriek 

Through limbs that creak. 

"Tu-who! Tu-whit!" 

They cry, and flit, 
"Tu-whit! Tu-who! " like the solemn owl! 

Alow and aloof, 

Over the roof, 
Sweep the moaning wiuds amain. 

And wUdly dash 

The elm and ash. 
Clattering on the window sash 

With a clatter and patter 

Like haU and rain. 

That well nigh shatter 

The dusky pane ! 



Alow and aloof, 

Over the roof, 
How the tempests swell and roar! 

Though no foot is astir. 

Though the cat and the cur 
Lie dozing along the kitchen floor, 

There are feet of air 

On every stair — 

Through every haU ! 

Through each gusty door 

There 's a jostle and bustle, 

With a silken rustle. 
Like the meeting of guests at a festival ! 

Alow and aloof. 

Over the roof. 
How the stormy tempests swell ! 

And make the vane 

On the spire complain ; 
They heave at the steeple with might and main, 

And burst and sweep 

Into the belfry, on the bell! 
They smite it so hard, and they smite it so well, 

That the sexton tosses his arms in sleep, 
And dreams he is ringing a funeral knell ! 

Thomas Buchanan Head. 



THE MIDNIGHT WIND. 

MonENFULLT! oh, mournfully 

This midnight wind doth sigh. 
Like some sweet, plaintive melody 

Of ages long gone by ! 
It speaks a tale of other years, — 

Of hopes that bloomed to die, — 
Of sunny smiles that set in tears, 

And loves that mouldering lie ! 

Mournfully ! oh, mournfully 

This midnight wind doth moan ! 
It stirs some chord of memory 

In each dull, heavy tone ; 
Tlie voices of the much-loved dead 

Seem floating thereupon, — 
All, all my fond heart cherished 

Ere death had made it lone. 

Mournfully! oh, mournfidly 
This midnight wind doth swell 

With its quaint, pensive minstrelsy, - 
Hope's passionate farewell 



110 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



To the dreamy joys of eai-ly years, 

Ere yet grief's canker fell 
On the heart's bloom, — ay ! well may tears 

Start at that parting knell ! 

WlLUAM MOTHEEWELL. 



BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND. 

Blow, blow, thou winter wind — 
Thou art not so unkind 

As man's ingratitude ; 
Thy tooth is not so keen, 
Because thou art not seen. 

Although thy breath be rude. 
Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green 

holly: 
Most friendship is feigning, most loxing mere 
folly; 
Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! 
This life is most jolly ! 

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky — 
Thou dost not bite so nigh 

As benefits forgot ; 
Though thou the waters warp, 
Thy sting is not so sharp 

As friend remembered not. 
Heigh ho I sing heigh ho ! unto the green 

holly : 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere 
folly; 
Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! 
This life is most jolly I 

SnAKHSPEAEE. 



THE HOLLY-TREE. 

O KEADER ! hast thou ever stood to see 

The holly-tree ! 
The eye that contemplates it well, perceives 

Its glossy leaves 
Ordered by an intelligence so wise 
As might confound the atheist's sophistries. 

Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen 

Wrinkled and keen ; 
No grazing cattle, through their prickly round. 

Can reach to wound; 
But as they grow where nothing is to fear, 
Smooth and unai-med the pointless leaves 
appear. 



I love to view these things with oui-ious eyes, 

jVnd moralize ; 
And in this wisdom of the holly-tree 

Can emblems see 
Wherewith, perchance, to make a pleasant 

rliyme. 
One which may profit in the after-time. 

Thus, though abroad, perchance, I might 
appear 

Harsh and austere — 
To those who on my leisure would intrude, 

Reserved and rude ; 
Gentle at home amid my friends I 'd be, 
Like the high leaves upon the holly-tree. 

And should my youth, as youth is apt, I know, 

Some harshness show. 
All vain asperities I, day by day. 

Would wear away, 
Till the smooth temper of my age should be 
Like the high leaves upon the holly-tree. 

And as, when all the summer trees are seen 

So bright and green, 
The holly-leaves their fadeless hues display 

Less bright than they ; 
But when the bare and wintry woods we see. 
What then so cheerful as the holly-tree ? 

So, serious should my youth appear among 

The thoughtless throng ; 
So would I seem, amid the young and gay, 

More grave than they ; 
That in my age as cheerful I might be 
As the green winter of the holly-tree. 

Robert Soitthet. 



WOODS IN WINTER. 

WnEjj winter winds are piercing chill, 

And tlirough the hawthorn blows the gale, 

With solemn feet I tread the hill 
That overbrows the lonely vale. 

O'er the bare upland, and away 
Through the long reach of desert woods. 

The embracing sunbeams chastely play, 
And gladden these deep solitudes. 



WINTER. 



Ill 



Where, twisted round tlie barren oak, 
The summer vine in beauty clung. 

And summer winds the stillness broke, — 
The crystal icicle is hung. 

Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs 
Pour out the river's gradual tide, 

Shrilly the skater's iron rings 
And voices fill the woodland side. 

Alas ! how changed fi-om the fair scene 
When birds sang out their mellow lay. 

And winds were soft, and woods were green, 
And the song geased not with the day. 

But still, wild music is abroad, 

Pale, desert woods ! within your crowd ; 
And gathering winds, in hoarse accord, 

Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. 

Cliill airs and wintry winds ! my ear 
Has grown familiar with your song ; 

I hear it in the opening year, — • 
I listen, and it cheers me long. 

Henry Wadbwoetii Longfellow. 



Fierce wind! mad wind! howling o'er the 

nations ! 
Knew'st thou how leapeth my heart as thou 

goest by, 
Ah ! thou wouldst pause awhile in sudden 

patience, 
Like a human sigh ! 

Sharp wind ! keen wind ! cutting as word 

arrows. 
Empty thy quiver-fidl ! Pass by ! what is '( 

to thee. 
That in some mortal eyes life's whole 

bright circle narrows 
To one misery ? 

Loud wind! strong wind ! stay thou in the 

mountains ; 
Fresh wind! free wind ! trouble not the sea! 
Or lay thy deathly hand upon my heart's 

warm fountains 

That I hear not thee ! 

Dinah Mabia Mulook. 



NORTH wnro. 

Loi-D wind ! strong wind ! sweeping o'er the 

mountains ; 
Fresh wind ! free wind ! blowing from the 

sea, 
Pour forth thy vials hke torrents from air 

fountains. 
Draughts of life to me. 

Clear wmd ! cold wind ! like a northern giant, 

Stars brightly threading thy cloud-driven 
hair. 

Thrilling the blank night with thy voice de- 
fiant — 

Lo ! I meet thee there ! 

Wild wind ! bold wind ! like a strong-armed 

angel 
Clasp me and kiss me with thy kisses 

divine ! 
Breathe in this dulled ear thy secret, sweet 

evangel, — 
Mine, and only mine ! 



THE SNOW-STOEM. 

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky. 
Arrives the snow ; and, driving o'er the fields 
Seems nowhere to alight ; the whited air 
Hides hiUs and woods, the river, and the 

heaven. 
And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. 
The sled and traveller stopped, the com-ier'.o 

feet 
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemate? 

sit 
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed 
In a tumultuous privacy of storm. 

Come sec the north wind's masonry. 
Out of an unseen quarry, evermore 
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer 
Carves his white bastions with projected root 
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door ; 
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work 
So fancifid, so savage; nought cares lie 
For number or proportion. Mockingly, 
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreathes- 
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn ; 
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall, 
Maugre the farmer's sighs ; and at the gate 
A tapering tm-ret overtops the work. 



112 POEMS or 


NATURE. 


And wlien liis liours are numbered, and the 


Though these be good, true wisdom to impart : 


world 


lie wOio has not enough for these to spare, 


Is all liis own, retiring as be were not. 


Of time or gold, may yet amend his heart. 


Leaves, when the sun appears, astonisbed Art 


And teach his soid by brooks and rivers 


To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone, 


fair- 


Built in an age, the mad wind's nigbt-work, 


Nature is always wise in every part. 


Tbe frolic arcbitccture of tbe snow. 


Lord TmjBLOW. 


Ealpu Waldo Emebson. 




TO THE REDBREAST. 




WINTER SONG. 






Sweet bird! that sing'st away tbe early 


Summer joys are o'er ; 


hours 


Flowerets bloom no more. 


Of winters past or coming, void of care ; 


Wintry winds are sweeping ; 


Well pleased with delights which present are. 


Throngb tbe snow-drifts, peeping. 


Fan- seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling 


Cbeorful evergreen 


flowers — 


Karely now is seen. 


To rocks, to springs, to rUls, from leafy 




bowers 


Now no plumed tbrong 
Cbarras the wood with song ; 


Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare, 


And what dear gifts on thee He did not spare, 


Ice-bound trees are glittering ; 


A stain to human sense in sin that lowers. 


Merry snow-birds, twittering. 


What sold can be so sick which by thy songs 


Fondly strive to cheer 


(Attired in sweetness) sweetly is not driven 


Scenes so cold and drear. 


Quito to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and 


Winter, still I see 


wrongs. 


Many charms in thee — 


And lift a reverend eye and thought to 


Love thy cliilly greetmg. 


Heaven ! 


Snow-storms fiercely beating. 


Sweet, artless songster! thou my mind dost 


And the dear delights 


rai.so 


Of the long, long nights. 


To airs of spheres — yes, and to angels' lays. 


LiTDwio HoLTT. (German.) 


William Diium,mond. 


Translation of C. T. Brooks. 




AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY. 




SONNET 






The day is ending. 


TO A niED TII.\T HAUNTEn THE WATERS OF 




L.A.AKEN IN THE WINTEE. 


The night is descending; 




Tbe marsh is frozen. 


jreLANcnoi.T bird, a winter's day 


Tbe river dead. 


Thou standest by the margin of tbe pool. 




And, taught by God, dost thy whole being 


Through clouds like ashes 


school 


The red sun flashes 


To patience, which all evil can allay. 


On ^■illage windows 


God has appointed thee the fish thy prey, 


That glimmer red. 


And given tby.solf a lesson to the fool 




Unthrifty, to submit to moral rule. 


Tlie snow recommences ; 


And bis unthinking course by thee to weigh. 


The buried fences 


Tlieve need not schools nor the professor's 


Mark no longer 


chair, 


The road o'er tbe plain ; 



WINTER. 



113 



While through tlio meadows, 
Like fearful shadows, 
Slowly passes 
A funeral train. 

The bell is pealing. 
And every feeling 
Within me responds 
To the dismal knell ; 

Shadows are trailing, 
My licart is bewailing 
And tolling within 
Like a fimeral bell. 

Henry Wadswoeth Longfellow. 



A SONG FOR TIIE SEASONS. 

WnEX the merry lark doth gild 

With his song the summer hours, 
And their nests the swallows build 

In the roofs and tops of towers, 
And the golden broom-flower bums 

All about the waste. 
And the maiden May returns 

With a pretty haste,— 

Then, how merry are the times ! 

The Summer times! the Spring times! 

Now, from off the ashy stone 

The chilly midnight cricket crieth. 
And all merry birds are flown, 

And our dream of pleasure dieth ; 
Now the once blue, laughing sky 

Saddens into gray. 
And the frozen rivers sigl], 

Pining all away ! 

Now, how solemn are the times ! 
The Winter times ! the Night times ! 

Yet, be meiTy : all around 

Is through one vast change revolving ; 
Even Night, who lately frowned. 

Is in paler dawn dissolving; 
Earth will burst her fetters strange. 

And in Spring grow free; 
All things in the world will change, 

Save — my lovo for thee ! 

Sing then, hopeful are all times ! 
Winter, Summer, Spring times ! 

Bakry Cornwall. 



DIRGE FOR THE YEAR. 

Orphan Hours, the Year is dead, 
Come and sigli, come and weep ! 

Merry Hours, smile instead, 
For the Year is but asleep : 

See, it smiles as it is sleeping. 

Mocking your untimely weeping. 

As an earthquake rocks a corse 

In its cofSn in the clay, 
So white Winter, that rough nurse. 

Rocks the dead-cold Year to-day ; 
Solemn Hours ! wail aloud 
For your mother in her shroud. 

As tlio wild air stirs and sways 
The tree-swung cradle of a child. 

So the breath of these rude days 
Rocks the Year. Be calm and mild. 

Trembling Hours; she will arise 

With new love within her eyes. 

January gray is here. 

Like a se.xton by her grave; 

February liears the bier ; 

March with grief doth howl and rave, 

And April weeps — but, O ye Hours! 

Follow with May's fairest flowers. 

Peect Bysbhe Shelley. 



INFLUENCE OF NATURAL OBJECTS 

VS CALLING FOKTU AND STIiENGTnENINO THK 
IMAGINATION IN BOYHOOD AND YOUTH. 

Wisdom and Spirit of the universe ! 
Thou Soul, that art the eternity of thought! 
And giv'st to forms and images a breath 
And everlasting motion ! not in vain. 
By day or star-light, thus from my first dawn 
Of childhood didst thou intertwine for mp 
The passions that build up our human soul — 
Not with the mean and vulgar works of Man, 
But with high objects, witli enduring things. 
With Life and Nature; purifying thus 
Tlie elements of feeling and of thought. 
And sanctifying by such discipline 
Both pain and fear, — until we recognize 
A grandeur in the beatings of the heart. 



114 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Nor was this fellowship vouchsafed to me 
With stinted kindness. In November days, 
When vapors rolling down the valleys made 
A lonely scene more lonesome ; among woods 
At noon ; and 'mid the calm of summer 

nights, 
When, by the margin of the trembling lake, 
Beneath the gloomy hills, homeward I went 
In solitude, such intercourse was mine. 
Mine was it in the fields both day and night, 
And by the waters, all the Summer long ; 
And in the frosty season, when the sun 
Was set, and, visible for many a mile. 
The cottage windows through the twilight 

blazed, 
I heeded not the summons. Happy time 
It was indeed for all of us ; for me 
It was a time of rapture ! Clear and loud 
Tlio village-clock tolled six; I wheeled about. 
Proud and exulting like an untired horse 
That cares not for his homo. AU shod with 

steel. 
We hissed along the polished ice, in games 
Confederate, imitative of the chase 
And woodland pleasures, — the resounding 

horn. 
The pack loud-chiming, and the hunted hare. 
So throngh the darkness and the cold we flew. 
And not a voice was idle. With the diu 
Smitten, the precipices rang aloud ; 
The leafless trees and every icy crag 
Tinkled like iron ; while far-distant hills 
Into the tumult sent an alien sound 
Of melancholy, not unnoticed ; while the stars. 
Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in the 

west 
The orange sky of evening died away. 

Not seldom from the uproar I retired 
Into a silent bay, or sportively 
Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous 

throng. 
To cut across the reflex of a star — 
Image, that, tlying still before me, gleamed 
Upon the glassy plain. And oftentimes, 
When we had given our bodies to the wind, 
And all the shadowy banks on either side 
Came sweeping through the darkness, spin- 
ning still 
The rapid line of motion, then at once 
Have I, reclining back npon my heels, 



Stopped short ; yet still the solitary clifis 
Wheeled by me,— -even as if the Earth had 

rolled 
With visible motion her diurnal round ! 
Behind me did they stretch in solemn train, 
Feebler and feebler ; and I stood and watched 
Till all was tranquU as a summer sea. 

William Wordswoktu. 



HYMN 



liEFORE SUNRISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI. 

Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star 
In his steep course? So long he seems to 

pause 
On thy bald, awftd head, O sovereign Blanc ! 
The Arve and Arvebon at thy base 
Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awfiil Form, 
Riscst from forth thy silent sea of pines. 
How silently ! Around thee aud above 
Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black — 
An eboni mass. Methinks thou piercest it. 
As with a wedge ! But when I look again. 
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal 

shrine, 
Tliy habitation from eternity ! 

dread and silent Mount ! I gazed upon thee. 
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, 
Didst vanish from my thought. Entranced in 

prayer 

1 worshipped the Invisible alone. 

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody. 
So sweet we know not we are listening to it, 
Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with 

my thought — 
Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy — 
Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, 
Into the mighty vision passing — there, 
As in her natural form, swelled vast to 

Heaven ! 

Awake, my sold ! not only passive praise 
Thou owest ! not alone these sweUing tears. 
Mute thanks and secret ecstasy ! Awake, 
Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, 

awake ! 
Green vales and icy clifis, all join my hymn. 



HYMN IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI. 



116 



Tliou first and chief, sole sovereign of the 
vale ! 
Oh, struggling with the darkness aU the night, 
And visited all night by troops of stars. 
Or when they chmb the sky or when they 

sink — ■ 
Companion of the morning-star at dawn, 
Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the dawn 
Co-herald— wake, oh wake, and utter praise ! 
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth ? 
Who flllud thy countenance with rosy light? 
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams ? 

And yon, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad ! 
Who called you forth from night and utter 

death. 
From dark and icy caverns called you forth, 
Down those precipitous, hlack, jagged rocks. 
For ever shattered and tlie same for ever ? 
Who gave you your in-sTilnerable life. 
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and 

your joy, 
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ? 
And who commanded (and the silence came), 
Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest? 

Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's 
brow 

Adown enonnous ravines slope amain — 

Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty 
voice, 

And stopped at once amid their maddest 
plunge ! 

Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! 

W^ho made yon glorious as the gates of 
Heaven 

Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade 
the sun 

Clothe you with rainbows? Who. with liv- 
ing flowers 



Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your 
feet? 

God ! — let the torrents, like a shout of na- 
tions. 

Answer ! and let the ice-plains echo, God ! 

God! sing ye meadow-streams with glad- 
some voice ! 

Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like 
sounds ! 

And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, 

And in their perilous fall shall thunder, 
God! 
Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal 
frost ! 

Ye wOd goats sporting round the eagle's nest! 

Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm ! 

Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds ! 

Ye signs and wonders of the elements ! 

Utter forth God, and fill the liills with 
praise ! 

Thou too, hoar Mount! with thy sky- 
pointing peaks. 
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard. 
Shoots downward, glittering tlirough the pure 

serene. 
Into tlie deptli of clouds that veil thy breast — 
Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou 
Tliat as I raise my liead, awliile bowed low 
In adoration, upward from thy base 
Slow travelling with dim eyes suflTused with 

tears, 
Solenmly seemest, like a vapory cloud, 
To rise before me — Rise, oh ever rise ! 
Rise like a cloud of incense, from the Earth ! 
Thou kingly Spirit throned among the liills, 
Tliou dread ambassador from Earth to Ileavcn, 
Great Ilierarch ! tell thou the silent sky, 
And tell the stai's, and tell yon rising sun, 
Eartli, with her tliousand voices, praises God. 
Samuel Taylor Coleeiuge. 



PART II. 
POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



Piping down the valleys wild. 
Piping songs of pleasant glee, 

On a cloud I saw a child, 
And he, laughing, said to me : 

" Pipe a song about a lamb." 

So I piped with merry cheer. 
" Piper, pipe that song again." 

So I piped ; he wept to hear. 

" Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe, 
Sing thy songs of happy cheer." 

So I sung the same again, 
While he wept with joy to hear. 

"Piper, sit thee down and write, 
In a book, that all may read." — 

So he vanished from my sight, 
And I plucked a hollow reed ; 

And I made a rural pen ; 

And I stained the water clear 
And I wrote my happy songs 

Every child may joy to hear. 

WruiAU Blakb, 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



BABY MAY. 

Cheeks as soft as July peaches ; 
Lips whose dewy scarlet teaches 
Poppies paleness ; round large eyes 
Ever great with new surprise ; 
Minutes filled with shadeless gladness ; 
Minutes just as brimmed with sadness ; 
Happy smiles and wailing cries ; 
Crows and laughs and tearful eyes ; 
Liglits and shadows, swifter born 
Than on wind-swept autumn corn ; 
Ever some new tiny notion, 
Making every limb all motion ; 
Catchings up of legs and arms ; 
Throwings back and small alarms ; 
Clutching fingers ; straightening jerks; 
Twining feet whose each toe works ; 
Kickings up and straining risings ; 
Mother's ever new surprisings ; 
Hands all wants and looks all wonder 
At all things the heavens under ; 
Tiny scorns of smiled reprovings 
That have more of love than lovings ; 
Mischiefs done with such a winning 
Archness tliat we prize such sinning; 
Breakings dire of plates and glasses ; 
Graspings small at all that passes ; 
PulUngs off of all that 's able 
To be caught from tray or table ; 
Silences — small meditations 
Deep as thoughts of cares for nations ; 
Breaking into wisest speeclies 
In a tongue that nothing teaches ; 
All the thoughts of whose possessing 
Must be ANooed to light by guessing ; 



Slumbers — such sweet angel-seemings 
That we 'd ever have such dreamings ; 
Till from sleep we see thee breaking. 
And wo 'd always have thee waking ; 
"Wealth for which we know no measure ; 
Pleasure high above all pleasure ; 
Gladness brimming over gladness ; 
Joy in care ; delight in sadness ; 
Loveliness beyond completeness ; 
Sweetness distancing all sweetness ; 
Beauty all tliat beauty may be ; — 
That 's May Bennett ; that 's my baby. 

William C. Bennett. 



LULLABY. 

Sweet and low, sweet and low, 

Wind of the western sea. 
Low, low, breathe and blow, 

"Wind of the western sea ! 
Over the rolling waters go ; 
Come from the dying moon, and blow. 

Blow him again to me ; 
While my little one, while my pretty one, 
sleeps. 

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest ; 

Father will come to thee soon. 
Rest, rest on mother's breast ; 

Father will come to thee soon. 
Father will come to his babe in the nest; 
Silver sails all out of the west 

Under the silver moon ; 
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. 
Alfred Tenntson 



120 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



CnOOSING A NAME. 

I UAYE got a new-born sister ; 

I was nigh tlie first tlwt kisscil her. 

Wlien tlio nursing-womau brouglit her 

To papa, his infant daughter, 

IIow papa's dear eyes did glisten ! — 

She will shortly be to christen ; 

And papa has made the offer, 

I shall have the naming of her. 

Now I wonder what would please her — 

Chariot to, Julia, or Lousia ? 

Ann and Mary, they 're too common ; 

Joan 's too t'ornud for a woman ; 

Jane 's a prettier name beside ; 

But we had a Jane that died. 

They woidd say, if 't was Rebecca, 

That she was a little Quaker. 

Edith 's pretty, but that looks 

Better in old English books ; 

Ellen 's left off long ago ; 

Blanche is out of fashion now. 

None that I have named as yet 

Are so good as Margaret. 

Emily is neat and fine ; 

What do you think of Caroline? 

How I 'm puzzled and perplexed 

What to choose or think of next ! 

I am in a little fever 

Lest the name that I should give her 

Should disgrace her or defimie her ; — 

I wiU leave papa to name her. 

Maet Lamb, 



THE CHRISTENING. 

Arreted — a half-angelic sight — 
In vests of pure baptismal white, 
The mother to the Font doth bring 
The httle helpless, nameless thing 
With hushes soft and mild caressing, 
At once to get — a name and blessing. 
Close by the babe the priest doth stand, 
The cleansing water at his hand 
Which must assod the soul within 
From every stain of Adam's sin. 
The infant eyes the mystic scenes, 
Nor knows what .ill this wonder means ; 



And now ho smiles, as if to say, 

" I am a Christian made this day ; " 

Now frighted clings to nurse's hold, 

Shrinking from the water cold, 

Whose virtues, rightly ■understood, 

Are, as Bethesda's waters, good. 

Strange words — Tlio World, The Flesh, The 

Devil- 
Poor babe, what can it know of evil 2 
But we must silently adore 
Mysterious truths, and not explore. 
Enough for him, in after-times. 
When he shall read these artless rhymes. 
If, looking back upon this day 
With quiet conscience, ho can say, 
" I have in part redeemed the pledge 
Of my baptismal privilege ; 
And more and more mil strive to flee 
All which my sponsors kind did then re- 
nounce for me." 

Charles Lamb. 



WILLIE WINEIE. 

Wee Willie Winkie rins through the town. 
Up stiiirs and doon stairs, in his nicht-gowu, 
Tirlm' at tlic window, cryin' at tlie lock, 
" Are the weans in their bed ?— for it 's now 
ten o'clock." 

Hey, Willie Winkie ! are ye comin' ben ? 
The cat'ssingin' gay thrums to the sleepin' 

lien, 
Tlie doug's speldered on the floor, and disna 

gle a cheep ; 
But here 's a waukrife laddie, th.at winna fa' 

asleep. 

Ony thing but sleep, ye rogue ! — glow'rin' like 

the moon, 
Rattlin' in an airn jug wi' an aim spoon, 
Rumblin', tumblin' roun' about, crawin' like 

a cock, 
Skirliu' like a kenna-what— wauknin' sleepin' 

folk! 

Hey, Willie Winkie ! the wean 's in a creel ! 
Wanrablin' aff a bodio's knee like a vera eel, 
Ruggin' at the cat's hig, and ravellin' a' her 

thrums : 
Hey, Willie Winkie!— Sec, tliere he comes! 



BABYHOOD. 



121 



Weario is the mitlier tliat has a stone wean, 
A. wee stumpie stoussie, that canna rin his 

lane, 
That has a battle aye wi' sleep, before he '11 

close an ee ; 
But a kiss frac aft' his rosy lips gies strength 

anew to nie. 

WlLLIiM MiLLEE. 



TO FEIIDINAND SEYMOUR. 

Rosy oliild, witli forehead fair, 
Coral li]>, and shining hair. 
In whose mirthful, clever eyes 
Kaoh a world of gladness lies ; 
As thy loose curls idly straying 
O'er thy mother's oheek, while playing. 
Blend her soft lock's shadowy twine 
With the glittering light of thine, — 
Who shall say, who gazes now. 
Which is fairest, she or thou ? 

In sweet contrast are ye met, 
Such as heart could ne'er forget : 
Thou art l)rilliant as a flower, 
Crimsoning in the sunny hour ; 
Merry as a singing-bird, 
In the green wooil sweetly heard ; 
Restless as if fluttering wings 
Bore thee on thy wanderings ; 
Ignorant of all distress. 
Full of childhood's carelessness. 

She is gentle; she hath known 
Something of the echoed tone 
Sorrow leaves, where'er it goes, 
In this world of many woes. 
On her brow such shadows are 
As the faint cloud gives tlie star. 
Veiling its most holy light. 
Though it still Ijc pure and Ijright ; 
And the color in her cheek 
To the hue on thine is weak. 
Save when flushed with sweet surprise, 
Sudden welcomes light her eyes ; 
And her softly chiselled face 
(But for linng, moving grace) 
Looks like one of those which beam 
In til' Italian painter's dream, — 



Some beloved Madonna, bending 
O'er the infant she is tending : 
Holy, bright, and undefiled 
Mother of the I leaven-born child; 
Who, though painted strangely fair. 
Seems but made for holy prayer. 
Pity, tears, and sweet appeal, 
And fondness such as angels feel ; 
Baffling earthly passion's sigh 
With serenest majesty ! 

Oh ! may those enshrouded years 
Whose fair dawn alone appears, — 
May that brightly budding life. 
Knowing yet nor sin nor strife, — 
Bring its store of hoped-for joy. 
Mother, to thy laughing boy I 
And the good thon dost impart 
Lie deep-treasured in his heart. 
That, wlien he at length shall strive 
In the bad world where wo live. 
Thy sweet name may still be blest 
As one who taught hia soul true rest! 
Caroline Norton. 



PHILIP, MY KING. 

"Who bears upon his baby brow the round 
And top of Bovereignty." 

Look at me witli thy large brown eyes, 

Philip, my king ! 
For round thee tlie pnrjjle shadow lies 
Of bal:)yliood's royal dignities. 
Lay on my neck thy tiny hand 
With Love's invisible sceptre laden ; 
I am thine Esther, to command 

Till thou slialt find thy queen-handmaiden, 
Philip, my king ! 

Oh, the day when thou goest a-wooing, 

Philip, my king ! 
When those beautiful lips 'gin sning. 
And, some gentle heart's bars undoing, 
Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there 

Sittest love-glorified ! — Rule kindly, 
Tenderly over thy kingdom fair; 
For we tliat love, ah ! we love so blindly, 
Pliilip, my king ! 



122 



POEMS OF CHILDUOOD. 



I gazo from thy sweet mouth up to thy brow, 

Philip, my king ! 
The spirit that there lies sleeping now, 
May rise like a giant, and make men bow 
As to one Ileaveu-chosen amongst his peers. 
My Saul, than thy brethren higher and 
fairer, 
Let mo beliold thee in future years ! 
Yet thy head noedeth a circlet rarer, 
Philip, my kiug — 

A wreath, not of gold, but palm. One day, 

Philip, my king ! 
Thou too must tread, as wo trod, a way 
Thorny, and cruel, and cold, and gray ; 
Rebels within thee, and foes without 

Will snatch at thy crown. But march on, 
glorious, 
Martyr, yet monarch ! tUl angels shout, 
As thou sitt'st at the feet of God victorious, 
" Philip, the king ! " 

Dinah Maria Mulock, 



THE ANGEL'S WHISPER. 

A superstition of great beauty prevails in Ireland, tli.at, 
wiien a cbiltl smiles in its sleep, it is "talking with 
angels." 

A B.VBT w;is sleeping ; 
Its mother was weeping ; 
For her husband was fiir ou the ■n-ild raging 
sea; 
And the tempest was swelling 
Round the fisherman's dwelling; 
And she cried, "Dermot, darling, oh come 
back to me ! " 

Her beads while she numbered. 
The baby still slumbered. 
And smiled in her face as she bended her 
knee: 
" Oh blest be that warning. 
My child, thy sleep adorning. 
For I know that the angels ai-e whispering 
w-ith thee. 

" And while they are keeping 

Bright watch o'er thy sleeping, 

Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with nie ! 



And say thou wouldst rather 
They'd watch o'er thy father ! 
For I know that the angels are whispering 
to thee." 

The dawn of the morning 
Saw Dermot returning. 
And the wife wept with joy her babe's father 
to see ; 
And closely caressing 
Iler child with a blessing. 
Said, "I knew that the angels were whis- 
pering with thee." 

Samttel Lotee, 



THE CHILD AND THE WATCHER. 

Sleep on, baby on the floor, 

Tired of all thy playing — 
Sleep with smile the sweeter for 

That you dropped away in ; 
On your curls' fair roundness stand 

Golden Ughts serenely ; 
One cheek, pushed out by the hand. 

Folds the dimple inly — 
Little head and little foot 

Heavy laid for pleasure ; 
Underneath the lids half-shut 

Plants the shining azure; 
Open-souled in noonday sun, 

So, you lie and slumber ; 
Nothing evil having done. 

Nothing can encumber. 

I, who cannot sleep as well. 

Shall I sigh to view you ? 
Or sigh further to foretell 

All that may undo you ? 
Nay, keep smiling, little child. 

Ere the fate appeareth ! 
I smUe, too ; for patience nuld 

Pleasure's token weareth. 
Nay, keep sleeping before loss ; 

I shall sleep, though losing! 
As by cradle, so by cross, 

Sweet is the reposing. 

And God knows, who sees ns twain, 

Child at childish leisure, 
I am all as tired of pain 

As you are of pleasure. 



THE CHILD ASLEEP. 



123 



Very soon, too, by Ilis grace, 

Gently wrapt around me, 
I shall show as calm a face, 

I shall sleep as soundly — 
Differing in this, that you 

Clasp your playthings sleeping, 
Wiile my hand must drop the few 

Given to my keeping — 

Diflfering in this, that I, 

Sleeping, must be colder, 
And, in waking presently, 

Brighter to beholder — 
Differing in this beside 

(Sleeper, liave you heard me ? 
Do yon move, and open wide 

Your great eyes toward me ?) 
That while I you draw withal 

From this slumber solely, 
Me, from mine, an angel shall, 

Trumpet-tongued and holy ! 

Elizabeth Baeeett Beowning. 



THE CniLD ASLEEP. 

Sweet babe! true portrait of thy father's 
face. 
Sleep on the bosom that thy lips have 
pressed ! 
Sleep, little one ; and closely, gently place 
Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's breast. 

Upon that tender eye, my little friend. 

Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to 
me! 
I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend ; 
'Tis sweet to watch for thee — alone for 
thee! 

His arms fall down ; sleep sits upon his brow ; 
Ills eye is closed; he sleeps, nor dreams 
of hann. 
Wore not bis cheek the apple's mddy glow, 
Would you not say he slept on Death's 
cold arm ? 

Awake, my boy ! — I tremble with affright ! 

Awake, and chase this fatal thought! — 
Unclose 
Thine eye but for one moment on the light ! 

Even at the price of thine, give mc repose ! 



Sweet error ! — he but slept — I breathe again. 

Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep 
beguile ! 
Oh ! when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain, 

Beside mo watch to see thy waking smile ? 

C'LOTiLDE DE StTEviLLE. (French.) 
Translation of H. W. Lonofellow. 



THE KITTEN AND FALLING LEAVES. 

TiiAT way look, my infant, lo ! 
What a pretty baby-show ! 
See the kitten on the wall, 
Sporting with the leaves that fall — 
Withered leaves, — one, two, and three, — 
From the lofty elder-tree ! 
Through the calm and frosty air 
Of this morning briglit and fair, 
Eddying round and round, they sink 
Softly, slowly; one might think, 
From the motions that are made, 
Every little leaf conveyed 
Sylph or fairy hither tending, 
To this lower world descending. 
Each invisible and mute 
In bis wavering parachute. 

But the Kitten, how she starts. 

Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts I 
First at one, and then its fellow 
Just as hght and just as yellow ; 
There are many now, — now one, — 
Now they stop, and there are none. 
What intenseness of desire 
In her upward eye of fire ! 
With a tiger-leap! Half-way 
Now she meets the coming prey, 
Lets it go as fast, and then 
Has it in her power again ; 
Now she works with three or four, 
Like an Indian conjurer; 

' Quick as be in feats of art, 
Far beyond in joy of heart. 
AVere her antics played in the eye 
Of a thousand standers-by. 
Clapping hands with shout and stare, 

' What woidd little Tabby care 
For the plaudits of the crowd ? 
Over happy to bo proud, 



124 POEMS OF 


CHILDHOOD. 


Over -n-ealthy in the treasure 


Of a sky serene and pure ; 


Of her own exceeding pleasure! 


Creature none can she decoy 




Into open sign of joy. 


'T is a pretty baby treat, 


Is it that they have a fear 


Nor, I deem, for mo unmeet ; 


Of the dreary season near ? 


Here for neither Babe nor me 


Or that other pleasures be 


Other playmate can I see. 


Sweeter even than gayety ? 


Of tlie countless living things 




That with stir of feet and wings 


Yet, -whate'er enjoyments dwell 


(In the sun or under shade. 


In the impenetrable cell 


Upon bough or grassy blade). 


Of the silent heart which Nature 


And with busy revelUngs, 


Furnishes to every creature — 


Chirp, and song, and murmurings. 


Whatsoe'er we feel and know 


Made this orchard's narrow space. 


Too sedate for outward show — 


And this vale, so blithe a place ; 


Such a light of gladness breaks, 


Multitudes are swept away, 


Pretty Kitten ! from thy freaks, — 


Never more to breathe the day. 


Spreads with such a linng grace 


Some are sleeping ; some in bands 


O'er my little Dora's face — 


Travelled into distant lands ; 


Yes, the sight so stirs and charms 


Others slunk to moor and wood, 


Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms, 


Far from human neighborhood ; 


That .almost I could repine 


And, among the kinds that keep 


That your transports .ai-e not mine, 


Witli us closer fellowship. 


That I do not wholly faro 


With us openly abide, 


Even .IS ye do, thoughtless pair ! 


All have laid their mirth aside. 


And I vn\l have my careless season 




Spite of melancholy reason. 


Where is he, that giddy sprite, 


Will w-aLk through life in such a way 


Blue-cap, with his colors bright, 


That, when time brings on decay, 


Wlio was blest as bird could be, 


Now and then I may possess 


Feeding in the apple-tree — 


Hours of perfect gladsomeness. 


Made such wanton spoil and rout. 


Pleased by any random toy — 


Turning blossoms inside out — 


By a kitten's busy joy. 


Hung, head pointing towards the ground, 


Or an infant's laughing eye 


Fluttered, perched, into a round 


Sh.aring in the ecstasy — 


Bound himself, and then vmbound — 


I would fore hke that or this, 


Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin! 


Find my wisdom in my bliss, 


Prettiest tumbler ever seen ! 


Keep the sprightly sold aw.ake, 


Light of heart, and light of limb — 


And h.ave faculties to take, 


What is now become of him ? 


Even from things by sorrow wrought, 


Lambs, that through the mountains went 


Matter for a jocund thought — 


Frisking, bleating merriment. 


Spite of care, and spite of grief. 


When the ye.ar -was in its prime. 


To g.ambol with Life's ftilling leaf. 


They are sobered by this time. 


WlLUAM WOKDSWOETH. 


If you look to vale or hUl, 
If you listen, .ill is still, 






Save a little neigbbormg rill 


THE CHTT.D IN THE WILDERNESS. 


That from out the rocky ground 




Strikes a solitary sound. 


ENorN-CTFRED in a twine of leaves — 


Vainly ghtter hill and plain, 


That leafy twine his only dress — 


And the air is calm in vain ; 


A lovely boy was plucking fruits 


Vainly Morning spreads the Im-e 


In a moonlight wilderness. 



THE GIPSY'S MALISON. 



12S 



Tlio moon was brigbt, the air was free, 
And fruits and flowers together grew, 

And many a shrub, and many a tree : 
And all put on a gentle hue, 

Ilanging in the shadowy air 

Like a picture rich and rare. 

It was a climate where they say 

Tlie night is more beloved than day. 
But who that beauteous boy beguiled — 

That beauteous boy I — to linger here ? 
Alone by night, a little child, 
In place so silent and so wild — 

Has he no friend, no loving mother near ? 
Samuel Tayloe Colexiidge. 



ON THE PIOTUKE OF AN INFANT 

PLATING NEAR A PRECIPICE. 

While on the cliff with calm delight she 
kneels. 

And the blue vales a thousand joys recall. 
See, to the last, last verge her infant steals! 

Oh fly — yet stir not, speak not, lest it fall. — 

Far better taught, she lays her bosom bare. 

And the fond boy springs back to nestle there. 

Leontdab of Alexandria. (Greek.) 
Translation of Samuel Cooees. 



THE GIPSY'S MALISON. 

" Suck, baby, suck 1 mother's love grows by 

giving; 
Drain the sweet founts that only thrive by 

wasting : 
Black manhood comes, when riotous guilty 

living 
Hands thee the cup that shall be death in 

tasting. 

Kiss, baljy, kissl mother's lips shine by 

kisses ; 
Choke the warm breath that else would fall 

in blessings : 
Black manhood comes, when turbulent guilty 

blisses 
Tend thee the kiss that poisons 'mid caress- 

inirs. 



Uang, baby, hang ! mother's love loves such 

forces ; 
Strain the fond neck that bends still to thy 

clinging : 
Black manhood comes, when violent lawless 

courses 
Leave thee a spectacle in rude air swinging." 

So sang a withered beldam energetical, 
And banned the ungiving door with lips pro- 
phetical. 

CiLAiiLES Lamb. 



TO A CHILD 



EMBRAOINO HIS MOTHER. 



Love thy mother, little one ! 
Kiss and clasp her neck again, — 
Hereafter she may have a son 
Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain. 
Love thy mother, little one I 



Gaze upon her living eyes. 
And mirror back her love for thee, — 
Hereafter thou raayst shudder sighs 
To meet them when they cannot see. 
Gaze upon her living eyes ! 

irr. 
Press her lips the while they glow 
With love that they have often told,— 
Hereafter tliou mayst press in woe, 
And kiss them till thine own are cold. 
Press her lips the while they glow 1 

IV. 

Oh, revere her raven hair ! 
Although it be not silver-gray — 
Too early Death, led on by Care, 
May snatch save one dear lock away. 
Oh, revere her raven hair ! 

V. 

Pray for her at eve and morn, 
Tliat Heaven may long the stroke dcfer- 
For thou mayst live the hour forlorn 
When thou wilt ask to die with her. 
Pray for her at eve and morn ! 

TnoMAS Hood, 



126 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 




No matter how unstable. 


TO J. H. 


And turning up your quaint eye 




And half-shut teeth, with " Mayn't I?" 


FOCR TE;U!9 OLD : — A NURSERY 60JJ0. 


Or else you 're off at play, John, 


.... Pien d'amori, 


Just as you 'd be all day, John, 


Pien di caoti, e pien di flori. 


With hat or not, as happens; 


Fkfgoni. 


And there you dance, and clap hands, 


Full of Utile loves of ours. 


Or on the grass go rolling. 


Full of songs, and fall of flowers. 


^^ o o cjj 




Or plucking flowers, or bowling, 


An, littlo ranting Johnny, 


And getting me expenses 


For ever blithe and bonny, 


Witli losing balls o'er fences ; 


And singing nonny, nonny, 


Or, as the constant trade is, 


With hat just tlirown upon ye; 


Are fondled by the ladies 


Or whistling like the thrushes, 


With " What a young rogue this is!" 


With a voice in silver gushes; 


Reforming him with kisses; 


Or twisting random posies 


Till suddenly you cry out. 


With daisies, weeds, and roses ; 


As if you had an eye out. 


And strutting in and out so, 


So desperately tearful. 


Or dancing all about so ; 


The sound is really fearful ; 


Witli cock-up nose so lightsome. 


When lo ! directly after. 


And sidelong eyes so brightsome. 


It bubbles into laughter. 


And cheeks as ripe as apples, 




And head as rough as Dapple's, 


Ah rogue ! and do you know, John, 


And arms as sunny shining 


Why 'tis we love you so, John? 


As if their veins they 'd wine in, 


And how it is they let ye 


And month that smiles so truly 


Do what you like and pet ye. 


Heaven seems to have made it newly — 


Though all who look upon ye. 


It breaks into such sweetness 


Exclaun, ''Ah, Johnny, Johnny!" 


AVith merry -hpped completeness; 


It is because you please 'em 


Ah Jack, ah Gianni mio. 


Still more, John, than you teaze 'em ; 


As blithe as Laughing Trio ! 


Because, too, when not present. 


— Sir Richard, too, you rattler, 


The thought of you is pleasant ; 


So christened from the Tattler, 


Because, though such an elf, John, 


My Bacchus in his glory. 


They think that Lf yourself, John, 


My little Cor-di-tiori, 


Had something to condemn too, 


My tricksome Puck, my Robin, 


You 'd l)e as kind to them too ; 


Who in and out come bobbing. 


In sliort, because you're very 


As full of feints and frolics as 


Good-tempered, Jack, and merry ; 


That fibbing rogue Autolycns, 


And are as quick at giving 


And play the graceless robber on 


As easy at receiving ; 


Tour grave-eved brother Oberon, — 


And in the midst of pleasiu-e 


Ah Dick, ah Dolce-riso, 


Are certain to find leisure 


How can you, can you be so? 


To think, my boy, of ours, 




And bring us lumps of flowers. 


One cannot turn a minute, 




But mischief — there you 're in it : 


But see, the sun shines brightly ; 


A-getting at my books, John, 


Come, pnt your hat on rightly. 


With mighty bustling looks, John ; 


And we'll among the bushes, 


Or poking at the roses. 


And hear yom- friends, the thrushes; 


In midst of which your nose is; 


And see what flowers the weather 


Or climbing on a table, 


Has rendered fit to- gather ; 



TO A CHILD DURING SICKNESS. 127 


And, when we homo must jog, you 




Shall ride my back, you rogue you, — 


TO A CHILD, DUEING SICKNESS. 


Your hat adorned with fine leaves, 




Horse-chestnut, oak, and vine-leaves, 


Sleep breathes at last from out thee. 


And so, with green o'erhead, John, 


My Uttle patient boy ; 


Shall whistle home to bed, John. 


And balmy rest about thee 


Leigh Hxtnt. 


Smooths off the day's annoy. 




I sit me down, and think 
Of all thy winning ways ; 




THE FAIRY CTULD. 


Yet almost wish, with sudden shrink. 




That I had less to praise. 


TiTE summer sun was sinking 




With a mild light, calm and mellow ; 


Thy sidelong pillowed meekness, 


It shone on my little boy's bonny cheeks, 


Thy thanks to all that aid. 


And his loose locks of yellow. 


Thy heart, in pain and weakness, 




Of fancied faults afraid ; 


The robin was singing sweetly, 


The little trembling hand 


And his song was sad and tender ; 
And my little boy's eyes, while he heard the 


That wipes thy quiet tears : 
These, these are things that may demand 


song. 


Dread memories for years. 


SmUe'd with a sweet soft splendor. 






Sorrows I 'vo bad, severe ones. 


My little boy lay on my bosom 


I will not think of now ; 


While his soul the song was quafiBng; 


And calmly, midst my dear ones, 


The joy of his sou! had tinged his cheek. 


Have wasted with dry brow ; 


And his heart and his eye were laughing. 


But when thy fingers press 




And pat my stooping head. 


I sate alone in my cottage. 


I cannot bear the gentleness — 


The midnight needle plying ; 


The tears are in their bed. 


I feared for my child, for the rush's light 




In the socket now was dying ! 


Ah, first-born of thy mother. 




When life and hope were new ; 


There came a hand to my lonely latch. 


Kind playmate of thy brother. 


Like the wind at midnight moaning; 


Thy sister, father too; 


I knelt to pray, but rose again. 


My light, where'er I go ; 


For I heard my little boy groaning. 


My bird, when prison-bound ; 




My hand-in-hand companion — No, 


I crossed my brow and I crossed my breast. 


My prayers shall hold thee round. 


But that night my child departed — 




They left a weakling in his stead. 


To, say " He has departed " — 


And I am broken-hearted 1 


" His voice " — " his face " — is gone, 




To feel impatient-hearted, 


Oh ! it cannot be my own sweet boy, 


Yet feel we must boar on — 


For his eyes are dim and hollow ; 


Ah, I could not endure 


My little boy is gone — is gone. 


To whisper of such woe. 


And his mother soon will follow 1 


Unless I felt this sleep ensure 




That it will not be so. 


The dirge for the dead will be sung for me, 




And the mass be chanted meetly. 


Yes, still he 's fixed, and sleeping ! 


And I shall sleep with my little boy. 


Tins silence too the while- 


In the moonlight churchyard sweetly. 


Its very hush and creeping 


John Anster. 


Seem whispering us a smile ; 



128 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



Something divine and dim 
Seems going by one's ear, 
Like parting wings of cherubim, 

"Who say, " We 've finislied here." 

LeiQH nuKT. 



TO n. 0. 



SIX YEARS OLD. 



O Tiior, whose fancies from afar are brouglit ; 
Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel, 
And fittest to unutterable thought 
The breeze-like motion and the self-born 

carol ; 
Thou fairy voyager ! that dost float 
In such clear water, that thy boat 
May rather seem 

To brood on air than on an earthly stream — 
Suspended in a stream as clear as sky. 
Where earth and heaven do make one 

imagery; 

blessed -sision ! happy child ! 
Thou art so exquisitely wild, 

1 think of thee with many fears 

For what may be thy lot in ftaturo years. 

I thought of times when Pain might be thy 

guest, 
Lord of thy house and hospitality ; 
And Grief, uneasy lover, never rest 
But when she sat within the touch of thee. 
O too industrious folly ! 
O vain and causeless melancholy ! 
Nature will either end thee quite ; 
Or, lengthening out thy season of delight, 
Preserve for thee, by individual right, 
A young lamb's heart among the full-grown 

flocks. 
What hast thou to do with sorrow, 
Or the injm-ies of to-morrow ? 
Thou art a dew-drop, which the morn brings 

forth, 
111 fitted to sustain imkindly shocks. 
Or to be trailed along the soiling earth ; 
A gem that gUtters while it lives, 
And no forewarning gives, 
But, at the touch of wrongs, without a strife, 
Slips in a moment out of life. 

WlLLlAil WOEDSWORTn. 



TO A SLEEPING CHILD. 

Aut thou a thing of mortal birth, 
Wliose happy home is on our earth ? 
Does human blood with life imbue 
Those wandering veins of heavenly blue, 
Tliat stray along that forehead fair, 
Lost raid a gleam of golden hair? 
Oh! can that light and airy breath 
Steal from a being doomed to death ; 
Those features to the grave be sent 
In sleep thus mutely eloquent ; 
Or, art thou, what thy form would seem, 
A phantom of a blessed dream ? 

A human shape I feel thou art — 
I feel it at my beating heart, 
Those tremors both of soul and sense 
Awoke by Infant innocence! 
Though dear the forms by Fancy wove, 
We love them with a transient love; 
Thoughts from the living world intrude 
Even on her deepest solitude : 
But, lovely child ! thy magic stole 
At once into my inmost soul, 
With feelings as thy beauty fail'. 
And left no other ^^sion there. 

To me thy parents are unknown ; 
Glad would they be then- child to own! 
And well they must have loved before. 
If since thy birth they loved not more. 
Thou art a branch of noble stem. 
And, seeing thee, I figure them. 
What many a childless one woidd give, 
If thou in their still home woiddst live ! 
Though in thy face no family line 
Might sweetly say, " This babe is mine ! " 
In time thou wouldst become the same 
As their own chUd, — all but the name. 

now happy must thy parents bo 
Who daily live in sight of thee ! 
Whose hearts no greater jileasure seek 
Than see thee smUe, and hear thee speak. 
And feel all natural griefs beguiled 
By thee, their fond, their duteous eliUd. 
What joy must in their souls have stirred 
When thy first broken words were heard — 
Words, that, inspired by Heaven, expressed 
The transports dancing in thy breast ! 
And for thy smUe ! — tliy hp, cheek, brow, 
Even while I gaze, ai-e kindling now. 



TO A SLEEPING CHILD. 129 


I called thoe duteous; am I wrong? 


Thy sorrows, joys, sighs, smiles, and tears I 


No ! truth, I feel, is in my song : 


For good and guiltless as thou art, 


Duteous, tliy heart's still heatings move 


Some transient griefs will touch thy heart — 


To God, to Nature, and to love ! 


Griefs that along thy altered face 


To God! — for thou, a harmless child, 


Will breathe a more subduing grace 


Hast kept his temple undefiled ; 


Tlian even those looks of joy that lie 


To Nature ! — for tliy tears and sighs 


On the soft check of infancy. 


Obey alone her mysteries ; 


Thotigli looks, Goil knows, ai'o cradled there 


To love! — for fiends of hate might see 


That guilt might cleanse, or soothe despair. 


Tliou dwell'st in love, and love in thee. 


vision fair ! that I could be 


What wonder then, tho\igh in thy dreams 


Again as young, as pure, as thee ! 


Thy face with mystic meaning beams! 


Vain wish ! the rainbow's radiant form 


Oh ! that my spirit's eye could see 


May view, but cannot brave, the storm ; 


Whence burst tliose gleams of ecstasy! 


Years can bedim the gorgeous dyes 


Tliat light of dreaming soul appears 


That paint the bird of Paradise ; 


To play from thoughts above thy years ; 


And years, so Fate hath ordered, roll 


Thou smilest as if thy soul were soaring 


Clouds o'er the summer of the soul. 


To heaven, and heaven's God adoring. 


Yet, sometimes, sudden sights of grace, 


And who can tell what visions high 


Such as the gladness of thy face. 


May bless an infant's sleeping eye? 


sinless babe, by God are given 


What lirighter throne can brightness find 


To charm the wanderer back to heaven. 


To reign on, than an infant's mind. 


No common impulse hath me led 


Ere sin destroy, or error dim, 


To this green spot, thy quiet bed, 


The glory of the seraphim ? 


Where, by mere gladness overcome, 


But now thy changing smiles express 


In sleep thou dreamest of thy home. 


Intelligible happiness. 


When to the lake I would have gone, 


I feel my soul thy soul partake. 


A wondrous beauty drew nie on — 


What grief, if thou wouldst now awake! 


Such beauty as the spirit sees 


With infants happy as thyself 


In glittering fields and moveless trees, 


I see tliee bound, a playful elf; 


After a warm and silent shower 


I see thou art a darling child. 


Ere falls on earth the twilight hour. 


Among thy playmates bold and wild ; 


What led me hither, all can say 


They love thee well ; thou art the queen 


Who, knowing God, his will obey. 


Of all their sports, in bower or green ; 


Thy slumbers now cannot be long ; 


And if thou livest to woman's height. 


Tliy little dreams become too strong 


In thee will friendship, love, deliglit. 


For sleep — too like realities ; 


And live thou surely must ; thy life 


Soon shall I see those hidden eyes. 


Is far too spiritual for the strife 


Thou wakest, and starting from the ground, 


Of mortal pain ; nor could disease 


In dear amazement look'st around ; 


Find heart to prey on smiles like these. 


Like one who, little given to roam. 


Oh ! thou wilt be an angel bright — 


Wonders to find herself from home ! 


To those thou lovest, a saving light — 


But when a stranger meets thy view. 


The staff of age, the help sublime 


Glistens thine eye with wilder hue. 


Of erring youth, and stubborn prime ; 


A moment's thought who I may be. 


And when thou goest to heaven again, 


Blends with thy smiles of coui-tesy. 


Thy vanishing be like the strain 


Fair was that face as break of dawn. 


Of airy hai-p — so soft the tone 


When o'er its beauty sleep was drawn, 


The ear scarce knows when it is gone ! 


Like a thin veil that half concealed 


Thrice blessed ho whose stars design 


The light of soul, and half revealed. 


His spirit pure to lean on thine. 


While thy hushed heart with visions wrought 


j\ii(l watchful share, for days and years, 
10 


Each trembling eye-lash moved with thought ; 



130 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



And things we dream, but ne'er can speak, 

Like clouds came floating o'er thy cheek — 

Such summer-clouds as travel light, 

When the soul's heaven lies calm and bright — 

TiU thou awokest ; then to thine eye 

Thy whole heart leapt in ecstasy ! 

And lovely is that heart of thine, 

Or sure those eyes could never shine 

With such a wild, yet bashfid glee, 

Gay, half-o'ercome timidity ! 

Nature has breathed into thy {ace 

A spirit of imcouscious grace — 

A spii-it that lies never still, 

And makes thee joyous 'gainst thy will : 

As, sometimes o'er a sleeping lake 

Soft airs a gentle rippling make, 

TiU, ere we know, the strangers fly. 

And water blends again with sky. 

O happy sprite ! didst thou but know 
"What pleasures through my being flow 
From thy soft eyes ! a holier feeling 
From their blue light coidd ne'er bo stealing; 
But thou wouldst be more loth to part, 
And give me more of that glad heart. 
Oh ! gone thou art ! and bearest hence 
The glory of thy innocence. 
But with deep .joy I breathe the air 
That kissed thy cheek, and fanned thy hair, 
And feel, though fate our lives must sever, 
Yet shall thy image live for ever ! 

Jons Wilson. 



CHILDREN. 

Children are what the mothers are. 
No fondest father's fondest care 
Can fashion so the iniant heart 
As those creative beams that dart. 
With all their hopes and fears, upon 
The cradle of a sleeping son. 

His startled eyes with wonder see 
A father near him on his knee, 
AVho wishes all the while to trace 
The mother in his futureface ; 
But 't is to her alone uprise 
His wakening arms ; to her those eyes 
Open with joy and not surprise. 

Walter Savage Landor. 



TO A CHILD. 

Dear child ! whom sleep can hardly tame. 
As live and beautiful as flame, 
Thou glancest round my graver hours 
As if thy crown of wild-wood flowers 
Were not by mortal forehead worn, 
But on the summer breeze were borne. 
Or on a mountain streamlet's waves 
Came glistening down from dreamy caves. 

With bright round cheek, amid whose glow 
Delight and wonder come and go ; 
And eyes whose inward meanings play, 
Congenial with the light of day ; 
And brow so calm, a home for Thouglit 
Before he knows his dwelling wrought ; 
Though wise indeed thou seemest not, 
Thou brightenest well the wise man's lot. 

That shout proclaims the undoubting mind ; 
That laughter leaves no ache behind; 
And in tliy look and dance of glee. 
Unforced, unthought of, simply free, 
llow weak the schoolman's formal art 
Thy soul and body's bliss to part ! 
I had thee Childhood's very Lord, 
In gaze and glance, in voice and word. 

In spite of all foreboding fear, 
A thing thou art of present cheer ; 
And thus to be beloved and known, 
As is a rushy foimtain's tone, 
As is the forest's leafy shade. 
Or blackbird's hidden serenade. 
Thou art a flash that lights the whole — 
A gush from Nature's vernal soul. 

And yet, dear child ! within thee lives 
A power that deeper feeling gives, 
That makes thee more than light or air. 
Than all tilings sweet and all things fair; 
And sweet and fair as aught may be, 
Diviner life belongs to thee, 
For 'mid tliine aimless joys began 
The perfect heart and will of Man. 

Thus what thou art foreshows to me 
IIow greater far thou soon shalt be ; 



THE MOTHEK'S HOPE. 



131 



And while amid thy garlands blow 
The winds that warbling come and go, 
Ever within, not loud but clear, 
Proiihetio nuirraur fills the ear, 
And says that every human birth 
Anew discloses God to earth. 

John Steklino. 



THE MOTHER'S HOPE. 

Is there, when the winds are singing 

In the happy summer time — 
■When the raptured air is ringing 
With Earth's music heavenward springing, 

Forest chirp, and village chime — 
Is there, of the sounds that float 
Unsighingly, a single note 
Half so sweet, and clear, and wild. 
As tlie laughter of a child? 

L'sten ! and be now delighted : 
Morn hath touched her golden strings ; 

Earth and Sky their vows have plighted ; 

Life and Light are reunited. 
Amid countless caroUings; 

Yet, delicious as they are. 

There 's a sound that 's sweeter far — 

One that makes the heart rejoice 

More than all, — the human voice! 

Or?an finer, deeper, clearer. 
Though it be a stranger's tone — 
Than the winds or waters dearer. 
More enchanting to the hearer, 
For it answereth to his own. 
But, of all its witching words, 
Those are sweetest, bubbling wild 
Through tlie laughter of a child. 

Harmonies from time-touched towers. 

Haunted strains from rivulets. 
Hum of bees among the flowers. 
Rustling leaves, and silver showers, — 

These, ere long, the ear forgets ; 
But in mine there is a sound 
Kinging on tlie whole year round — 
Heart-deep laughter that I heard 
Ere my child could speak a word. 



Ah ! 't was heard by ear far purer, 
Fondlier formed to catch the strain — 

Ear of one whose love is sm-er — 

Hers, the mother, the endurer 
Of the deepest share of pain ; 

Hers the deepest bliss to treasure 

Memories of that cry of pleasure ; 

Hers to hoard, a life-time after, 

Echoes of that infant laughter. 

'T is a mother's large atfection 
Hears with a mysterious sense — 

Breathings that evade detection. 

Whimper faint, and fine inflexion. 
Thrill in her with power intense. 

Childhood's honeyed words untaught 

Hiveth she in loving thought — 

Tones that never thence depart; 

For she listens — with her heart. 

LaMAN BLANCnAED. 



THE MOTHER'S HEART. 

Wiinx first thou camest, gentle, sliy, and 
fond, 
My eldest bom, first hope, and dearest 

treasure, 
My heart received thee with a joy beyond 

All that it yet had felt of earthly pleasure ; 
Nor thought that any love again might be 
So deep and strong .as that I felt for thee. 



Faithful and true, witli sense beyond thy 
years. 
And natural piety tliat leaned to heaven; 
Wrung by a harsh word suddenly to tears, 

Yet patient to rebuke when justly given — 
Obedient — easy to be reconciled — 
And meekly cheerful; such wert thou, my 
child ! 



Kot willing to be left — still by my side. 
Haunting my walks, while summer-day 
was dying ; 



132 rOEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 


Nor leaving in thy turn, but pleased to glide 


At length thou camest — thou, the last and 


Through the dark room where I was sadly 


least. 


lying ; 


Nick-named "the Emperor " by thy laugh- 


Or by the couch of pain, a sitter meek. 


ing brothers — 


Watch the dim eye, and kiss the levered 


Because a haughty spirit swelled thy breast. 


cheek. 


And thou didst seek to rule and sway the 




others — 




Mingling with every playful infant wile 


boy ! of such as thou are oftenest made 


A mimic m;\jesty that made us smUe. 


Earth's fragile idols ; like a tender flower, 




No strength in all thy freshness, prone to 


» 


fade. 


And oh ! most like a regal child wert thon ! 


And bending weakly to tlio thtmder- 


An eye of resolute and successful scheming ! 


shower ; 


Fair shoulders — curling lips — and dauntless 


Still, round the loved, thy heai't found force 


brow — 


to bind, 


Fit for the world's strife, not for poet's 


And clung, like woodbine shaken in the 


dreaming ; 


wind ! 


And proud the lifting of thy stately head. 




And the firm beai'ing of thy conscious tread. 


Then thou, my merry love — bold in thy glee, 




Under the bough, or by the flrehght danc- 


Different from both! yet each succeeding 


ing, 


claim 


With thy sweet temper, and thy spirit free — 


1, that all other love had been forswearing. 


Didst come, a.s restless as a bird's wing 


Forthwith admitted, equal and the same ; 


glancing. 


Nor injured either by this love's comparing; 


Full of a wild and irrepressible mirth, 


Nor stole a fraction for the newer c:Jl — 


Like a young sunbeam to the gladdened earth 1 


But in the mother's heart found room for all ! 




Caroline Norton. 


Thine was the shout, the song, the burst of 

joy, 






Which sweet from childhood's rosy lip re- 




soundeth ; 


TO GEORGE M . 


Thine was the eager spirit naught coidd cloy. 




And the glad heart from which all grief 


Yes, I do love thee well, my chUd ! 


reboundeth ; 


Albeit mine 's a wandering mind ; 


And many a mij-thful jest and mock reply 


But never, darling, hast thon smiled 


Lurked in the laughter of thy dark-blue eye. 


Or breathed a wish that did not find 




A ready echo in my lieart. 




What hours I 've held thee on my knee, 


And tbino was many an art to win and bless, 


Thy little rosy lips apart ! 


The cold and stern to joy and fondness 


Or, when asleep, I 've gazed on thee 


warming ; 


And with old tunes sung thee to rest, 


The coaxing smile — the frequent soft caress — 


Hugging thee closely to my bosom ; 


The earnest tearful jirayer all wrath dis- 


For thee my very heart hath blest, 


arming ! 


My joy, my care, my blue-eyed blossom ! 


Again my heart a new ntfection found. 


TnoMAB Miller. 


But thought that love wuth thee had reached 




its bound. 





MOTHER'S LOVE. 



133 



MOTHER'S LOVE. 

IIe sang so wildly, did the boy, 

That you could never tell 

If 't was a madman's voice you heard, 

Or if the spirit of a bird 

■Within his heai't did dwell — 

A bird that dallies with his voice 

Among the matted branches ; 

Or on the free blue air his note, 

To pierce, and fall, and rLse, and float, 

With bolder utterance launches. 

None ever was so sweet as he. 

The boy that wildly sang to me ; 

Though toilsome was the way and long. 

He led me, not to lose the song. 

But when again we stood below 

The unliidden sky, his feet 

Grew slacker, and his note more slow. 

But more than doubly sweet. 

He led me then a little way 

Athwart the barren moor. 

And there he stayed, and bade me stay, 

Beside a cottage door ; 

I could have stayed of my own will, 

In truth, my eye and heart to fill 

"With the sweet sight which I saw there, 

At the dwelling of the cottager. 

A little in the doorway sitting, 
Tlie mother plied her busy knitting; 
And her cheek so softly smiled. 
You might bo sure, although her gaze 
Was on the meshes of the lace, 
Tet her thoughts were vrith her child. 

But when the boy had heard her voice. 
As o'er her work she did rejoice. 
His became silent altogether ; 
And slyly creeping by the waU, 
He seized a single plume, let fall 
By some wild bird of longest feather ; 
And all a-tremble with his freak. 
He touched her lightly on the cheek. 

Oh what a loveliness her eyes 
Gather in that one moment's space, 



While peeping round the post she spies 
Her darhng's laughing face I 
Oh mother's love is glorifying. 
On the cheek like sunset lying ; 
In the eyes a moistened light. 
Softer than the moon at night ! 

TnOUAB BlTBBISOE. 



THE PET LAMB. 



A PASTORAL. 



TnE dew was falling fast, the stars began to 

blink ; 
I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty 

creature, drink ! " 
And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I 

espied 
A snow-white mountain-lamb with a maiden 

at its side. 



Nor sheep nor kine were near ; the lamb was 

all alone, 
And by a slender cord was tethered to a 

stone ; 
With one knee on the grass did the little 

maiden kneel, 
While to that mountain-lamb she gave its 

evening meal. 



The lamb, while from her himd he thus his 

supper took, 
Seemed to feast with head and ears ; and his 

tail with pleasure shook. 
"Drink, pretty creature, druik!" she said, 

in such a tone 
That I ahnost received her heart into my own. 

'T was little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of 

beauty rare ! 
I watched them with delight: they were a 

lovely pair. 
Now with her empty can the maiden tiu'ned 

away; 
But ere ten yards were gone, her footsteps 

did she stay. 



in4 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 


llight towards the lamb she looked; and 


A blessed day for thee ! Then whither wouldst 


from a sljady place 


thou roam ? 


I unobserved could see the workings of her 


A faithful nurse thou hast— the dam that did 


face. 


thee yean 


If nature to her tongue could measured num- 


Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could 


bers bring, 


have been. 


Tlius, thought I, to her lamb that little maid 




niiglit sing: — 






"Tliou know'st that twice a day I have 




brought thee in this can 


" What ails thee, young one ? what ? Why 


Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever 


pull so at thy cord ? 


ran; 


Is it not well fritli thee? well both for bed 


And twice in the day, when the ground is 


and board ? 


wet with dew, 


Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass 


I bring thee draughts of milk — warm milk it 


can be ; 


is, and new. 


Rest, little young one, rest ; what is 't that 




aileth thee? 






" Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as 




tlicy are now ; 


" What is it thou wouldst seek ? What is 


Then I '11 yoke thee to my cart like a pony 


wanting to thy heart? 


in tlie plough. 


Thy limbs, are they not strong ? And beau- 


My playmate thou shalt be; and when the 


tilul thou art. 


wind is cold, 


This grass is tender grass ; these flowers they 


Our hearth shall bo thy bed, our house shall 


liavo no peers ; 


bo thy fold. 


And that green corn aU day is rustling in thy 




eai's ! 


" It will not, will not rest ! — Poor creatiu-e. 




can it be 


"If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch 


That 'tis thy mother's heart which is work- 


thy woollen chain — 


ing so in thee ? 


Phis beech is standing by, its covert thou 


Things that I know not of belike to thee are 


canst gain ; 


dear. 


For rain and mountain-storms — the like thou 


And di'eams of things whieli thou canst nei- 


noed'st not fear ; 


ther see nor hear. 


The rain and storm are things that scarcely 




can come hero. 






" Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green 




and fair! 


" Rest, little young one, rest ; thou hast forgot 


I 've heard of fearful winds and darkness that 


the day 


come there ; 


When my father found thee first in places far 


The little brooks, that seem all pastime and 


away; 


all play. 


Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert 


When they ai'e angry roar like lions for their 


owned by none, 


prey. 


And thy mother from thy side for evermore 


was gone. 






"Hero thou need'st not dread the raven in 




the sky ; 


" He took thee in his arms, and in pity 


Night and day thou art safe — our cottage is 


brought thee home : 


hard by. 



TO MY DAUGHTER. 135 


Why bleat so after me ? "Why pull so at thy 


in. 


chaitt ? 


So may'st thou live, dear! many years, 


Sleep — and at break of day I will come to 


In all the bliss that life endears. 


thee again ! " 


Not without smiles, nor yet from tears. 




Too strictly kept. 




Wlien first thy infant littleness 


— As homeward through the lane I went with 


I folded in my fond caress. 


lazy feet, 


The greatest proof of happiness 


This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat ; 


Was this — I wept. 


And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line 


TnouAS EooD. 


by line, 




That but half of it was hers, and one-half of 




it was mine. 


LITTLE CHILDREN. 




Sporting through the forest wide ; 


Again and once again, did I repeat the song ; 


Playing by the waterside ; 


" Nay," said I, " more than half to the dam- 


Wandering o'er the heathy fells ; 


sel must belong. 


Down within the woodland dells ; 


For she looked with such a look, and she 


AU among the mountains wild. 


spake with such a tone. 


DweUeth many a little cliild ! 


Tliat I almost received her heart into my 


In the baron's hall of pride ; 


own." 


By the poor man's dull fireside : 


■William Wokdswoeth. 


'Mid the mighty, 'mid the mean. 




Little children may be seen, 




Like the flowers that spring up tair. 




Bright and countless everywhere! 




In the far isles of the main ; 


TO MY DAUGHTER, 


In the desert's lone domain ; 




In the savage mountain-glen. 


ON HEE BIETHDAT. 


'Mong the tribes of swarthy men ; 




Wheresoe'er a foot hath gone ; 


I. 


Wheresoe'er the sun hath shone 


Deae Fanny ! nine long years ago, 


On a league of peopled ground, 


While yet the morning sun was low. 


Little children may be found ! 


And rosy with tbe eastern glow 


Blessings on them I tliey in me 


The landscape smiled ; 


Move a kindly sympathy, 


WliUst lowed the newly-wakened herds — 


With their wishes, hopes, and feai-s; 


Sweet as the early song of birds, 


With their laughter and their tears; 


I heard those first, delightful words, 


With their wonder so intense, 


" Thou hast a child ! " 


And their small experience ! 




Little children, not alono 




On the wide earth are ye knoirn. 


IT. 


'Mid its labors and its cares. 


Along with that uprising dew 


'Mid its suft'erings and its snares ; 


Tears glistened in my ej'es, though few. 


Free from sorrow, free from strife. 


To hail a dawning quite as new 


In the world of love and life. 


To me, as Time : 


Where no sinful thing hath trod— 


It was not sorrow — not annoy — 


In the presence of your God, 


But like a happy maid, though coy. 


Spotless, blameless, glorified — 


With grief-like welcome, even Joy 


Little children, ye abide ! 


Forestalls its prime. 


Maby Uowttp. 



13B 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



THE IDLE SHEPHERD BOYS. 

A PASTORAL. 

TriE valley rings with mirth ami joy; 

Aiiiung the hills the echoes play 

A never, never-ending song, 

To welcome in the May. 

The magpie chatters with delight ; 

The mountain raven's youngling brood 

Have left the mother and the nest ; 

And they go rambling east and west 

In search of their own food ; 

Or through the glittei-ing vapors dart 

In very wantonness of heart. 

Beneath a rock, upon the grass. 
Two boys are sitting in the sun ; 
Their work, if any work they have. 
Is out of mind, — or done. 
On pipes of sycamore they play 
The fragments of a Christian liymu ; 
Or with that plant which in our dale 
We call stag-horn, or fox's tail. 
Their rusty hats they trim : 
And thus, as happy as the day. 
Those shepherds wear the time away. 

Along the river's stony marge 

The sand-lark chants a joyous song; 

The thrush is busy in the wood, 

And carols loud and strong. 

A thousand lambs are on the rocks, 

All newly born ! both earth and sky 

Keep jubilee, and more than all. 

Those boys with their green coronal ; 

They never hear the cry. 

That plaintive cry ! which up the hil. 

Comes from the depth of Dungeon-Ghyll. 

Said Walter, leaping from the ground, 
" Down to the stump of yon old yew 
We'll for our whistles run a race." 

Away the shepherds flew ; 

They leapt — they ran — and when they came 
Right opposite to Dungeon-Ghyll, 
Seeing that he should lose the prize, 
" Stop ! " to his comrade Walter cries. 
James stopped with no good will. 
Said Walter then, exulting, " Here 
You'll find a task for half a year. 



" Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross, — 

Come on, and tread where I shall tread." 

The other took him at his word. 

And followed as he led. 

It was a spot which you may see 

If ever you to Langdale go ; 

Into the chasm a mighty block 

Hath fallen, and made a bridge of rock: 

The gulf is deep below ; 

And, in a basin black and small. 

Receives a lofty waterfall. 

With staff in hand across the cleft 

The challenger pursued his march ; 

And now, all eyes and feet, hath gained 

The middle of the arch. 

When list ! he hears a piteous moan. 

Again ! — his heart within him dies ; 

His pulse is stopped, his breath is lost, 

He totters, pallid as a ghost. 

And, looking down, espies 

A lamb, that in the pool is pent 

Witliin that black and frightful rent. 

The lamb had slipped into the stream, 

And safe without a bruise or wound 

The cataract had borne him down 

Into the gulf profound. 

His dam had seen him when he fell — 

She saw him down the torrent borne ; 

And, with all a mother's love. 

She from the lofty rocks above 

Sent forth a cry forlorn ; 

The lamb, still swimming round and round, 

Made answer in that plaintive sound. 

AThen he had learnt what thing it was 

That sent this rueful cry, I ween 

The boy recovered heart, and told 

The sight which he had seen. 

Both gladly now deferred their task ; 

Nor was there wanting other aid : 

A Poet, one who loves the brooks 

Far better than the sages' books. 

By chance had hither strayed ; 

And there the helpless lamb ho foimd 

By those huge rocks encompassed round. 

He drew it from the troubled pool, 
And brought it forth into the light ; 
The shepherds met him with his charge. 



LITTLE BOY BLUE. 137 


All unexpected sight! 




Into their arms the lamb they took, 


LITTLE BOY BLUE. 


Whose life and limbs the flood had spared ; 




Then np the steep ascent they hied, 


Whex the corn-fields and meadows 


And placed hira at his mother's side ; 


Are pearled with the dew. 


And gently did the Bard 


With the first sunny shadow 


Tliose idle shepherd boys upbraid, 


Walks little Boy Blue. 


And bade them better mind their trade. 




William Woedswoutu. 


Oh the Nymphs and the Graces 




Still gleam on his eyes. 


_ 


And the kind fairy faces 
Look down from the skies ; 




THE SHEPHERD BOY. 






And a secret revealing 




Of life within life. 


Like some vision olden 




Of far other time, 


When feeling meets feeling 


When the age was golden, 


In musical strife ; 


In the young world's prime, 




Is thy soft pipe ringing. 


A winding and weaving 


lonely shepherd boy : 


In flowers and in trees, 


What song art thou singing. 


A floating and heaving 


In thy youth and joy ? 


In sunlight and breeze ; 


Or art thou complaining 


A striving and soaring. 


Of thy lowly lot. 


A gladness and grace, 


And thine own disdaining, 


Make him kneel half adoring 


Dost ask what tliou bast not? 


The God in the place. 


Of the future dreaming. 




Weary of the past, 


Then amid the live shadows 


For the present scheming — • 


Of lambs at their play. 


All but what thou hast. 


Where the kine scent the meadows 




With breath like the May, 


No, thou art delighting 




In thy summer home ; 


He stands in the splendor 


Where the flowers inviting 


That waits on the morn, 


Tempt the bee to roam ; 


And a music more tender 


Where the cowslip, bending 


Distils from his horn ; 


With its golden bells. 




Of each glad hour's ending 


And he weeps, he rejoices, 


With a sweet chime tells. 


He prays ; nor in vain, 




For soft loving voices 


All wild creatures love him 


Will answer again ; 


When he is alone ; 




Every bird above him 


And the Nymphs and the Graces 


Sings its softest tone. 


Still gleam through the dew, 


Thankfnl to high Heaven, 


And kind foiry foces 


Humble in thy joy. 


Watch little Boy Blue. 


Much to thee is given. 


ANONTMOrS. 


Lowly shepherd boy. 




L.ETITIA EHZABETU LaNDON. 





138 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD. 

Come back, come back together, 

All ye fancies of the past, 
Ye days of A]jril ^^-eather, 

Ye shadows that are cast 
By the haunted hours before ! 
Come back, come back, my Childhood ; 

Thou art summoned by a spell 
From the green leaves of the wildwood, 

From beside the charmed well, 

For Red Riding Hood, the darling. 
The flower of fairy lore ! 

The fields were covered over 

With colors as she went ; 
Daisy, buttercup, and clover 

Below her footsteps bent ; 
Summer shed its shining store ; 
She was happy as she pressed them 

Beneath her little feet ; 
She plucked them and caressed them ; 

They were so very sweet, 

They had never seemed so sweet before. 
To Red Riding Hood, the darling. 
The flower of fairy lore. 

How the heart of childhood dances 

Upon a sunny day ! 
It has its own romances, 
And a wide, wide world have they ! 
A world where Phantasie is king. 
Made all of eager dreaming ; 

When once grown up and tall — 
Now is the time for scheming — 
Then we shall do them all ! 

Do such pleasant fancies spring 
For Red Riding Hood, the darling, 
The flower of fairy lore ? 

She seems like an ideal love. 
The poetry of childhood shown. 

And yet loved with a real love. 
As if she were our own — 
A younger sister for the heart ; 

Like the woodland pheasant 
Her hair is brown and bright ; 

And her smile is pleasant. 



With its rosy light. 
Never can the memory part 
With Red Riding Hood, the darlmg, 
The flower of fairy lore. 

Did the painter, dreaming 

In a morning hour, 
Catch the fairy seeming 
Of this fairy flower ? 
Winning it with eager eyes 
From the old enchanted stories, 
Lingering with a long delight 
On the unforgotten glories 
Of the infant sight ? 

Giving us a sweet surprise 
In Red Riding Hood, the darling, 
The flower of fairy lore ? 

Too long in the meadow staying. 

Where the cowslip bends. 
With the buttercups delaying 
As with early friends, 
Did the little maiden stay. 
Sorrowful the tale for us ; 

We, too, loiter mid life's flowers, 
A little while so glorious, 
So soon lost in darker hours. 

All love lingering on their way, 
Like Red Riding Hood, the darling. 
The flower of fairy lore. 

LxTnii. Elizabeth Lasdox. 



THE GAMBOLS OF CHILDREN. 

Down the dimpled green-sward dancing. 
Bursts a flaxen-headed bevy 

Bud-lipt boys and girls advancing. 
Love's irregular little levy. 

Rows of liquid eyes in laughter. 

How they glimmer, how they quiver I 

Sparkling one another after. 
Like bright ripples on a river. 

Tipsy band of rubious faces. 
Flushed with Joy's ethereal spirit. 

Make your mocks and sly grimaces 
At Love's self, and do not fear it. 

Georoe Darlet. 



THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 



139 



THE PIED PIPER OE HAMELLN. 



Hamelin Town 's in Brunswick, 
By famous Hanover city ; 

The river Weser, deep and wide, 

Washes its wall on the southern side ; 

A pleasanter spot you never spied ; 
But when begins my ditty. 

Almost five hundred years ago, 

To see the townsfolk sufler so 
From vermin, was a pity. 

II. 

Pvats ! 
They fought the dogs, and kUled the cats. 

And bit the babies in the cradles. 
And ate the cheeses out of the vats, 

And licked the soup from the cook's own 
ladles, 
Split open the kegs of salted sprats, 
Made nests inside men's Sunday hats. 
And even spoiled the women's chats. 
By drowning their speaking 
With shrieking and squeaking 
In fifty difl'erent sharps and flats. 

III. 

At last the people in a body 

To the Town Hall came flocking : 
" 'T is clear," cried they, " our Mayor's a 
noddy ; 
And as for our Corporation — shocking 
To think we buy gowns lined with ermine 
For dolts that can't or won't determine 
What's best to rid us of our vermin ! 
You hope, because you 're old and obese, 
To find in the furry civic robe ease ? 
Rouse up, Sirs ! Give your brains a racking 
To find the remedy wo 're lacking, 
Or, sure as fate, wo '11 send yon packing ! " 
At this the Mayor and Corporation 
Quaked with a mighty consternation. 



An hour they sate in counsel — 

At length the Mayor broke silence : 

" For a guilder I 'd my ermine gown sell ; 
I wish I were a mile hence ! 

It 's easy to bid one rack one's brain — 

I'm sure my poor head aches again. 



I 've scratched it so, and all in vain. 

Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap ! " 

Just as he said this, what should hap 

At the chamber door but a gentle tap 1 

" Bless us," cried the Mayor, " what's that? " 

(With the Corporation as he sat. 

Looking little though wondrous fat ; 

Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister 

Than a too-long-opened oyster. 

Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous 

For a plate of turtle, green and glutinous,) 

" Only a scraping of shoes on the mat ? 

Anything like the sound of a rat 

Makes my heart go pit-a-pat ! " 



"Come in!" — the Mayor cried, looking 

bigger; 
And in did come the strangest figure : 
His queer long coat from heel to head 
Was half of yellow and half of rod ; 
And he himself was tall and thin ; 
With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin ; 
And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin ; 
No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, 
But lips where smiles went out and in — 
There was no guessing his kith and kin ! 
And nobody could enough admire 
The tall man and his quaint attire. 
Quoth one : " It 's as my great-grandsire, 
Starting up at the trump of doom's tone. 
Had walked this way from his painted tomb- 
stone ! " 

TI. 

He advanced to the council-table : 

And, "Please your honours," said ho, "I'm 

able. 
By means of a secret charm, to draw 
All creatures living beneath the sun, 
That creep, or swim, or fly, or run. 
After me so as you never saw ! 
And I chiefly use my charm 
On creatures that do people harm — 
The mole, and toad, and newt, and viper — 
And people call me the Pied Piper." 
(And here they noticed round his neck 
A scarf of red and yellow stripe. 
To match with liis coat of the self same 

check ; 
And at the scarf's end hung a pipe ; 



140 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



And his fingers, they noticed, were ever 

straying 
As if impatient to be playing 
Upon this pipe, as low it dangled 
Over his vesture so old-fangled.) 
" Yet," said he, " poor piper as I am. 
In Tartary I freed the Cham, 
Last June, from bis huge swarm of gnats ; 
I eased in Asia the Nizam 
Of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats ; 
And, as for what your brain bewilders — 
If I can rid your town of rats. 
Will you give me a thousand guilders ? " 
" One ? fifty thousand ! " — was the exclamation 
Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation. 



Into the street the Piper stept, 

Smiling first a little smile. 
As if he knew what magic slept 

In his quiet pipe the while ; 
Then, like a musical adept, 
To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, 
And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled. 
Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled ; 
And ere three sbrUl notes the pipe uttered. 
You heard as if an army muttered ; 
And the muttering grew to a grumbling ; 
And the grumbling grow to a mighty rum- 
bling ; 
And out of the houses the rats came tum- 
bling. 
Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats. 
Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats. 
Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, 

Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, 
Cocking tails and pricking whiskers ; 

Families by tens and dozens, 
Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives — 
Followed the Piper for their lives. 
From street to street he piped advancing, 
And step for step they followed dancing, 
Until they came to the river Weser 
Wherein all plunged and perished 
— Save one who, stout as Julius Caasar, 
Swam across and lived to carry 
(As he the manuscript he cherished) 
To Rat-land home his corimentary, 
Which was : " At the first shrill notes of the 

pipe, 
I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, 



And putting apples, wondrous ripe, 

Into a cider-press's gripe — 

And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards. 

And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, 

And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, 

And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks ; 

And it seemed as if a voice 

(Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery 

Is breathed) called out, O rats, rejoice ! 

The world is gi'own to one vast drysaltery ! 

So munch on, crimch on, take your nuncheon, 

Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon ! 

And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon. 

All ready staved, like a great sun shone 

Glorious, scarce an inch before me, 

Just as methought it said. Come, bore me ! 

— I found the Weser rolling o'er me." 



You should have heard the Hamelin people 
Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple ; 
" Go," cried the Mayor, " and get long poles ! 
Poke out the nests and block up the holes ! 
Consult with carpenters and builders. 
And leave in our town not even a trace 
Of the rats ! " — when suddeuh', up the face 
Of the Piper perked in the market-jilaee. 
With a, " First, if you please, my thousand 
guilders ! " 



A thousand guilders ! The Mayor looked 

blue : 
So did the Corporation too. 
For council dinners made rare havock 
With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock ; 
And half the money would replenish 
Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish. 
To pay this sum to a wandering fellow 
With a gipsy coat of red and yellow ! 
"Beside," quoth the Mayor, with a knowing 

wink, 
" Our business was done at the river's brink ; 
We saw with our eyes the vermin sink. 
And what's dead can't come to life, I think. 
So, friend, we 're not the folks to shrink 
From the duty of giving you something for 

drink, 
And a matter of money to put in your poke ; 
But, as for the guilders, what we spoke 
Of them, as yon very well know, was in joke 



THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 



141 



Reside, our losses have made us thrifty ; 
A. thousand guilders ! Come, take fifty ! " 



The piper's face fell, and he cried, 

" No trifling ! I can't Tvait ! heside, 

I 've promised to visit hy dinner time 

Bagdat, and accept the prime 

Of the head cook's pottage, all he 's rich in, 

For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen. 

Of a nest of scorpion's no survivor — 

With him I proved no hargain-driver; 

AVith you, don't think I'll bate a stiver! 

And folks who put me in a passion 

May find me pipe to another fashion." 



" How ? " cried the Mayor, " d 'ye think I '11 

brook 
Being worse treated than a cook ? 
Insulted hy a lazy ribald 
AVith idle pipe and vesture piebald ? 
You threaten us, fellow ? Do your worst. 
Blow your pipe there till you burst ! " 



Once more he stept into the street ; 
And to his lips again 

Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane ; 
And ere he blew three notes (such sweet 

Soft notes as yet musician's cunning 
Never gave the enraptured air) 

There was a rustling that seemed like a bus- 
tling 

Of merry crowds justling at pitching and 
hustling ; 

Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes 
clattermg, 

Little hands clapping, and little tongues 
chattering ; 

And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley 
is scattering. 

Out came the children running : 

All the little boys and girls. 

With rosy cheeks and fiasen curls, 

And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls. 

Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after 

The wonderful music with shouting and 
laughter. 



The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood 
As if they were changed into blocks of wood, 
Unable to move a step, or cry 
To the children merrily skipping hy— 
And could only follow with the eye 
That joyous crowd at the Piper's back. 
But how the Mayor was on the rack. 
And the wretched Council's bosoms beat. 
As the Piper turned from the High Street 
To where the AVeser rolled its waters 
Right in the way of their sons and daughters I 
However, he turned from South to West, 
And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, 
And after him the children pressed ; 
Great was the joy in every breast. 
" He never can cross that mighty top ! 
He's forced to let the piping drop. 
And we shall see our children stop ! " 
When, lo, as they reached the mountain's side, 
A wondrous portal opened wide. 
As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed ; 
And the Piper advanced and the children 

followed ; 
And when all were in, to the very last, 
The door in the mountain side shut fast. 
Did I say all ? No ! One was lame. 
And could not dance the whole of the way ; 
And in after years, if you would blame 
His sadness, he was used to say, — 
"It's dull in our town since my playmates 

left! 
I can't forget that I'm bereft 
Of all the pleasant sights they see, 
Which the Piper also promised me ; 
For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, 
Joining the town and just at hand. 
Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, 
And flowers put forth a fairer hue. 
And every thing was strange and new ; 
The sparrows were brighter than peacocks 

here. 
And their dogs outran our fallow deer. 
And honey-bees had lost their stings. 
And horses were born with eagles' wings ; 
And just as I became assured 
My lame foot would be speedily cured, 
The music stopped and I stood still, 
And found myself outside the Hill, 
Left alone against my will, 



1-12 POEMS OP 


CHILDHOOD. 


To go now limping as before, 


XV. 


And nevoi- licar of that country more ! " 


So, Willy, let you and me be wipers 


SIV. 


Of scores out with all men — especially pipers; 
And, whether they pipe us free from rats or 


from mice, 


Alas, alas for ITanieliu ! 
Tliere came into many a burgher's pate 


If we 've promised them aught, let us keep 
our promise. 

KOBERT BsOWNINa. 


A text which says, that Heaven's gate 
Opes to the rich at as easy rate 




' 


As the needle's eye takes a camel in 1 




The Mayor sent East, West, North, and 


A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS. 


South, 




To otVor the piper by word of mouth. 


'TwAS the night before Christmas, when all 


■Wherever it was men's lot to tind hiui, 


through the house 


Silver and gold to his heart's content. 


Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse ; 


If he 'd only return the way ho went. 


The stockings were hung by the chimney with 


And bring the children behind him. 


care. 


But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor, 


In hopes that St. Nicholas soon woidd be 


And piper and dancers were gone for ever. 


there ; 


They made a decree that lawyers never 


The children were nestled all snug in their 


Should think their records dated duly 


beds, 


If, after the day of the month and year. 


While visions of sugar-plums danced in their 


These words did not as well appear. 


heads ; 


" And so long after what happened here 


And ^Mamnia in her kerchief and I in my 


Ou the Twenty-second of July, 


cap, 


Thirteen Ilnndred and Seventy-six :" 


Had just settled our brains for a long winter's 


And the better in memory to fix 


nap — 


The place of the Children's last retreat 


When out on the lawn there arose such a 


They called it the Pied Piper's Street — 


clatter. 


■Where any one playing on pipe or tabor 


I sprang from my bed to see what was tlio 


■Was sure for the future to lose his labor. 


matter. 


■N"or suti'ered they hostelry or tavern 


Away to the window I flew like a flash. 


To shock with mirth a street so solemn ; 


Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. 


]>ut ojiposite the place of the cavern 


The moon, on the breast of the new-fallen 


They wrote the story on a coUnnn, 


snow. 


And on the Great Church window painted 


Gave a lustre of mid-day to objects below; 


The same, to make the world acquainted 


When, wh.at to my wondering eyes should 


How their children were stolen away ; 


appear,- 


And there it stands to this very day. 


But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny rein- 


And I must not omit to say 


deer. 


That in Transylvania there's a tribe 


With a little old driver, so lively and quick, 


Of alien people that ascribe 


I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. 


The outlandish ways and dress 


More rapid than eagles his coursers they 


On which their neighbors lay snch stress 


came. 


To their fathers and mothers having risen 


And he whistled, and shouted, and called 


Out of some subterranean prison 


them by name ; 


Into which they were trepanned 
Long time ago, in a mighty band, 


"Now, Dasher! now. Dancer! now, Pranoer 
and Vixen ! 


Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, 


On ! Comet, on ! Cupid, on ! Donder and 


But how or why, they don't understand. 


Blitzen— 



SATURDAY AFTERNOON 



143 



To tbo top of tlie porch, to the top of the 

wall ! 
Now, (lasli away, dash away, dash away 

all I" 
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane 

fly, 

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to 

the sky, 
So, up to the house-top thi! coursers they 

Hew, 
"With the sleit;h full of toys — and St. Nicho- 
las too. 
And then in a twinlcling I heard on the roof 
The praneinj; and pawing of each little hoof. 
As I drew in my head, and was turning 

around, 
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a 

bound. 
IFe was dressed all in fur from his head to 

his foot. 
And bis clothes were all tarnished with ashes 

and soot ; 
A bundle of toys he had flung on bis back. 
And ho looked like a pedler just opening his 

pack. 
His eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how 

merry 1 
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a 

cherry ; 
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a 

bow. 
And the beard on his chin was as white as 

tbo snow. 
The stump of a pipe he held tiglit in his teeth. 
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a 

wreath, 
lie had a broad face and a little round belly 
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full 

of jelly. 
He was chubby and plump — a right jolly old 

elf; 
.\nd I laughed wlien I saw him, in spite of 

myself. 
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head. 
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. 
He spoke not a word, but went straight to 

his work. 
And filled all tlie stockings ; then turned with 

a jerk, 
.\nd baying his finger aside of bis nose, 
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. 



He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a 
whistle. 

And away they all flew like tbo down of a 
thistle ; 

But I heard him exclaim, ere lie drove out of 
sight, 

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good- 
night ! " 

Clement C Moore 



SATURDAY AFTERNOON. 

I LOVE to look on a scene like this, 

Of wild and careless play. 
And persuade myself that I am not old, 

And my locks are not yet gray ; 
For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart. 

And makes bis pulses fly. 
To catch the tliriU of a hap])y voice, 

And the light of a pleasant eye. 

I have walked the world for fourscoi-e years, 

And they say that I am old — 
That my heart is ripe for the reaper Death, 

And my years are well-nigh told. 
It is very true — it is very true — 

I am old, and I " bide my time ; " 
But my heart will leap at a scene like this. 

And I half renew my prime. 

Play on ! play on 1 I am with you there. 

In the midst of your merry ring ; 
I can feel tbo thrill of the daring jump. 

And the rush of the breathless swing. 
I hide with you in the fragrant hay, 

And I whoop the smothered call. 
And my feet slip up on tbo seedy floor, 

And I care not for (he fall. 

I am willing to die when my time shall como, 

And I shall be glad to go — 
For the world, at best, is a weary place, 

And my pulse is getting low ; 
But the grave is dark, and tbo heart will fail 

In treading its gloomy way ; 
And it wiles my heart from its dreariness 

To see the young so gay. 

Natiianiei, Paekee Willis. 



144 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 

Ah me ! full sorely is my heart forlorn, 
To think how modest ivorth neglected lies, 
While partial Fame doth with her blasts 

adorn 
Such deeds alone as pride and pomp disguise; 
Deeds of ill sort, and mischievous emprise. 
Lend mo tliy clarion, goddess ! let me try 
To sound the praise of merit, ere it dies, 
Such as I oft have chaunced to espy, 
Lost in the dreary shades of dull obscurity. 

In every village marked with little spire. 
Embowered in trees, and hardly known to 

Fame, 
There dwells, in lowly shed and mean attire, 
A matron old, whom wo Schoolmistress 

name. 
Who boasts unruly brats with birch to tame; 
They grieven sore, in piteous durance pent, 
Awed by the power of this relentless dame; 
And ofttimes, on vagaries idly bent, 
For unkempt hair, or task unconned, are 

sorely shent. 

And all in sight doth rise a birchen tree, 
Which Learning near her little dome did 

stow, 
Whilom a twig of small regard to see. 
Though now so wide its waving branches flow, 
And work the simple vassals mickle woe ; 
For not a wind might curl the leaves that 

blew, 
But their limbs shuddered, and their pulse 

beat low ; 
And as they looked, they found their horror 

grew. 
And shaped it into rods, and tingled at the 

view. 

So have I seen (who has not, may conceive) 
A lifeless phantom near a garden placed ; 
So doth it wanton birds of peace bereave. 
Of sport, of song, of pleasure, of repast ; 
They start, they stare, they wheel, they look 

aghast ; 
Sad servitude ! such comfortless annoy 
May no bold Briton's riper age e'er taste ! 



No superstition clog his dance of joy, 

No vision empty, vain, his native bliss destroy. 

Near to this dome is found a patch so green. 

On which the tribe their gambols do display ; 

And at the door imprisoning-board is seen, 

Lest weakly wights of smaller size should 
stray, 

Eager, perdie, to bask in sunny day ! 

The noises intermixed, which thence resound. 

Do Learning's little tenement betray ; 

Where sits the dame, disguised in look pro- 
found. 

And eyes her fairy throng, and turns her 
wheel around. 

Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow, 
Emblem right meet of decency does yield ; 
Her apron dyed in grain, as blue, I trowe. 
As is the liare-bell that adorns the field ; 
And in her hand for sceptre, she does wield 
Tway birchen sprays, with anxious fears en- 
twined. 
With dark distrust, and sad repentance filled, 
And stedfast hate, and sharp affliction joined. 
And fury uncontrolled, and chastisement un- 
kind. 

Few but have kenned, in semblance meet por- 
trayed, 
The childish faces of old Eol's train ; 
Libs, Notus, Auster ; these in frowns arrayed. 
How then would fare or earth, or sky, or 

main. 
Were the stern god to give his slaves the 

rein? 
And were not she rebellious breasts to quell. 
And were not she her statutes to maintain. 
The cot no more, I ween, were deemed the 

cell. 
Where comely peace of mind and decent 
order dwell. 

A russet stole was o'er her shoulders thrown; 
A russet kirtle fenced the ni])ping air ; 
'T was simple russet, but it was her own ; 
'Twas her own country bred the flock so 

fixir ; 
'T was her own labor did the fleece prepare ; 
And, sooth to say, her pupils, ranged around, 
Tlirough pious awe did term it passing rare ; 



TUE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 



145 



For they in gaping -wonderracnt abound, 
And tlnnl<, no doubt, sho been the greatest 
wiglit on ground! 

Albeit no flattery did corrupt her trutli, 
Ne pompous title did debauch her car ; 
Goody, good-woman, gossip, n'aunt, forsooth, 
Or dame, the solo additions sho did hear ; 
Yet these sho cliallengcd, these she held right 

dear ; 
No would esteem him act as mought behove. 
Who should not honored eld with these re- 
vere; 
For never title yet so mean could prove, 
But there was eke a mind wliich did that 
title love. 

One ancient hen she took delight to feed, 
The plodding pattern of the busy dame ; 
AVhich, ever and anon, impelled by need. 
Into her school, begirt with chickens, came ! 
Sucli favor did her past deportment claim ; 
And if Neglect had lavished on the ground 
Fragment of bread, she would collect the same; 
For well she knew, and quaintly could ex- 
pound. 
What sin it were to waste the smallest crumb 
she found. 

Herbs, too, she knew, and well of each could 

speak, 
That in her garden sipped the silvery dew. 
Where no vain flower disclosed a gaudy 

streak ; 
But herbs for use and physic not a few, 
Of grey renown, within these borders grew ; 
The tufted basil, pun-provoking thyme, 
Fresh balm, and marygold of cheerful hue. 
The lowly gill, that never dares to climb ; 
And more I fain would sing, disdaining here 

to rhyme. 

Yet euphrasy may not be left unsung. 

That gives dim eyes to wander leagues 

around ; 
And pungent radish, biting infant's tongue ; 
And plantain ribbed, that heals the reaper's 

wound ; 
And marjoram sweet-, in shepherd's posie 

found ; 

11 



And lavender, whose spikes of azure bloom 
Shall be crewhile in arid bundles bound. 
To lurk amid the labors of lier loom, 
And crown her kerchiefs clean with miclde 
rare perfume. 

And here trim roscmariue, that whilom 

crowned 
The daintiest garden of the proudest peer. 
Ere, driven from its envied site, it found 
A sacred shelter for its branches here ; 
Where edged with gold its glittering skirts 

appear. 
Oh wassel days ! O customs meet and well 1 
Ere this was banished from its lofty sphere ! 
Simplicity then sought this humble ceil. 
Nor ever would she morci with thane and 

lordling dwell. 

Here oft the dame, on Sabbath's decent eve. 
Hymned such psalms as Sternhold forth did 

mete. 
If winter 't were, she to her hearth did 

cleave, 
But in her garden found a summer-seat ; 
Sweet melody ! to hear her then repeat 
How Israel's sons, beneath a foreign king, 
While taunting foemen did a song entreat. 
All for the nonce untuning every string, 
Uphung their useless lyres — small heart had 

they to sing. 

For she was just, and friend to virtuous lore. 
And passed much time in truly virtuous deed; 
And in those elfin cars would oft deplore 
The times when truth by Popish rage did 

bleed, 
And tortuous death was true devotion's 

meed. 
And simple Faith in iron chains did mourn. 
That nould on wooden image place her creed ; 
And lawny saints in smouldering flames did 

burn ; 
Ah, dearest Lord, forefend thilk days should 

e'er return 1 

In elbow-chair, like that of Scottish stem 
By the sharp tooth of cankering eld defaced. 
In which, when he receives his diadem, 
Our sovereign prince and liefe-st liege is 
placed, 



146 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



The matron sate, and some with rank she 

graced, 
(The source of childi'en's and of courtiers' 

pride !) 
Redressed affronts, for vile affronts there 

passed ; 
And warned them not the fretful to deride, 
But love each other dear, whatever them 

betide. 

Right well she knew each temper to descry ; 
To thwart the proud, and the submiss to 

raise ; 
Some with vile copper-prize esalt on high, 
And some entice with pittance small of 

praise ; 
And other some with baleful sprig she frays ; 
E'en absent, she the reins of power doth hold, 
WhUe with quaint arts the giddy crowd she 

sways ; 
Forewarned if little bird their pranks behold, 
'T will whisper in her ear and all the scene 

unfold. 

Lo ! now with state she utters the command ; 
Eftsoons the urchins to their tasks repair ; 
Their books of stature small they take in 

hand. 
Which with pellucid horn secured are, 
To save from fingers wet the letters fair ; 
The work so gay, that on their back is seen, 
St. George's high achievements doth declare ; 
On which thilk wight that has y-gazing been. 
Kens the forthcoming rod — unpleasing sight, 

I ween ! 

Ah luckless he, and born beneatli the beam 
Of evil star ! it irks me while I write ; 
As erst the bard by Mulla's silver stream. 
Oft as he told of deadly, dolorous plight, 
Sighed as he sung, and did in tears indite. 
For, brandishing the rod, she doth begin 
To loose the brogues, the stripling's late de- 
light ! 
And down they drop ; appears his dainty 

skin. 
Fair as the furry coat of whitest ermilin. 

O ruthful scene ! when from a nook obscure, 
His little sister doth his peril see ; 
All playful as she sate, she grows demure ; 
She finds full soon her wonted spirits flee ; 



She meditates a prayer to set him free ; 
Nor gentle pardon could this dame deny, 
(If gentle pardon could with dames agree) 
To her sad grief, which swells in either eye. 
And wrings her so that all for pity she could 
die. 

No longer can she now her shrieks command. 
And hardly she forbears, through awful fear, 
To rushen forth, and with presumptuous 

hand 
To stay harsh justice in his mid-career. 
On thee she calls, on thee, her parent dear ! 
(Ah ! too remote to ward the shameful blow !) 
She sees no kind domestic visage near ; 
And soon a flood of tears begins to flow. 
And gives a loose at last to unavaOing woe. 

But ah ! what pen his piteous plight may 

trace ? 
Or what device his loud laments explain? 
The form uncouth of his disguised face ? 
The pallid hue that dyes his looks amain ? 
The plenteous shower that does his cheek 

distain ? 
"When he in abject wise implores the dame, 
Ne hopeth aught of sweet reprieve to gain ; 
Or when from high she levels well her aim. 
And through the thatch his cries each falling 

stroke proclaim. 

The other tribe, aghast, with sore dismay. 
Attend, and con their tasks with mickle care ; 
By turns, astonied, every twig survey, 
And from their fellow's hateful wounds be- 
ware, 
Knowing, I wis, how each the same may 

share. 
Till fear has taught them a performance meet, 
And to the weiU-known chest the dame re- 
pair, 
Whence oft with sugared cates she doth them 

greet. 
And ginger-bread y-rare ; now, certes, doubly 
sweet. 

See to their seats they hie with merry glee, 
And in beseemly order sitten there ; 
All but the wight of bum y-galled ; he 
Abhorreth bench, and stool, and fourm, and 
o.hair, 



THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 



147 



(This hand in mouth y-fised, that rends his 

hair ;) 
And eke with snuhs profound, and heaving 

breast, 
Convulsions intermitting, doth declare 
His grievous wrong, his dame's unjust behest; 
And scorns her oftered love, and shuns to be 

caressed. 

His face besprent with liquid crystal shines, 
Ilis blooming face that seems a purple flower, 
Which low to earth its drooping head de- 
clines. 
All smeared and sullied by a vernal shower. 
Oil the hard bosoms of despotic power ! 
All, all but she, the author of his shame, 
All, all but she, regret this mournful hour ; 
Yet hence the youth, and hence the flower 

shall claim, 
If so I deem aright, transcending worth and 
fame. 

Behind some door, in melancholy thought, 
Mindless of food, he, dreary caitiff! pines; 
Ne for his fellows' joyaunce careth aught. 
But to the wind all merriment resigns ; 
And deems it shame if he to peace inclines ; 
And many a sullen look askance is sent. 
Which for his dame's annoyance he designs ; 
And still the more to pleasure him she 's bent, 
The more doth he perverse, her'haviour past 
resent. 

Ah me ! how much I fear lest pride it be ! 
But if that pride it be, which thus inspires. 
Beware, ye dames, with nice discernment see, 
Ye quench not too the sparks of noble fires. 
Ah I better far than all the Muses' lyres. 
All coward arts, is valor's generous heat ; 
The firm fixt breast which fit and right re- 
quires, 
Like Vernon's patriot soul ! more justly great 
Than craft that pimps for ill or flowery false 
deceit. 

Yet nursed with skill, what dazzling fruits 

appear ! 
E'en now sagacious Foresight points to show 
A little bench of heedless bishops here, 
And there a chancellor in embryo. 



Or bard sublime, if bard may e'er be so. 
As Milton, Shakespeare, names that ne'ei 

shall die ! 
Though now he crawl along the ground so 

low. 
Nor weeting how the Muse should soar on 

high, 
Wisheth, poor starveling elf! his paper kite 

may fly. 

And this perhaps, who, censuring the design. 
Low lays the house which that of cards doth 

build. 
Shall Dennis be ! if rigid Fate incline. 
And many an epic to his rage shall yield ; 
And many a poet quit th' Aoniau field, 
And, soured by age, profound ho shall ap- 
pear. 
As he who now with 'sdainful fury thrilled 
Surveys mine work ; and levels many a sneer, 
And furls his wrinkly front, and cries, "What 
stuff is here?" 



And now Dan Phoebus gains the middle skic. 
And Liberty unbars her prison-door ; 
And like a rushing torrent out they fly. 
And now the grassy cirque had covered o'er 
With boisterous revel-rout and wild uproar ; 
A thousand ways in wanton rings they run; 
neaven shield their short-lived pastimes, I 

implore I 
For well may freedom erst so dearly won. 
Appear to British elf more gladsome than 

the sun. 



Enjoy, poor imps ! enjoy your sportive trade, 

And chase gay flies, and cull the fairest flow- 
ers, 

For when my bones in grass-green sods are 
laid; 

For never may ye taste more careless hours 

In knightly castles, or in ladies' bowers. 

Oh vain to seek delight in earthly thing! 

But most in courts where proud Ambition 
towers ; 

Deluded wight! who weens fair peace can 
spring 

Beneath the pompous dome of kesar or of 
king. 



148 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD 



See in each sprite some various bent appear ! 
Tliese rudely carol most iueondite lay; 
Those sauntering ou the green, with jocund 

leer 
Salute the stranger passing on his way ; 
Some builden fragile tenements of clay ; 
Some to the standing lake their courses bend, 
M'ith pebbles smooth at duck and drake to 

I'lay ; 
Tliilk to the hunter's savory cottage tend, 
In pastry kings and queens th' allotted mite 

to spend. 

Here, as each season yields a different store, 
Each season's stores in order ranged been ; 
Apples with cabbage-net y-covered o'er, 
Galling full sore th' uumoneyed wight, are 

seen ; 
And goose-b'rie clad in livery red or green ; 
And here of lovely dye, the Catharine pear. 
Fine pew ! as lovely for thy juice, I ween : 
O may no wight e'er pennyless come there, 
liest smit with ai-dent love he pine with 

hopeless care! 

See ! cherries here, ere cherries yet abound, 
With tlu-ead so white in tempting posies ty'd. 
Scattering like blooming maid their glances 

round, 
TVith pampered look draw little eyes aside ; 
And must be bought, though penury betide. 
The plumb all azure and the nut all brown, 
And here each season do those cakes abide. 
Whose honored names th' inventive city 

own. 
Rendering through Britain's isle Salopia's 

praises known. 

Admired Salopia ! tliat with venial pride 
Eyes her bright form in Severn's ambient 

wave, 
Famed for her loyal cares in perils tried, 
Her daughters lovely, and her striplings 

brave ; 
Ah! midst the rest, may llowers adorn his 

grave. 
Whose art did first these dulcet cates display 1 
A motive fair to Learning's imps ho gave, 
Who cheerless o'er her d.wkling region stray, 
Till Reason's morn arise, and light them on 

their way. > 

WlLUAM SUESSTONE. 



ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON 
COLLEGE. 

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, 

That crown the w.atery glade, 
Where grateful Science still adores 

ller Henry's holy shade ; 
And ye tliat from the stately brow 
Of Windsor's heights the expanse below 

Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, 
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers 

among 
Wanders the hoary Tliames along 

His silver winding way : 

Ah, happy hills ! ah, pleasing shade ! 

All, fields beloved in vain! — 
Where once my careless childhood strayed, 

A stranger yet to pain! 
I feel the gales that from ye blow 
A momentary bliss bestow. 

As, waving fresh their gladsome wing. 
My weary soul they seem to soothe. 
And, redolent of joy and youth. 

To breathe a second spring. 

Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen 

Full many a sprightly race. 
Disporting on thy margent green, 

The paths of pleasure trace ; 
Wlio foremost now delight to cleave. 
With pliant arm, thy glassy wave ? 

The captive linnet which enthrall ? 
AVb.at idle progeny succeed 
To chase the rolling circle's speed. 

Or urge the flying ball ? 

While some, on urgent business bent, 

Their murmuring labors ply 
'Gainst graver hours tluit bring constraint 

To sweeten liberty ; 
Some bold adventurers disdain 
The limits of their li-tlle reign. 

And unknown regions dare descry ; 
Still as they run they look behind. 
They hear a voice in every wind, 

And snatch a foarfid joy. 

Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, 
Less pleasing when possest; 



THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. 



149 



The tear forgot as soon as shed, 

The sunshine of the breast : 
Their buxom health, of rosy hue, 
"Wild wit, invention ever new, 

And lively cheer, of vigor born ; 
The thoughtless day, the easy night, 
The spirits pure, the slumbers light. 

That fly the approach of morn. 

Alas ! regardless of their doom, 

The little victims play ! 
No sense have they of ills to come. 

Nor care beyond to-day ; 
Yet see, how aU around them wait 
The ministers of human fate. 

And black misfortune's baleful train ! 
Ah, show them where in ambush stand. 
To seize their prey, the murderous band! 

Ah, tell them, they are men I 

These shall the fury passions tear. 

The vultures of the mind. 
Disdainful anger, pallid fear. 
And shame that skulks behind ; 

Or pining love shall waste their youth. 
Or jealousy, with rankling tooth. 

That inly gnaws the secret heart ; 
And envy wan, and faded care, 
Grim-visaged, comfortless despair. 

And sorrow's piercing dart. 

Ambition this shall tempt to rise. 

Then whirl the wretch from high, 
To bitter scorn a sacrifice. 

And grinning infamy ; 
The stings of falsehood those shall try. 
And hard unkindness' altered eye. 

That mocks the tears it forced to flow ; 
And keen remorse, with blood defiled. 
And moody madness, laughing wild 

Amid severest woe. 

Lo ! in the vale of years beneath 

A grisly troop are seen, 
The painful family of death, 

More hideous than their queen ; 
This racks the joints, this fires the veins. 
That every laboring sinew strains. 

Those in the deeper vitals rage : 
Lo! poverty, to fill the band, 



Tliat numbs the soul with icy hand. 
And slow-consuming age. 

To each his sufferings : all are men, 

Condemned alike to groan ; 
The tender for another's pain. 

The unfeeling for his own. 
Yet, ah ! why should they know their fate ? 
Since sorrow never comes too late. 

And happiness too swiftly flics. 

Thought would destroy their paradise. 

No more : — where ignorance is bliss, 

'T is foUy to be wise ! 

Thomas Gray. 



THE CHILDREN IN TEE WOOD. 

Now ponder well, you parents dear, 

The words which I shall write ; 
A doleful story you shall hear. 

In time brought forth to light : 
A gentleman, of good account, 

In Norfolk lived of late. 
Whose wealth and riches did surmount 

Most men of his estate. 

Sore sick he was, and like to die. 

No help then he could have ; 
His wife by him as sick did lie, 

And both possessed one grave. 
No love between these two was lost. 

Each was to other kind ; 
In love they lived, in love they died, 

And left two babes behind : 

The one a fine and pretty boy, 

Not passing three years old ; 
Tlie other a girl, more young than he, 

And made in beauty's mould. 
The father left his little son. 

As plainly doth appear, 
When he to perfect age should come, 

Three hundred pounds a year — 

And to his little daughter Jane 

Five hundred pounds in gold, 
To be paid down on marriage-day. 

Which might not be controlled ; 
But if the children chanced to die 

Ere they to age should come. 
Their uncle should possess their wealth, 

For so the will did run. 



150 POEMS OF ( 


CHILDHOOD. 


"Now, brother," said tlio (lying man, 


Away then went these pretty babes, 


"Look to my cHUlren dear; 


Eejoicmg at that tide. 


Bo good unto my boy and girl. 


Rejoicing with a merry mind, 


No friends else I have Iiere ; 


They should on cock-horse ride ; 


To God and you I do commend 


They prate and jirattlc pleasantly, 


My children, night and day ; 


As they rode on the way, 


But little -while, be sure, we have, 


To those that should their butchers be, 


Within this world to stay. 


And work their lives' decay, 


" You must be father and mother both. 


So tliat the pretty speech they had, 


And uncle, all in one ; 


JIade Murder's heart relent ; 


God knows what will become of them 


And they that undertook the deed 


When I am dead and gone." 


Full sore they did repent. 


■With that bespake their mother dear, 


Yet one of them, more hard of heart, 


"0 brother kind," quoth she, 


Did vow to do his charge, 


"You are the man must bring our babes 


Because the wretch that liired him 


To wealth or misery. 


Had paid him very large. 


" And if you keep them carefidly, 


The other would not agree thereto, 


Then God will you reward ; 


So here they fell at strife; 


If otherwise you seem to deal, 


With one another they did fight. 


God will your deeds regard." 


Aliout the children's hfo ; 


Witli lips as cold as any stone. 


And he that was of mildest mood, 


She kissed her children small : 


Did slay the other there. 


"God Idcss you both, my children dear," 


Within an unfrequented wood ; 


AVith that the tears did fall. 


While babes did quake for foar. 


These speeches then their brother spake 


He took the children by the hand 


To this sick couple there : 


When tears stood in their eye. 


" The keeping of your children dear, 


And bade them come and go with him. 


Sweet sister, do not fear ; 


And look they did not cry ; 


God never prosper me nor mine, 


And two long miles he led them on. 


Nor aught else that I have, 


While they for food complain : 


If I do wrong your children dear, 


"Stay here," quoth he, "I'll bring you bread, 


When you are laid in grave." 


When I do come again." 


Their parents being dead and gone, 


These pretty b.abes, with hand in hand. 


The children home he takes, 


Went wandering up and down. 


And brings them homo \into his house, 


But never more they saw the man, 


And much of them he makes. 


Approaching from the town. 


He had not kept those pretty babes 


Their pretty lips, with black-berries. 


A twelvemonth and a day, 


Were all besmenred.and dyed. 


But, for their wealth, he did devise 


And, when they saw the darksome night. 


To make them both away. 


They sate them down and cried. 


He bargained with two ruffians strong, 


Thus wandered these two pretty babes. 


Which were of fiu'ious mood. 


Till death did end their grief; 


That they should take tliese children yoimg, 


In one another's arms they died, 


And slay them in a wood. 


As babes wanting relief. 


He told his wife, and all he had. 


No burial those pretty babes 


Ho did the children send 


Of any man receives, 


To be brought up in fair London, 


Till robin redbreast, painfuUy, 


With one that was his friend. 


Did cover them with leaves. 



LADY ANN BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. 



151 



And now the licavy wrath of God 

Upon their undo fell ; 
Yen, fearful fiends did haunt his house, 

His conscience felt an hell. 
Ills barns were fired, his goods consumed, 

Ilis lands were barren made ; 
His cattle died within the field. 

And nothing with him stayed. 

And, in the voyage of Portugal, 

Two of his sons did die ; 
And, to conclude, himself was brought 

To extreme misery. 
He pawned and mortgaged all his land 

Ere seven yeai's came about ; 
And now, at length, this wicked act 

Did by this means come out : 

Tlie fellow that did take in hand 

These children for to kill, 
Was for a robber judged to die. 

As was God's blessed will ; 
Who did confess the very truth. 

The which is here expressed; 
Their uncle died while he, for debt. 

In prison long did rest. 

Yuu that executors be made. 

And overseers eke ; 
Of children that be ftitherless, 

And infants mild and meek. 
Take you example by this thing, 

And yield to each his right, 

Lest God, with such like misery, 

Your wicked minds requite. 

Anonymous. 



LADY ANN BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. 

A SCOTTISH BONG. 

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe ! 
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe ; 
If thou 'st be silent, I 'se be glad, 
Thy maining maks my heart fid sad. 
Balow, my boy, thy mither's joy ! 
Thy father breides me great annoy. 

Balow, my lobe, ly stil and sleipe ! 

It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. 

Wlien ho began to court my luve. 
And with his sugred words to muve, 



His faynings fids, and flattering cheire, 
To me tliat time did not appeire : 
But now I see, most cruell hec. 
Cares neither for my babe nor mee. 

JDaloio, my babe, ly stil and sleipe! 

It grieves me sair to see tliee weipe. 

Ly stil, my darlinge, sleipe awliile. 
And when thou wakest swcitly smile: 
But smile not, as thy fatlicr did. 
To cozen maids ; nay, God forbid ! 
But yette I feire, thou wilt gae neire. 
Thy fatheris hart and face to beiro. 

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe ! 

It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. 

I cannae chuse, but ever will 
Be luving to thy father stil : 
Whair-eir he gae, whair-eir ho ryde. 
My luve with him maun stil abyde : 
In well or wae, whair-eir ho gae, 
Mine hart can neir depart him frae. 

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe ! 

It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. 

But doe not, doe not, prettie mine. 

To faynings fals thine hart incline; 

Be loyal to thy luver trew, 

And nevir change hir for a new ; 

If gude or faire, of hir have care. 

For women's banning 's wonderous sair. 

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe/ 
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. 

Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane. 

Thy winsome smiles maun else my paine ; 

My babe and I '11 together live. 

He '11 comfort me when cares doe grieve ; 

My babe and I right saft will ly, 

And quite forget man's cruelty. 

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe! 

It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. 

Fareweil, farewell, thou falsest youth 
That ever kist a woman's mouth ! 
I wish all maids bo warned by mee, 
Nevir to ti-ast man's curtesy ; 
For if we doo but chance to bow. 
They '11 use us than they care not how. 

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe! 

It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. 

ANONYMOCe. 



152 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



DANAE. 

Whilst, around lier lone ark sweeping, 

Wailed the winds and waters wild, 
Her young cheeks all wau with weeping, 

Daniie clasped her sleeping child ; 
And " Alas," (cried she,) " my dearest. 

What deep wrongs, what woes, are mine ! 
But nor wrongs nor woes thou fearest, 

In that sinless rest of thine. 
Faint the moonbeams break above thee, 

And, within here, all is gloom ; 
But fast wrapt in arms that love thee. 

Little reck'st thou of our doom. 
Not the rude spray round thee flying. 

Has e'en damped tliy clustering hair, — 
On thy purple mantlet lying, 

O mine Innocent, my Fair ! 
Yet, to thee were sorrow sorrow, 

Thou would'st lend thy little ear. 
And this heart of thine might borrow 

Haply yet a moment's cheer. 
But no ; slumber on, Babe, slumber ; 

Slumber, Ocean-waves ; and you, 
My dark troubles, without number, — 

Oil, that ye would slumber too ! 
Though with wrongs they 've brimmed my 
chalice. 

Grant Jove, that, in future years, 
This boy may defeat their malice. 

And avenge his mother's tears !" 

SiMONiDES. (Greok.) 
Translation of William Peteb. 



BOYHOOD. 

Ah, then how sweetly closed those crowded 

days ! 
The minutes parting one by one like rays, 
That fade upon a summer's eve. 
But oh ! what charm, or magic numbers 
Can give me back the gentle slumbers 
Those weary, happy days did leave ? 
When by my bed I saw my mother kneel. 
And with her blessing took her nightly kiss ; 
Whatever Time destroys, be cannot this — ■ 
E'en now that nameless kiss I feel. 

WASniNGTO.V Allston. 



HER EYES AEE WILD. 



Her eyes are wild, her head is bare. 

The sun has burnt her coal-black hair ; 

Her eyebrows have a rusty stain. 

And she came far from over the main. 

She had a baby on her arm. 

Or else she were alone ; 

And underneath the hay-stack v.-arm. 

And on the greenwood stone. 

She talked and sung the woods among, 

And it was in the English tongue. 



" Sweet babe ! they say that I am mad ; 

But nay, my heart is far too glad ; 

And I am happy when I sing 

Full many a sad and doleful thing. 

Then, lovely baby, do not fear ! 

I pray thee have no fear of me ; 

But safe as in a cradle, here. 

My lovely baby ! thou shalt be. 

To thee I know too much I owe ; 

I cannot work thee any woe. 



" A fire was once within my brain, 
And in my head a dull, dull pain ; 
And fiendish faces, one, two, three. 
Hung at my breast, and pulled at me. 
But then there came a sight of joy ; 
It came at once to do mo good : 
I waked, and saw my little boy. 
My little boy of flesh and blood ; 
Oh joy for me that sight to see ! 
For he was here, and only he. 



" Suck, little babe, oh suck again ! 
It cools my blood ; it cools my brain ; 
Thy lips, I feel them, baby ! they 
Draw from my heart the pain away. 
Oh press me with thy little hand ! 
It loosens something at my chest ; 
About that tight and deadly band 
I feel thy little fingers prest. 
The breeze I see is in the tree — 
It comes to cool my babe and me. 



THE ADOPTED CHILD. 



153 



"Oh love me, love mo, little boy ! 
Thou art thy mother's only joy ; 
And do not dread the waves below, 
When o'er the sea-rock's edge we go ; 
The high crag cannot work me harm, 
Nor leaping torrents when they howl ; 
The babe I carry on my arm, 
He saves for me my precious soul ; 
Then happy lie ; for blest am I ; 
Without me my sweet babe would die. 



" Then do not fear, my boy 1 for thee 

Bold as a lion will I be ; 

And I will always bo thy guide, 

Through hollow snows and rivers wide. 

I '11 build an Indian bower ; I know 

The leaves that make the softest bed ; 

And, if from me thou wilt not go. 

But still be true till I am dead. 

My pretty thing I then thou shalt sing 

As merry as the birds in Spring. 

VII. 

"Thy father cares not for my breast, 
'T is thine, swoot baby, there to rest ; 
'T is all thine own ! — and if its hue 
Be changed, that was so fair to view, 
'T is fair enough for thee, my dove ! 
My beauty, littlo child, is flown, 
But thou wilt live with me in love ; 
And wliat if my poor cheek be brown ? 
'T is well for mo thou canst not see 
How pale and wan it else would be. 

TUI. 

"Dread not their taunts, my littlo Life ; 
I am thy father's wedded wife ; 
And underneath the spreading tree 
We two will live in honesty. 
If his sweet boy he could forsake. 
With me he never would have stayed. 
From him no hann my babo can take ; 
But ho, poor man, is wretched made; 
And every day we two will pray 
For him that 's gone and far away. 



" I 'II teach my boy the sweetest things : 
I '11 teach him how the owlet sings. 
My little babe ! thy lips are still, 
And thou hast almost sucked thy fill. 
— Where art thou gone, my own dear child 
What wicked looks are those I see ? 
Alas ! alas ! that look so wild. 
It never, never came from me. 
If thou art mad, my pretty lad. 
Then I must bo for ever sad. 



" Oh smile on me, my Uttio lamb ! 
For I thy own dear mother am. 
My love for thee has well been tried .• 
I 've sought thy father far and wide. 
I know the poisons of tho shade ; 
I know tho earth-nuts fit for food. 
Then, pretty dear, bo not afraid ; 
We '11 find thy father in the wood. 
Now laugh and be gay, to the woods away I 
And there, my babe, we'll live for aye." 
"William WoRDawoExn. 



THE ADOPTED CHILD. 

"Why would'st thou leave mo, oh gentlo 

child? 
Thy home on tho mountain is bleak and wild — 
A straw -roofed cabin, with lowly wall ; 
Mine is a fair and pillared hall. 
Where many an image of marble gleams. 
And the sunshine of pictures for ever streams.' 

" Oh ! green is the turf where my brothers 

play, 

Thi'ough the long bright hours of the siim 

mer's day ; 
They find the red cup-moss where they climb. 
And they chase the bee o'er the scented 

thyme, 
And tho rocks where the heath-flower blooms 

they know; 
Lady, kind lady ! oh let me go." 

" Content theo, boy ! in my bower to dwell ; 
Here are sweet sounds which thou lovesl 
well: 



154 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



Flutes on the air in the stilly noon, 
Harps which the wandering breezes tune, 
And the silvery wood-uoto of many a bird 
Whose voice was ne'er in thy mountain 
heard." 

'■ Oh ! my mother sings at the twilight's fall, 
A soug of the hills far more sweet than all ; 
She sings it under our own green tree 
To the babo half slumbering on her knee ; 
I dreamt last night of that music low — 
Lady, kind lady ! oh, let me go." 

" Thy mother is gone from her cares to rest ; 
She hath taken the babe on her quiet breast; 
Thou would'st meet her footstep, my boy, no 

more, 
Nor heai her song at the cabin door. 
Come thou with me to the vineyards nigh, 
And we'll pluck the grapes of the richest 

dye." 

" Is my mother gone from her home away? — 
l!ut I know that my brothers are tliere at 

play— 
I know they are gathering the fox-glove's 

bell, 
Or the long fern leaves by the sparkling well ; 
Or they launch their boats where the bright 

streams flow — 
Lady, kind lady! oh, let me go." 

" Fair child, thy brothers are wanderers now; 
They sport no more on the mountain's brow; 
They have left the fern by the spring's green 

side. 
And the streams where the fairy barks were 

tied. 
Be thou at peace in thy brighter lot. 
For the cabin home is a lonely spot." 

'■ Are they gone, all gone from the sunny 

hill ?— 
But the bird and the blue-fly rove o'er it still; 
And the red-doer bound in their gladness free. 
And the heath is bent by the singing bee, 
A.nd the waters leap, and the fresh winds blow; 
Lady, kind lady! oh; let me go." 

FELiriA nOROTKBX IIeMANS. 



LUCY GEAY; 

OE, SOLITUDE. 

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray ; 

And, when I crossed the wild, 
I chanced to see, at break of day 

The solitary child. 

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew ; 

She dwelt on a wide moor, — ■ 
The sweetest thing that ever gi'ew 

Beside a human door. 

You yet may spy the fawn at play, 

The hare upon the green ; 
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray 

■Will never more be seen. 

"To-night wiU be a stormy night, — 

You to the town must go ; 
And take a lantern. Child, to light 

Your mother through the snow." 

" That, Father 1 will I gladly do ; 

'T is scarcely afternoon, — 
The minster-clock has just struck two, 

And yonder is the moon. " 

At tills the father raised his hook. 

And snapped a faggot-band. 
He plied his work ; — and Lucy took 

The lantern in her hand. 

Not blither is the mountain roe — 

With many a wanton stroke 
Her feet disperse the powdery snow 

That rises up like smoke. 

The storm came on before its time ; 

She wandered up and down ; 
And many a hill did Lucy climl), 

But never reached the town. 

The wretched parents all that night 
Went shouting far and wide ; 

But there was neither sound nor sight 
To serve them for a guide. 

At daybreak on the hill they stood 

That overlooked the moor ; 
And thence they saw the bridge of wood, 

A furlong from their door. 



THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. 



155 



They wept, — and, turning lioineward, crieil, 
" In heaven we all shall meet ; " — 

Wheu in the snow the mother spied 
The print of Lucy's feet. 

Then downwards from the steep liill's edge 
They tracl<ed tlie footmarks small ; 

An<l tlirough the hrokon hawthorn-hedge, 
And by the low stone-wull ; 

And then an open field they crossed — 
The marks were still the same — 

They tracked them on, nor over lost ; 
And to the bridge they carao. 

They followed from the snowy bank 

Those footmarks, one by one, 
Into tlie middle of the jilank ; 

And further tliere were none ! 



— Yet some maintain that to this day 

■She is a living child ; 
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray 

Upon the lonesome wild. 

O'er rough and smooth she trips along, 

And never looks behind ; 
And sings a solitary song 

That whistles in the wind. 

"WlLLTAM WOEDSWORTU. 



Then fling them to the winds, and o'er tlio 

lawn 

Bound with so playful and so light a foot, 

Tliat the pressed daisy scarce declined her 

head. 

CuABLES Lamb. 



OmLDHOOD. 

In my poor mind it is most sweet to muse 
Upon tlio days gone by ; to act in thouglit 
Past seasons o'er, and be again a child ; 
To sit in fancy on the turf-clad .slope 
Down wliich the child would roll; to pluck 

gay flowers, 
Make posies in the sun, which the child's 

hand 
(Childhood ofibndod soon, soon reconciled) 
Would throw away, and straight take up 

again, 



TUE OUILDREN'S HOUE. 

Betwf.rx the dark and the daylight, 
When night is beginning to lower. 

Comes a pause in the day's occupations. 
That is known as the children's hour. 



I hear in the chamber above mo 

The patter of little feet, 
The sound of a door that is opened, 

And voices soft and sweet. 



From my study I see in the lamplight, 
Descending tlio broad liall stair, 

Grave Alice and laughing Allegra, 
And Edith with golden hair. 



A whisper and then a silence : 
Yet I know by their merry eyes 

They are jjlotting and planning together 
To take me by surprise. 



A sudden rush from the stairway, 
A sudden r.iid from the hall, 

By three doors left unguarded. 
They enter my castle wall. 



Tliey climb up into my turret. 

O'er the arms and back of my chair ; 

If I try to escape, they surround me; 
They Beem to be everywhere. 



They almost devour mo with kisses, 
Their arms .about mo entwine. 

Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen 
In his Mouse-Tower on the Ehine. 



150 



POEMS OF CniLDnOOD. 



Do you tliink, oh bliio-eyoJ liaiulitti, 
Bociiuse you litivo scaled the wiiU, 

Sucli (III old iiioustacho ns I am 
Is not ii match I'or you all ? 

I have you fast in my fortress, 

And will not let you depart, 
But put you iuto the duug'con 

III the roimd-tower of my hejixt. 

And there -will I keep you forever, 

Yes, forever and a day, 
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, 

And moulder in dust away. 

HeSBT WAUSWOKia LONOrilI.LOW. 



UNDER MY WINDOW. 

Uniiei: my window, under my wiudow. 
All in the Jliilsununer weather. 

Three little girls with tluttering curls 
I'"lit to and fro tog:ether : — 

There's Hell with her bonnet of satin sheen. 

And Maud with her mantle of silver-green, 
And Kate with her scarlet feather. 

Under my window, under my window. 

Leaning stealthily over. 
Merry and clear, the voice I hear. 

Of each glad-hearted rover. 
Ah! sly little Kate, she steals my roses; 
And l\Iaud and Bell twine wreaths aiul posies. 

As merry as bees in clover. 



Under my window, under my window, 
la the blue Midsummer weather, 

Stoahng slow, on a hushed tip-toe, 
I catch them all together: — 

Bell with her bonnet of satin sheen, 

And Maud with her mantle of silver-green. 
And Kate with the scarlet feather. 

Under my wuidow, under my window, 
And off through the orchard closes; 



While Maud she flouts, and Bell she pouts, 

They scamper aiul drop their posies ; 
But dear little Kate takes nought aiuiss, 
And leaps in my arms with a loving kiss, 
And I give her all my roses. 

T. WEs-npooo. 



I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. 

I EEMEMBEH, I remember 
The bouse where I was born. 
The little window where the sun 
Came jieeping in at nuirn ; 
He never camo a wink too soon, 
Nor brought too long a day ; 
But now, I often wished the night 
riad borne ray breath away! 

I remember, I remember 
The roses, red and white, 
The violets, and the lily-cups — 
Those flowers made of light! 
The lilacs where the robin built, 
And where my brother set 
The laburnum on his birth-day, — 
The tree is living yet ! 

I remember, I remember 

Wliere I was used to swing, 

And thought the air nmst rush as fresh 

To swallows on the wing; 

My spirit tiew in feathers then, 

That is so heavy now. 

And summer pools could hardly cool 

The fever on my brow I 



I remember, I remember 

The lir-trees dark and high ; 

I used to think their slcuder tops 

Were close against the sky. 

It was a childish ignorance, 

But now 't is little joy 

To know I 'm farther otV from Heaven 

Thau when I was a boy. 

TnOMAS IIOOB. 



WE AUE 


SEVEN. 157 




"Tlieir graves are green, they may be seen," 


WK AKK SEVEN. 


Tlie little maid replied : 
" Twelve steps or more from my mother's door. 


A MMPLE eliild, 


And they are side by side. 


'I'liiit lif^htly (Irawa its breath, 




Anil forls its lil'f in overy limb, 
Wliat siiould it know ot'iloiitli? 


" My stockings there I often knit, 
My kerchief there I hem ; 


I mot a little cottage girl : 


And there upon tlie ground I sit, 
And sing a song to them. 


Who was eiglit years old, she said. 




Her hair was thick with many a curl 
That clustered round her liead. 


" And often after sunset, sir, 
When it is light and fair. 


She bad a rustic, woodland air. 
And she was wildly clad ; 


I take my little porringer. 
And eat my supper there. 


Her eyes were fair, and very fair ; — 




Ilcr beauty made me glad. 


"The first thiit died was .sister Jane; 




In bed she moaning lay. 


" Sisters and brothers, little maid, 


Till God released her of her pain; 


How many may you be?" 


And tlien she went away. 


" How many? Seven in all," she said, 




And wondorint; looked at mo. 


" So in the chiu'chyard she was laid ; 


" And where are they ? I i>ray you tell." 

She answered : " Seven are we ; 
And two of us at Conway dwell. 


And, when the grass was dry. 
Together round her grave wo played. 
My brotljcr Joljn iind I. 


And two are gone to sea. 






" And wlicn the ground was white with snow, 


"Two of us in the churchyard lie. 


And F could run and slide. 


My sister anil my brotlier; 


My brother John was forced to go. 


And, in the churcliyard cottage, I 


And ho lies liy lier side." 


Dwell near them with my mother." 




"You say that two at Conway dwell. 

And two are gone to sea. 
Yet yo are seven ! I pray you tell. 

Sweet maid, how this may lie." 


" How many are you, then," said I, 
" If they two are in heaven ? " 

(2uick was the littlo maid's reply : 
" Master ! wo aro seven." 


Then did the little maid reply: 
"Seven boys and girls are we; 

Two of us in the churchyard lie, 
P.eneatli the churchyard tree." 


"But they are dead; those two are dead! 

Their spirits are in heaven! " — 
'T was tlirowing words away; for still 
The little maid would have her will. 

And said : " Nay, we aro seven! " 


" You run about, my little maid ; 


■Wii.uAu WonDOWonTir. 


Your limbs they are alive; 
If two are in the churchyard laid, 






Then ye are only five." 





158 POEMS OF 


CHILDHOOD. 




And to hear the rattling trumpet 


ANNIE IN THE GRAVEYAKD. 


Thunder: " Cut away the mast ! " 


SiLE bounded o'er the graves, 
With a buoyant step of mirth ; 
She bounded o'er the graves, 
Where the weeping willow waves. 
Like a creature not of earth. 




So we shuddered there in silence, — 
For the stoutest held his breath. 
While the hungry sea was roaring. 
And the breakers talked with Death. 


Iler hair was blown aside, 


As thus we sat in darkness, 


And her eyes were glittering bright ; 


Each one bu.sy in his prayers, 


Her hair was blown aside. 


" We are lost! " the captain shouted 


And her little hands spread wide, 


As he staggered down the stairs. 


With an innocent delight. 






But his little daughter whispered. 


She spelt the lettered word 


As she took his icy hand: 


That registers the dead ; 


" Is n't God upon the ocean' 


She spelt the lettered word, 


Just the same as on the land ? " 


And her busy thoughts were stirred 




With pleasure as she read. 


Then we kissed the little maiden. 




And we spoke in better cheer, 


She stopped and culled a leaf 


And we anchored safe in harbor 


Left fluttering on a rose ; 


When the morn was shining clear. 


She stopped and culled a leaf. 


James T. Fields. 


Sweet monument of grief, 
That in our churchyard grows. 








LITTLE BELL. 


She cuUed it with a smile — 




'T was near her sister's mound : 


IIo prayeth well, who loveth well 


She culled it with a smile, 


Both man and bird and beast. 


And played with it awhile. 


Ancient Mabiner. 


Then scattered it around. 


Piped the blackbird on the beechwood spray : 




" Pretty maid, slow wandering this way, 


I did not chill her heart. 


What 's your name ? " quoth he — 


Nor turn its gush to tears ; 


" What's your name? Oh stop and straight 


I did not chill her heart. 


unfold, 


Oh, bitter drops will start 


Pretty maid with showery curls of gold," — 


Full soon in coming years. 


"Little Bell," said she. 


Cauoline Oilman. 






Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks — 
Tossed aside her gleaming golden locks — 




BALLAD OF THE TEMPEST. 


" Bonny bu-d," quoth she, 




" Sing me your best song before I go." 


We were crowded in the cabin. 


"Here 's the very finest song I know. 


Not a soul would dare to sleep, — 


Little Bell," said he. 


It was midnight on the waters 




And a storm was on the deep. 


And the blackbird piped ; you never heard 




Half so gay a song from any bu-d — 


'T is a fearful thing in Winter 


Full of quips and wiles. 


To be shattered by the blast, 


Now so round and rich, now soft and slow, 



THE LITTLE BLACK BOY. 



159 



All for love of that sweet face below, 
Dimpled o'er with smiles. 

Ami the while the bonny bird did pour 
His full heart out ft'eely o'er and o'er 

'Neath the morning skies, 
In the little childish heart below 
All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, 
And shine forth in happy overflow 

From the blue, bright eyes. 

Down the dell she tripped and through the 

glade. 
Peeped the squirrel from the hazel shade, 

And from out the tree 
Swung, and leaped, and frolicked, void of 

fear, — 
WhUe bold blackbird piped that all might 
hear — 
" Little Bell," piped he. 

Little Bell sat down amid the fern — 
" Squirrel, squirrel to your task return- 
Bring me nuts," quoth she. 
Up, away the frisky squirrel hies — 
Golden wood-lights glancing in his eyes — 

Aid adown the tree. 
Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun. 
In the little lap, dropped one by one — 
Hark, how blackbird pipes to see the fun ! 
" Happy Bell," pipes he. 

Little Bell looked up and down the glade — 
" Squirrel, squirrel, if you 're not afraid. 

Come and share with me ! " 
Down came squirrel eager for his fare — 
Down came bonny blackbu-d I declare ; 
Little Bell gave each his honest share — 

Ah the merry three ! 
And the while these frolic playmates twain 
Piped and frisked from bough to bough 
again, 

'Neath the morning skies. 
In the little childish heart below 
All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow. 
And shine out in happy overflow, 

From her blue, bright eyes. 

By her snow-white cot at close of day. 
Knelt sweet Bell, with folded palms to pray — 



Very calm and clear 
Rose the praying voice to where, unseen, 
In blue heaven, an angel shape serene 

Paused awhile to hear — 
" What good child is this," the angel said, 
" That with happy heart, beside her bed 

Prays so lovingly ? " 
Low and soft, oh ! very low and soft. 
Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft, 

"Bell, dear BeU ! " crooned he. 

" Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair 
Murmured, " God doth bless with angels' 
care; 
Child, thy bed shall be 
Folded Safe from harm — Love deep and kind. 
Shall watch around and leave good gifts be- 
hind, 

Little BeU, for thee!" 

T. Westwood. 



THE LITTLE BLACK BOY. 

My mother bore me in the southern wild, 
And I am black; but, oh, my soul is white! 
White as an angel is the English child, 
But I am black, as if bereaved of light. 

My mother taught me underneath a tree ; 
And, sitting down before the heat of day. 
She took me on_her lap, and kissed me, 
And, pointing to the east, began to say : 

" Look on the rising sun ; there God does 

live. 
And gives his light, and gives Ms heat away ; 
And flowers, and trees, and beasts, and men, 

receive 
Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday. 



" And we are put on earth a little space, 
That we may learn to bear the beams of love. 
And these black bodies and this sunburnt 

face 
Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove. 



160 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



" For ■n-hen our souls have learned the heat 
to bear, 

The clouds ■will vanish ; we shall hear His 
voice, 

Saying : ' Come from the grove, my love and 
care, 

And round my golden tent like lambs re- 
joice.' " 

Thus did my mother say, and kissed me. 

And thus I say to little English boy : 

'U'hen I from black, and he fi-om white cloud 

free, 
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy, 

I 'D shade him from the heat, till ho can bear 
To lean in joy upon our Father's knee ; 
And then I '11 stand and stroke his sUver hair, 
And be like him, and he will then love me. 
WiLLiAii Blake. 



A CHILD PEATINa 

Fold thy little hands in prayer, 

Bow down at thy mother's knee, 
Now thy sunny face is fair, 
Shuiing through thine auburn hair ; 

Tliine eyes are passion-free ; 
jVud pleasant thoughts, like garlands, bind thee 
Unto thy home, yet grief may find thee — 
Then pray, child, pray ! 

Sow, thy young heart, like a bird, 

Warbles in its summer nest; 
No evil thought, no unkind word, 
Ko chilling autumn winds have stirred 

The beauty of thy rest ; 
But winter hastens, and decay 
Shall waste thy verdant home away — 
Then pray, chUd, pray! 

Thy bosom is a house of glee, 

"With gladness harping at the door ; 
While ever, with a joyous shout, 
Hope, the May queen, dances out, 

Her lips with music running o'er; 
But Time those strings of joy will sever. 
And hope wUl not dance on for ever — 
Then pray, child, pray ! 



Kow, thy mother's arm is spread 

Beneatli thy pillow in the night ; 
And loving feet creep round thy bed, 
And o'er thy quiet fiice is shed 
The taper's darkened light ; 
But that fond arm will pass away, 
By thee no more those feet will stay — 
Then pray, child, pray ! 

Robert Abi3 WrLLMOTT. 



TO A CHILD. 

Thy memory, as a spell 

Of love, comes o'er my mind — 
As dew upon the purple bell — 

As perfume on the wind ; — 
As music on the sea — 

As sunshine on the river ; — 
So liath it always been to me, 

So shall it be for ever. 

I hear thy voice in dreams 

Upon me softly call, 
Like echoes of the mountain streams. 

In sportive waterfall. 
I see thy form as when 

Tliou wert a living thing. 
And blossomed in the eyes of men, 

Like any flower of spring. 

Thy soul to heaven hath fled. 

From eai'thly thraldom free; 
Yet, 't is not as the dead 

That thou appear'st to me. 
In shmiber I behold 

Thy form, as when on earth, 
Thy locks of waving gold. 

Thy sapphire eye of mirth. 

I hear, in solitude, 

The prattle kind and free 
Thou uttered'st in joyful mood 

While seated on my knee. 
So strong each vision seems 

My spirit that doth fill, 
I think not they are dreams, 

But that thou livest stiU. 

Anonthofs. 



LUCY. 



161 



LTJOY. 

She dwelt among the untrodden ways 

Beside the springs of Dove, 
A maid wliom there were none to praise, 

And very few to love : 

A violet hy a mossy stone 
Half hidden from the eye ! 
-Fair as a star, wlien only one 
Is shining in the sky. 

She lived unknown, and few could know 

When Lucy ceased to be ; 
But she is in her grave, and, oh ! 

The difterence to me ! 



Thhee years she grew in sun and shower ; 
Then Nature said : " A lovelier flower 
On earth was never sown ; 
This child I to myself will take ; 
She shaU be mine, and I will make 
A lady of my own. 

" Myself will to my darling be 

Both law and impulse ; and with me 

The girl, in rock and plain. 

In earth and heaven, in glade and bower. 

Shall feel an overseeing power. 

To kindle or restrain. 

" She shall be sportive as the fawn 
That wild with gloo across the lawn 
Or up the mountain springs ; 
And hers shall be the breathing balm, 
And hers the silence and the calm 
Of mute insensate things. 

" The floating clouds their state shaU- lend 
To her ; for her the willow bend : 
Nor shall she fail to see, 
Even in the motions of the storm, 
Grace that sliall mould the maiden's form 
By silent sympathy. 

" The stars of midnight shall be dear 
To her ; and she shall lean her ear 
In many a secret place 
12 



. Where rivulets dance their wayward round 
And beauty born of mm-muring sound 
Shall pass into her face. 

" And vital feelings of delight 
Shall rear her form to stately height. 
Her virgin bosom swell ; 
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give 
While she and I together hve 
Here in this happy dell." 

Thus Nature spake. — The work was done — 

How soon my Lucy's race was run ! 

She died, and left to me 

This heath, this calm, and quiet scene ; 

The memory of what has been. 

And never more will be. 

William Wordsworth' 



ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. \^ 

A uosT of angels flying. 

Through cloudless skies impelled, 

Upon the earth beheld 
A pearl of beauty lying, 

Worthy to glitter bright 

In heaven's vast hall of light. 

They saw with glances tender. 
An infant newly born. 
O'er whom life's earliest morn 

Just cast its opening splendor ; 
Virtue it could not know, 
Nor ■sice, nor joy, nor woe. 

The blest angelic legion 

Greeted its bu-th above. 

And came, with looks of love, 
From heaven's enchanting region ; 

Bending their winged way 

To where the infant lay. 

They spread their pinions o'er it, — 
That little pearl which shone 
With lustre all its own, — 
And then on high they bore it. 
Where glory has its birth ; — 
But left the shell on earth. 

DmE SuiTB. (Dutch.) 
Translation of H. S. Tan Dtk. 



162 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



MY PLAYMATES. 

I ONCE had a sister, oh fan- 'mid tlie fair ! 
With a face tliat looked out from its soft 

golden hair, 
Like a lily some tall stately angel may hold, 
[lalf revealed, half concealed in a mist of 

pure gold. 
I once had a brother, more dear than the 

day, 
AVith a temper as sweet as the blossoms in 

May; 
With dark hair like a cloud, and a face like 

a rose, 
The red child of the wild ! when the sum- 
mer-wind blows. 
We lived in a cottage that stood in a dell ; 
Were we born there or brought there I never 

could tell ; 
Were we nursed by the angels, or clothed by 

the fays. 
Or, who led when we fled down the deep 

sylvan ways, 
'Mid treasures of gold and of silver ! 

Wlien we rose in fhe morning we ever said 

" Hark 1 " 
We shall hear, if we list, the first word of the 

lark ; 
And we stood with our faces, calm, silent, 

and bright, 
While the breeze in the ti-ees held his breath 

■with delight. 
Oh the stream ran with music, the leaves dript 

with dew. 
And we looked up and saw the great God in 

the blue ; 
And we praised him and blessed him, but 

said not a word. 
For we soared, we adored, with that magical 

bird. 
Then with hand linked in hand, how we 

laughed, how we sung ! 
I low we danced in a ring, when the morn- 
ing was young ! 
ILjw we wandered where kingcups were 

crusted with gold. 
Or more white than the light glittered daisies 

untold. 

Those treasures of gold and of silver ! 



Oh well I remember the flowers that we found, 
With the red and white blossoms that dam- 
asked the ground ; 
And the long lane of light, that, half yellow, 

half green. 
Seemed to fade down the glade where the 

young fairy queen 
Would sit with her fairies around her and 

sing, 
While we listened all car, to that song of the 

Spring. 
Oh well I remember the lights in the west. 
And the spire, where the fire of the sun 

seemed to rest. 
When the earth, crimson-shadowed, laughed 

out in the air, — 
Ah! I'll never believe but the fairies were 

there ; 
Such a feeling of loving and longing was ours. 
And we saw, with glad awe, little hands in 

the flowers. 
Drop treasures of gold and of silver. 

Oh weep ye and wail ! for that sister, alas ! 
And that fair gentle brother lie low in the 

grass ; 
Perchance the red robins may strew them 

with leaves. 
That each moi-n, for white corn, would come 

down from the eaves ; 
Perchance of their dust the young violets are 

made, 
That bloom by the church that is hid in the 

glade ; 
But one day I shall learn, if I pass where 

they grow. 
Far more sweet they will greet their old play- 
mates,! know. 
Ah ! the cottage is gone, and no longer I see 
The old glade, the old paths, and no lark 

sings for me ; 
But I still must believe that the fairies are 

there, 
That the light grows more bright, touched 

by fingers so fair, 
'Mid treasures of gold and of silver ! 

Anonymuis. 



THE MORNING-GLORY. 163 




An angel stood and met my gaze. 


THE OPEN WINDOW. 


Through the low doorway of my tent ; 




The tent is struck, the vision stays ; — 


The old house by tlie lindens 


I only know she came and went. 


Stood silent in the shade, 




And on the gravelled pathway 


Oh, when the room grows slowly dim. 


The light and shadow played. 


And when tlie oil is nearly spent. 




One gush of light these eyes will brim. 


I saw the nursery windows 


Only to think she came and went. 


Wide open to the air ; 






Jakes Eussell Luweli. 


But the faces of the cliildren, 




They were no longer there. 
The large Newfoundland house-dog 






Was standing by the door ; 


THE MORNING-GLORY. 


He looked for his little playmates, 




Who would return no more. 


We wreathed about our darling's head 


They walked not under the lindens, 


The morning-glory bright ; 
Her little face looked out beneath, 


They played not in the hall ; 


So full oflife and light. 
So lit as with a sunrise. 


Bat shadow, and silence, and sadness 


Were hanging over all. 


That we could only say. 


The birds sang in the branches. 


" She is the morning-glory true, 


With sweet familiar tone ; 


And her poor types are they." 


But the voices of the children 




Will be heard in dreams alone ! 


So always from that happy time 




We called her by their name, 


And the boy that walked beside me. 


And very fitting did it seem— 


He could not understand 


For sure as morning came. 


Why closer in mine, ah ! closer. 


Behind her cradle bars she smiled 


I pressed his warm, soft hand ! 


To catch the first faint ray. 


HrNBY Wadbwoeth Longfellow. 


As from the trellis smiles the flower 




And opens to the day. 
Bat not so beautiful they rear 




SHE CAME AND WENT. 


Their airy cups of blue. 




As turned her sweet eyes to the light. 


As a twig trembles, which a bird 


Brimmed with sleep's tender dew ; 


Lights on to sing, then leaves unbent. 


And not so close their tendrils fine 


So is my memory thrilled and stirred ; — 


Round their supports are thrown, 


I only know she came and went. 


As those dear arms whose outstretched pica 




Clasped all hearts to her own. 


As clasps some lake, by gusts unriven, 




The blue dome's measureless content. 


We used to think how she had come, 


So my soul held that moment's heaven ;— 


Even as comes the flower. 


I only know she came and went. 


The last and perfect added gift 




To crown Love's morning hour ; 


As, at one bound, our swift Spring heaps 


And how in her was imaged forth 


The orchards full of bloom and scent. 


The love we could not say. 


So clove her May my wintry sleeps ; — 


As on the little dewdrops round 


I only know she came and went. 


Shines back the heart of day. 



164 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



We never could have thought, God, 

That she must wither up. 
Almost before a day was flown, 

Like the morning-gloi-y's cup ; 
We never thought to see her droop 

Iler fair and noble head, 
Till she lay stretched before our eyes. 

Wilted, and cold, and dead! 

The morning-glory's blossoming 

Will soon bo coming round — 
We see their rows of heai't-shaped leaves 

Upspringing from the ground ; 
The tender things the winter killed 

Renew again their birth. 
But the glory of our morning 

Has passed away from earth. 

Oh, Earth ! in vain our aching eyes 

Stretch over thy green plain ! 
Too harsh thy dews, too gross thine air, 

Her spirit to sustain ; 
But up in groves of Paradise 

Full surely we shall see 
Our morning-glory beautiful 

Twine round our dear Lord's knee. 

Maria White Loweix, 



BABY'S SHOES. 

On those little, those little bltie shoes ! 

Those shoes that no little feet use. 
Oh the price were high 
That those shoes would buy, 

Those little blue unused shoes ! 

For they hold the small shape of feet 
That no more their mother's eyes meet, 

That, by God's good will. 

Years since, grew still, 
A li d ceased from their totter so sweet. 

And oh, since that baby slept. 

So hushed, how the mother has kept, 

With a tearful pleasure. 

That little dear treasure. 
And o'er them thought and wept ! 



For they mind her for evermore 
Of a patter along the floor ; 

And blue eyes she sees 

Look up from her knees 
With the look that in life they wore. 

As they lie before her there. 
There babbles from chair to chair 
A little sweet face 
That's a gleam in the place. 
With its little gold curls of hair. 

Then oh, wonder not that her heart 
From all else would rather part 
Than those tiny blue shoes 
That no little feet use. 
And whose sight makes such fond tears start ! 
■William C. Bekkett. 



THE THPwEE SONS. 

I HAVE a son, a little son, a boy just five years 

old. 
With eyes of thonghtfid earnestness, and mind 

of gentle mould. 
They tell me that unusual grace in all his 

ways appears. 
That my child is grave and wise of heart be- 
yond his childish years. 
I cannot say how this may be ; I know his 

face is fair — - 
And yet his chiefest comeliness is his sweet 

and serious air ; 
I know his heart is kind and fond; I know 

he loveth me ; 
But loveth yet his mother more with grateful 

fervency. 
But that which others most admire, is the 

thought which fills his mind, 
The food for grave inquiring speech he every 

where doth find. 
Strange questions doth he ask of me, when 

we together walk ; 
He scarcely thinks as children think, or talks 

as children talk. 
Nor cares he much for childish sports, dotes 

not on bat or ball, 
But looks on manhood's ways and works, and 

aptly mimics all. 



THE THREE SONS, IGS 


His little heart is busy still, and oftentimes 


I have a son, a third sweet son ; his age 1 


perplext 


cannot tell, 


With thoughts about this world of ours, and 


For they reckon not by years and months 


thoughts about the nest. 


where he is gone to dwell. 


He kneels at his dear mother's knee; she 


To us, for fourteen anxious months, his infant 


teacheth him to pray ; 


smiles were given ; 


And strange, and sweet, and solemn then are 


And then he bade farewell to Earth, and went 


the words which he will say. 


to live in Heaven. 


Oh, should my gentle child be spared to man- 


I cannot tell what form is his, what looks ho 


hood's years like me. 


weareth now. 


A holier and a wiser man I trust that he will 


Nor guess how bright a glory crowns his 


be; 


shining seraph brow. 


And when I look into his eyes, and stroke 


The thoughts that fill his sinless soul, the bliss 


his thoughtful brow. 


which he doth feel, 


I dare not think what I should feel, were I to 


Are numbered with the secret things which 


lose him now. 


God will not reveal. 




But I know (for God hath told mo this) that 


I have a son, a second son, a simple child of 


ho is now at rest. 


three; 


Where other blessed infants bo, on their Sa- 


I '11 not declare how bright and fair his little 


viour's loving breast. 


features be. 


I know his spirit feels no more this weary 


How silver sweet those tones of his when he 


load of flesh. 


prattles on my knee ; 


But his sleep is blessed with endless dreams 


I do not think his light-blue eye is, like his 


of joy for ever fresh. 


brother's, keen. 


I know the angels fold him close beneath 


Nor his brow so full of childish thought as 


their glittering wings. 


his hath ever been ; 


And soothe him with a song that breathes of 


But his little heart's a fountain pure of kind 


Heaven's divinest things. 


and tender feeling; 


I know that wo shall meet our babe, (his 


And his every look's a gleam of light, rich 


mother dear and I,) 


depths of love revealing. 


Where God for aye shall wipe away all tears 


When he walks with me, the country folk. 


from every eye. 


who pass us in the street. 


Whate'er befalls his brethren twain, his bliss 


Will shout for joy, and bless my boy, he looks 


can never cease ; 


so mild and sweet. 


Their lot may here bo grief and fear, but his 


A playfellow is he to all; and yet, with 


is certain peace. 


cheerful tone. 


It may be that the tempter's wiles their souls 


Will sing his little song of love, when left to 


from bliss may sever ; 


sport alone. 


But, if our own poor faith fail not, ho must 


His presence is like sunshine sent to gladden 


be ours for ever. 


home and hearth, 


When we think of what our darling is, and 


To comfort us in all our griefs, and sweeten 


what we still must be — 


all our mirth. 


When wo muse on that world's perfect bliss. 


Should he grow up to riper years, God grant 


and this world's misery — 


his heart may prove 


When wo groan beneath this load of sin, and 


As sweet a home for heavenly grace as now 


feel this grief and pain — 


for earthly love ; 


Oh ! we 'd rather lose our other two, tlian 


And if, beside his grave, the tears our aching 


have him here again. 


eyes must dim, 


Jon>r MouLTEiE. 


God comfort us for all the love which we 




shall lose in him. 


' * 



16G 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



THRENODY, 

The Soutli-wind brings 

Life, sunsliiue, and desii-e, 

And on every mount and meadow 

Breathes aromatic lire ; 

But over tlie dead lio lias no power ; 

Tlio lost, the lost, lie cannot restore ;. 

And, looking over the hills, I niouru 

The darling who shall not return. 

I see my empty house ; 

I see my trees repair their boughs; 

And he, the wondrous child. 

Whose silver warble wild 

Outvalued every pulsing sound 

Within the air's cerulean round — 

The liyacinthine boy, for whom 

ilorn well might break and April bloom — 

The gracious boy, who did adorn 

The world whereinto he was born, 

And by his countonancc repay 

The favor of the loving Day — 

lias disappeared from the Day's eye ; 

Far and wide she cannot find him; 

INly hopes pursue, they cannot bind him. 

Boturnod this day, the South-wind searches, 

And tlnds young pines and budding birches; 

But finds not the budding man ; 

Nature, who lost him, cannot remake him ; 

Fate let him fall. Fate can't retake him; 

Nature, Fate, Men, him seek in vain. 

And whither now, my truant wise and sweet, 

Oil, whither tend thy feet? 

I had the right, few days ago. 

Thy steps to watch, thy place to know ; 

How have I forfeited the right? 

Ilast thou forgot me in a new delight? 

I hearken for thy household cheer, 

O eloquent child! 

"Whose voice, an equal messenger, 

Conveyed thy meaning mild. 

What though the pains and joys 

Whereof it spoke were toys 

Fitting his age and ken, 

Yet fairest dames and bearded men, 

Who heard the sweet request, 

So gentle, wise, and grave. 

Bended with joy to his behest. 



And let the world's attairs go by, 
Awhile to share his cordial game, 
Or mend his wicker wagou-frame. 
Still plotting how their hungry ear 
That winsome voice again might hear; 
For his lips could well pronounce 
Words that -n-ere persuasions. 

Gentlest guardians marked serene 
His early hope, his liberal mien ; 
Took counsel from his guiding eyes 
To make this wisdom earthly wise. 
Ah, vainly do these eyes recall 
The school-march, each day's festival. 
When every morn my bosom glowed 
To watch the convoy on the road ; 
The babe in willow wagon closed. 
With rolling eyes and face composed ; 
With children forward and behind, 
Like Cnpids studiously inclined ; 
And ho the chieftain paced beside. 
The centre of the troop allied. 
With sunny face of sweet repose. 
To guai-d the babe from fancied foes. 
The little captain innocent 
Took the eye with him as be went ; 
Each village senior paused to scan 
And speak the lovely caravan. 
From the window I look out 
To maa'k thy beautiful parade. 
Stately marching in cap and coat 
To some tune by fairies played ; 
A music, heard by thee alone. 
To works as noble led thee on. 

Now Love and Pride, alas ! in vain, 

Up and down their glances strain. 

The painted sled stands where it stood ; 

The kennel by the corded wood ; 

The gathered sticks to stanch the wall 

Of the snow-tower, when snow should fidl ; 

The ominous hole ho dug in the sand. 

And childhood's castles built or planned ; 

His daily haunts I well discern — 

The poultry-yard, the shed, the bam — 

And every inch of gai'den ground 

Paced by the blessed feet around, . 

From the roadside to the brook 

Whereinto he loved to look. 

Step tho meek birds where erst they ranged 

The wintry garden lies unchanged; 



THRENODY. 



167 



Tho brook into the stream runs on ; 
But tlio deep-eyeil boy is gone. 

On that sliaded day, 

Dark witli more clouds than tempests are, 

When thou didst yield thy innocent breath 

In birdlike hcavings unto death, 

Night came, and Nature had not thco ; 

I said: "We are mates in misery." 

The morrow dawned with needless glow ; 

Each snowbird chirped, each fowl must crow; 

Each trampcr started ; but the feet 

Of tho most beautiful and sweet 

Of human youth had left the hill 

And garden — they were hound and still. 

There 's not a sparrow or a wren, 

Tlicre's not a blade of Autumn grain,. 

Which the four seasons do not tend. 

And tides of life and increase lend ; 

And every chick of every bird, 

And weed and rook-moss is preferred. 

Oh, ostrich-like forgetfulness ! 

Oh loss of larger in the less ! 

Was there no star that could be sent, 

No watcher in the firmament. 

No angel from tho countless host- 

That loiters round tlie crystal coast, 

Could stoop to heal that only child. 

Nature's sweet marvel undefiled. 

And keep the blossom of the earth. 

Which all her harvests were not worth ? 

Not mine — I never called thee mine, 

But Nature's heir — if I repine. 

And seeing rashly torn and moved 

Not what I made, but what I loved. 

Grew early old with grief that thou 

Must to the wastes of Nature go — 

'T is because a general hope 

Was quenched, and all must doubt and grope. 

For flattering planets seemed to say 

This chUd should ills of ages stay. 

By wondrous tongue, and guided pen. 

Bring the flown Muses back to men. 

Perchance not he, but Nature, ailed ; 

The world and not tho infant failed. 

It was not ripe yet to sustain 

A genius of so fine a strain, 

Who gazed upon the sun and moon 

As if he came unto his own ; 

And, pregnant with his grander thought. 

Brought the old order into doubt. 



nis beauty once their beauty tried ; 
They could not feed him, and he died. 
And wandered backward as iu scorn, 
To wait an a-ou to he born. 
Ill day which made this beauty waste, 
Pliglit broken, this high face defaced! 
Some went and came about tho dead ; 
And some m books of solace read ; 
Some to their friends the tidings say ; 
Some went to write, some went to pray ; 
One tarried here, there hurried one ; 
B\it their heart abode with none. 
Covetous Death bereaved us all. 
To aggrandize one funeral. 
The eager fate which carried theo 
Took tlie largest part of me. 
For this losing is true dying ; 
This is lordly man's down-lying. 
This his slow but sure reclining, 
Star by star his world resigning. 

child of Paradise, 

Boy who made dear his father's homo. 

In whose deep eyes 

Men read tho welfare of tie times to come, 

1 am too much bereft.- 

Tlio world dishonored thou hast left. 
Oh, truth's and nature's costly lie! 
Oil, trusted broken prophecy ! 
Oh richest fortune sourly crossed ! 
Born for the future, to tho future lost ! 

The deep Heart answered: " Weepest thou? 

Wortliicr cause for passion wild 

If I had not taken the child. 

And deemest thou as those who pore. 

With aged eyes, short way before — 

Think'st Beauty vanished from the coast 

Of matter, and thy darling lost? 

Taught he not thee — the man of eld. 

Whose eyes within his eyes beheld 

Heaven's numerous hierarchy span 

Tho mystic gulf from God to man? 

To be alone wilt thou begin 

When worlds of lovers hem thee in ? 

To-morrow when the masks shall fall 

That dizen Nature's carnival. 

The pure shaU see by their own -will, 

Which overflowing Love shall fill, 

'Tis not within the force of Fate 

The fate-conjoined to separate. 



168 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



But thou, my votary, weepest thou ? 

I gave thee siglit^where is it now ? 

I taught thy heart beyond the reach 

Of ritual, bible, or of speech ; 

Wrote in thy mind's transparent table, 

As far as the incommunicable ; 

Taught thee each private sign to raise, 

lAt by the super-solar blaze. 

Past utterance, and past belief, 

And past the blasphemy of grief, 

The mysteries of Nature's heart ; 

And though no Muse can these impart, 

Throb thine with Nature's throbbing breast. 

And all is clear from east to west. 

" I came to thee as to a friend ; 
Dearest, to thee I did not send 
Tutors, but a joyful eye. 
Innocence that matched the sky, 
Lovely locks, a form of wonder, 
Laughter rich as woodland thunder, 
That thou might'st entertain apart 
The richest flowering of all art ; 
And, as the gi-eat all-loving Day 
Through smallest chambers takes its way, 
That thou might'st break thy daily bread 
With prophet, saviour, and head ; 
That thou might'st cherish for thine own 
The riches of sweet Mary's son. 
Boy-rabbi, Israel's paragon. 
And thoughtest thou such guest 
Would in thy haU take up his rest ? 
Would rushing life forget her laws. 
Fate's glowing revolution pause? 
High omens ask diviner guess, 
Not to be conned to tediousness. 
And know my higher gifts unbind 
The zone that girds the incarnate mind. 
When the scanty shores are full 
With Thought's perilous, whirling pool ; 
When frail Nature can no more, 
Then the Spirit strikes the hour : 
My servant Death, with solving rite, 
Pours finite into infinite. 

"Wilt thou freeze Love's tidal flow. 
Whose streams through Nature circling go ? 
Nail the wild star to its track 
On the half-climbed zodiac ? 
Light is light which radiates ; 
Blood is blood which circulates ; 



Life is life which generates ; 

And many-seeming life is one — 

Wilt thou transfix and make it none ? 

Its onward force too starkly pent 

In figure, bone, and lineament? 

Wilt thou, uncalled, interrogate, 

Talker ! the unreplying Fate ? 

Nor see the genius of the whole 

Ascendant in the private soul. 

Beckon it when to go and come. 

Self-announced its hour of doom ? 

Fair the soul's recess and shrine, 

Magic-built to last a season ; 

Masterpiece of love benign ; 

Fairer than expansive reason, 

Whose omen 'tis, and sign. 

Wilt thou not ope thy heart to know 

What rainbows teach, and sunsets show ? 

Verdict which accumulates 

From lengthening scroll of human fates, 

Voice of earth to earth returned. 

Prayers of saints that inly burned — 

Saying: What is excellent, 

As God lives, is permanent ; 

Hearts are dust, hearts' loves remain ; 

Hearts'' love will meet thee again. 

Revere the Maker ; fetch thine eye 

Up to his style, and manners of the sky. 

Not of adamant and gold 

Built he heaven stark and cold ; 

No, but a nest of bending reeds. 

Flowering grass, and scented weeds ; 

Or like a traveller's fleeing tent. 

Or bow above the tempest bent ; 

Built of tears and sacred flames, 

And virtue reaching to its aims; 

Built of furtherance and pursuing, 

Not of spent deeds, but of doing. 

Silent rushes the swift Lord 

Through ruined systems still restored, 

Broadsowing, bleak and void to bless, 

Plants ^-ith worlds the wilderness ; 

Waters with tears of ancient sorrow 

Apples of Eden ripe to-morrow. 

House and tenant go to ground, 

Lost in God, in Godliead found." 

F.ALpn Waldo Emeeson. 



CASA WAPPT. 



169 



CASA WAPPY* 

And hast thou sought thy heavenly home, 

Our fond, dear boy — 
Tlie roahiis where sorrow dare not come, 

AVhere life is joy ? 
Pure at thy death, as at thy birth, 
Thy spirit caught no taint from earth; 
Even by its bliss Ave mete our dearth, 
Casa Wappy I 

Despair was in our last farewell. 

As closed thine eye ; 
Tears of our anguish may not tell 

When thou didst die ; 
Words may not paint our grief for thee ; 
Sighs are but bubbles on the sea 
Of our unfathomed agony ; 
Casa Wappy ! 

Thou wert a vision of delight. 

To bless us given ; 
Ueauty embodied to our sight — 

A type of heaven ! 
So dear to us thou wert, thou art 
Even less thine own self, than a part 
Of mine, and of thy mother's heart, 
Casa Wappy ! 

Thy briglit, brief day knew no decline — 

'T was cloudless joy ; 
Sunrise and night alone were thine, 

Beloved boy ! 
This moon beheld thee blythe and gay ; 
That found thee prostrate in decay ; 
And ere a third shone, clay was clay, 
Casa Wappy ! 

Gem of our hearth, our household pride. 

Earth's undefiled. 
Could love have saved, thou hadst not died, 

Our dear, sweet child ! 
Humbly we bow to Fate's decree ; 
Yet had we hoped that Time should see 
Thee mourn for us, not us for thee, 
Casa Wappy ! 

* The self-appellative of a beloved child. 



Do what I may, go where I will. 

Thou meet'st my sight ; 
There dost thou glide before me still — 

A form of light ! 
I feel thy breath upon my cheek — 
I see thee smile, I hear thee speak — 
Till oh ! my heart is like to break, 
Casa Wappy ! 

Methinks thou smil'st before me now. 

With glance of stealth ; 
The hair thrown back from thy full brow 

In buoyant health ; 
I see thine eyes' deep violet light — 
Thy dimpled cheek carnationed bright — 
Thy clasping arms so round and white — 
Casa Wappy ! 

The nursery shows thy pictured wall. 

Thy bat— thy bow— 
Thy cloak and bonnet — club and ball ; 

But where art thou ? 
A corner holds thine empty chair; 
Thy playthings, idly scattered there, 
But speak to us of our despair, 
Casa Wappy ! 

Even to the last, thy every word — 

To glad — to grieve — 
Was sweet, as sweetest song of bird 

On Summer's eve ; 
In outward beauty undecayed, 
Death o'er thy spirit cast no shade, 
And, like the rainbow, thou didst fade, 
Casa Wappy ! 

We mourn for thee, when blind, blank night 

The chamber fills ; 
Wo pine for thee, when mom's first light 

Reddens the hills ; 
The sun, the moon, the stars, the sea. 
All — to the wall-flower and wild-pea — 
Are changed ; we saw the world thro' thee 
Casa Wappy ! 

And though, perchance, a smile may gleam 

Of casual mirth. 
It doth not own, whate'er may seem, 

An inward birth ; 



no 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



We miss thy small step on the stair ; — ■ 
We miss thee at thine evening prayer ; 
All day we miss thee — every where — 
Casa Wappy ! 

Snows muffled earth when thou didst go, 

In life's spring-bloom, 
Down to the appointed house below — 

The silent tomb. 
But now the green leaves of the tree. 
The cuckoo, and " the busy bee," 
Return — but with them bring not thee, 
Casa Wappy 1 

'T is so ; but can it be — while flowers 

Revive again — ■ 
Man's doom, in death that we and ours 

For aye remain ? 
Oh ! can it be, that, o'er the grave, 
The grass renewed should yearly wave, 
Tet God forget our child to save ? — 
Casa Wappy ! 

It cannot be ; for were it so 

Thus man could die. 
Life were a mockery — thought were woe — 

And truth a lie ; — 
Heaven were a coinage of the brain — 
Religion frenzy — virtue vain — 
And all our hopes to meet again, 
Casa Wappy ! 

Then bo to us, O dear, lost child 1 

With beam of love, 
A star, death's uncongenial wild 

Smiling above ! 

Soon, soon, thy little feet have trod 

The skyward path, the seraph's road, 

That led thee back from man to God, 

Casa Wappy 1 

Yet, 't is sweet balm to our despair, 

Fond, fairest boy. 
That Heaven is God's, and thou art there. 

With him in joy ; 
There past are death and all its woes ; 
There beauty's stream for ever flows ; 
And pleasure's day no sunset knows, 
Casa Wappy ! 



Farewell then — for a whUe, farewell — 

Pride of ray heart ! 
It cannot be that long we dwell. 

Thus torn apart. 
Time's shadows like the shuttle flee ; 
And, dark howe'er life's night may be. 
Beyond the grave, I '11 meet with thee, 
Casa Wappy ! 

David Macbeth Mom. 



MY CHILD. 

I OAiraoT make him dead ! 

His fair sunshiny head 
Is ever bounding round my study chaii' ; 

Yet, when my eyes, now dim 

With tears, I turn to him. 
The vision vanishes — he is not there ! 

I walk my parlour floor. 

And, through the open door, 
I hear a footfall on the chamber stair ; 

1 'm stepping toward the hall 

To give the boy a caU ; 
And then bethink me that — he is not there ! 

I thread the crowded street ; 

A satchelled lad I meet. 
With the same beaming eyes and colored hair ; 

And, as he 's running by. 

Follow him with my eye, 
Scarcely believing that — he is not there ! 

I know his face is hid 

Under the cofiin lid ; 
Closed are his eyes ; cold is his forehead fair ; 

My hand that marble felt ; 

O'er it in prayer I knelt ; 
Yet my heart whispers that — ^he is not there ! 

I cannot make him dead ! 

AVhcn passing by the bed. 
So long watched over with parental care, 

My spirit and my eye 

Seek him inquiringly. 
Before the thought comes that — he is not 
there ! 



FOR CHARLIE'S SAKE. 171 


When, at the cool, gray break 


Friends say, " It is better so, 


Of (lay, from sleep I wake. 


Clothed in innocence to go ;"' 


With my first breathing of tlie moruiug air 


Say, to ease the parting pain. 


My soul goes up, with joy. 


That "your loss is but their gain." 


To Ilim who gave my boy ; 




Then comes the sad thought that — he is not 


Ah ! the parents think of this ! 


there ! 


But remember more the kiss 




From the little rose-red lips ; 


"When at the day's calm close, 


And the print of finger-tips. 


Before we seek repose, 




I'm with his mother, offering up our prayer ; 


Left upon the broken toy. 


Whate'er I may be saying. 


Will remind them how the boy 


I am in spu-it praying 


And his sister charmed the days 


For our boy's spirit, though — he is not there ! 


With their pretty, winsome ways. 


Not there ! — Where, then, is he ? 


Only time can give relief 


The form I used to see 


To the weary, lonesome grief : 


Was but the raiment that he used to wear. 


God's sweet minister of pain 


The grave, that now doth press 


Then, shall sing of loss and gain. 


Upon that cast-off dress, 


NOEA PeERY 


Is but his wardrobe locked ; — he is not there !' 

He lives ! — In all the past 
He lives ; nor, to the last. 




FOR CHAELIE'S SAKE. 


Of seeing him again will I despair ; 

In di-eams I see him now ; 

And, on his angel brow, 
I see it written, " Thou shalt see me there! 


The night is late, the house is still ; 
The angels of the hour fulfil 
Their tender ministries, and move 
From couch to couch, in cares of love. 


Yes, we all live to God ! 


They drop into thy dreams, sweet wife. 


Father, thy chastening rod 


The happiest smile of Charlie's life, 


So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear, 

That, in the spirit land. 

Meeting at thy right hand, 
'T vrCa be our heaven to find that — he is 


And lay on baby's lips a kiss, 
Fresh from his angel-brother's bliss ; 
And, as they pass, they seem to make 
A strange, dim hymn, " For Charlie's sake." 


there ! 

JOnu PlEEPONT. 


My listening heai-t takes up the strain. 




And gives it to the night again. 
Fitted with words of lowly praise. 






And patience learned of moui-nful days. 


LOSS AND GAIN. 


And memories of the dead child's ways. 


WnEN the baby died, we said, 


His will be done. His will be done ! 


With a sudden, secret dread : 


Who gave and toojc away my son. 


" Death, be merciful, and pass ; — 


In " the far land " to shine and sing 


Leave the other ! " — but alas ! 


Before the Beautiful, the King, 




Who every day doth Christmas make. 


While we watched he waited there. 


All staiTed and belled for Chariie's sake. 


One foot on the golden stair, 




One hand beckoning at the gate. 


For Charlie's sake I will arise ; 


Till the home was desolate. 


I will anoint me where he lies, 



172 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 


Ami cliange my raiment, and go in 


For Charlie's sake ray lot is blest: 


To the Lord's house, and leave my sin 


No comfort like his mother's breast. 


AVitliout, and seat me at Ids board. 


No praise like her's ; no charm esi^ressed 


Eat, and be glad, and praise the Lord. 


In fairest forms hatli half her zest. 


For wherefore should I last and weep, 


For Charlie's sake this bird 's caressed 


And snllon moods of mourning keep? 


That death left lonely in the nest ; 


I eannot bring liim hack, nor he, 


For Charlie's sake my heart is dressed, 


For any calling come to me. 


As for its birthday, in its best ; 


Tlio bond the angel Deatli did sign, 


For Charlie's sake we leave the rest 


God sealed — for Charlie's sake, and mine. 


To llim who gave, and who did take. 




Aiid saved us twice, for Charlie's sake. 


I 'm very poor — this slender stone 


John Williamson Palmer. 


Marks all the narrow field I own ; 
Yet, patient luishandman, I till 






AVith faith .ind prayers, tliat precious lull, 


THE WroCSV AND CHILD. 


Sow it with penitential ]iains. 




And, hopeful, wait the latter rains ; 


Home they brought her warrior dead ; 


Content if, after all, the spot 


She nor swooned, nor uttered cry; 


Yield barely one forget-me-not — 


All her maidens, watching, said. 


Wliether or figs or thistles make 


" She nnist weep or she will die." 


My crop, content for Charlie's sake. 




Then they praised him, soft and low, 


I have no houses, builded well — 


Called him worthy to be loved, 


Oidy that little lonesome cell. 


Truest friend and noblest foe ; 


Wliere never romping playmates come, 


Yet she neither spoke nor moved. 




Nor bashful sweethearts, cunning-dumb — 


Stole a maiden from her jilace, 


An April bm-st of girls and boys, 


Lightly to the warrior stopt, 
Took a face-cloth from the lace, 


Their rainbowed cloud of glooms and joys 


Born with their songs, gone with their toys ; 


Yet she neither moved nor wept. 


Nor ever is its stillness stirred 




By jnu'r of eat, or chirp of bird. 


Rose a nurse of ninety years. 


Or mother's twilight legend, told 


Set his child upon her knee — 


Of Horner's pie, or Tiddler's gold, 


Like summer tempest came her tears — 


Or fairy hobbling to the door, 


" Sweet my child, I live for thee." 


IJed-doaked and weird, banned and poor, 


Au-RED TeXSTSOX. 


To bless the good child's gracious eyes, 




The good chdd's wistful cliarities. 




And crippled changeling's bunch to make 


THE RECONCnJATION. 


Dance on his cruteli, for good child's sake. 






As through the land at eve wo went. 


IIow is it with the child ? 'T is well ; 


And plucked the ripened e.ars, 


Nor would I any uiiraclo 


We fell out, my wife and I, — 


Might stir my sleeper's traiuiuil trance, 


Oh, we fell out, I know not why, 


Or plague his painless countenance: 


And kissed again with tears. 


I would not any seer might place 


For when we came where lies the child 


Ilis staff on my immortal's face. 


We lost in otlier years, 


Or lip to lip, and eye to eye. 


There above tlio little grave. 


Charm back his pale mortality. 


Oil, there above the little grave. 


No, Shunammite ! I would not break 


Ve kissed again with tears. 


God's stillness. Let them weep who wake. 


Alfred Tennyson. 



PART III. 



rOEMS OF FRIENDSHIP 



GiEB treulich rair die Ildnde, 
Sei Brudcr mir, und wende 
Den Blick, vor deinem Ende, 
Nicht wieder weg von mir. 
Ein Tempol wo wir knien, 
Ein Ort wohin wir Ziehen, 
Ein Gliick fiir das wir ^liihen, 
Ein Iliinmel mir und dir ! 

NOTALIS. 



Then let tlie chill sirocco blow 

And gird us round with hills of snow ; 

Or else go whistle to the shore, 

And make the hollow mountains roar; 

Whilst wo together jovial sit 
Careless, and crowned with mirth and wit ; 
Where, though bleak winds confine us home, 
Our fancies round the world shall roam. 

We '11 think of all the friends we know. 
And drink to all worth drinking to ; 
When, having drank all thine and mine, 
We rather shall want health than wine. 

lint where friends fail us, we'll supply 
Our friendships with our charity ; 
Men that remote in sorrows live, 
yiiall by our lusty brimmers thrive. 

Wc '11 drink the wanting into wealth, 
And those that languish into health, 



The afflicted into joy, th'opprest 
Into security and rest. 

The worthy in disgrace shall find 
Favor return again more kind ; 
And in restraint who -stifled lie. 
Shall taste the air of liberty. 

The brave shall triumph in success ; 
The lovers shall have mistresses; 
Poor unregarded virtue, praise; 
And the neglected poet, bays. 

Thus shall our healths do others good. 
Whilst we ourselves do all we would ; 
For, freed from envy and from care. 
What would wc be, but what wc are : 

'T is the plump grape's immortal juice 
That does this happiness produce, 
And will preserve us free together, 
Maugre mischance, or wind and weather, 

CuAELES Cotton. 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



EARLY FRIENDSHIP. 

The half-seen memories of cliildisli days, 
AYlicn pains and pleasures lightly came and 

went ; 
The sympathies of boyhood rashly spent 
In fearful wanderings through forbidden 

ways ; 
Tlic vague, Ijiit manly wish to tread the maze 
Of life to noblo ends; whereon intent, 
Asking to know for what man here is sent, 
The bravest heart must often pause, and 

gaze— 
The firm resolve to seek the chosen end 
Of manhood's judgment, cautious and mature: 
Each of these viewless bonds binds friend to 

friend 
With strength no selfish purpose can secure ; — 
^fy happy lot is this, that all attend 
Tliilt friendship which first came, and which 

shall last endure. 

AUBBEY Db VeEE. 



WHEN SHALL WE THREE MEET 
AGAIN. 

When shall we three meet again ? 
When shall wo three meet again ? 
Oft shall glowing hope expire, 
Oft sliall wearied love retire 
Oft shall death and sorrow reign. 
Ere we three shall meet again. 

Though in distant lands we sigh, 
Parched beneath a hostile sky ; 



Though tlie deep between us rolls, 
Friendship shall unite our souls. 
Still in Fancy's rich domain 
Oft shall we three meet again. 

When the dreams of life are fled, 
When its wasted lamjjs are dead ; 
'Wlien in cold oblivion's shade, 
Beauty, power, and fame are laid ; 
Where immortal spirits reign. 
There shall we three meet again. 

Anonymods. 



SONNETS. 

Whek I do count the clock that tells the 

time. 
And see the bravo day .sunk in hideous 

night; 
When I Ijchold the violet past prime. 
And sable curls all silvered o'er with wliite; 
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves. 
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd. 
And Summer's green all girded up in sheaves. 
Borne on the bier with white and liristly 

Iicard ; 
Then, of thy beauty do I question make. 
That thou among the wastes of time must go, 
Since sweets and beauties do themselves for- 
sake. 
And die as fast as they see others grow ; 
And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can 

make defence. 
Save breed, to brave him, when he takes 
thee hence. 



116 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



Shall I compare theo to a siiiumer's day? 
Thou art more lovely and more toiuperato ; 
Eoiigli winds do shako the darUng buds of 

May, 
And summer's lease hath all too short a date. 
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 
And often is his gold complexion dimmed. 
And every fjiir from fair sometime dcx>lines. 
By chance, or nature's changing course, un- 

trimmed ; 
]5iit thy eternal summer shall not fade. 
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; 
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his 

shade. 
When in eternal lines to time tJiou growest. 
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can 

see, 
So long lives this, and this gives life to 

thee. 



So is it not with me as with that Muse, 
Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse ; 
Who heaven itself for ornament doth nse, 
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse ; 
Sinking a compliment of proud compare, 
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's 

rich gems, 
With April's first-born flowers, and all things 

rare 
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems. 
Oh let me, true in love, but truly write, 
And then believe me, my love is as fair 
As any mother's child, thongh not so bright 
As those gold candles fixed in heaven's au- : 

Let them say no more that like of hearsay 
well ; 

I will not praise, that purpose not to sell. 



Let those who are in favor with their stars. 
Of public honor and proud titles boast ; 
Whilst I, whom fortune of such ti-iumphs 

bars, 
Unlooked-for joy in th.at I honor most. 
Groat princes' favorites their fair leaves 

spread. 
But as the mai-igold, at the sun's eye ; 



And in themselves their pride lies bm-ied, 
For at a frown they in theu- glory die. 
The painful warrior famoused for fight, 
After a thousand victories once foiled, 
Is from the book of honor rased quite. 
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled. 
Then happy I, that love and am beloved. 
Where I may not remove nor be removed. 



When in disgrace with fortune and men's 

eyes,. 
I all alone beweep my outcast state, 
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless 

cries. 
And look upon myself^ and curse my fate, 
Wishing mo hke to one more rich in hope, 
Featured like him, like him with friends pos- 
sessed, 
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, 
With what I most enjoy contented least; 
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despis- 
ing 

Haply 1 think on thee, and then my state 
(Like to the lark at break of day arising 
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's 
gate. 
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth 

brings. 
That then I scorn to change my state with 
kings. 



When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
I sununon up remembrance of things past, 
I sigh tlie lack of many a thing I sought. 
And with old woes new wad my dear time's 

waste. 
Then, can I drown an eye, unused to flow, 
For precious friends hid in death's dateless 

night. 
And weep afresh love's long since cancelled 

woe. 
And moan th' expense of many a viuiishcd 

sight. 
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, 
And heavily from woe to woo toll o'er 
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan. 
Which I now pay, as if not paid before ; 



SONNETS. 



in 



But if the wlulo I think on thoo, doar 

friend, 
All losses arc restored, and sorrows end. 



TiiY bosom is- endeared with all hoart^l, 
Which I by lacking have supposed dead ; 
And tliero reigns love, and all love's loving 

parts. 
And all those friends 'which I thought buried. 
How many a lioly and' obsequious tear 
Ilath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye, 
As interest of the dead, which now appear 
But things removed, that hidden in thee lie ! 
TIiou art the grave wliere buried love doth 

live, 
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, 
Who all their parts of me to thee did give; 
That duo of many now is thine alone : 
Their unagc-s I loved I vie^T in theo. 
And thou (;dl they) hast all the all of me. 



Full many a glorious morning have I seen 
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, 
Kissing with golden face tho meadows green. 
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy ; 
Anon permit tho basest clouds, to ride 
With ugly rack on his celestial face. 
And from the forlorn world his \isago hide, 
stealing unseen to west with this disgrace. 
Even so my sun one early morn did shine, 
With all triumphant splendor on my brow ; 
But out, alack ! he was but one hour mine, 
The region cloud hath masked him from me 

now. 
Yet him for this my love no whit disdain- 

cth; 
Suns of the world may stain,. when heaven's 

sun staineth. 



Wnv didst thon promise sucii a beauteous 

day. 
And make uie travel forth without my cloak. 
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way. 
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke? 
'T is not enough that through the cloud thou 

break, 
To dry tho rain on my storm-beaten face. 
For no man well of such a salve can speak, 
13 



That heals the wound, and curt^ not tho dis- 
grace ; 
Nor can thy shame gr\-o physic to my grief — 
Though thou repent, yet I have still tho loss : 
Th' offender's sorrow lends but weak relief 
To him that bears the strong otfence's cross. 
All, but those tears are pearl, which thy 

love sheds, 
And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds. 

What is yonr substance, whereof are yon 

made, 
That millions of strange shadows on you 

tend? 
Since every one hath, every one, one shade, 
And you, but one, can every shadow lend. 
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit 
Is poorly imitated after you ; 
On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, 
And you in Grecian tiros are painted new : 
Speak of tho spring, and foison of tho year — 
Tho one doth shadow of your beauty .show, 
The other as your bounty doth appear;. 
And you in every blessed shape we know. 
In all external gi-ace you have some jiart ; 
But you like none, none you, for constant 

heart.. 

Oir, how rnnnh more doth beauty beauteous 

seem. 
By thut sweet ornament which tmth doth 

give! 
Tiie rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem 
For that sweet odor which doth in it live. 
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye 
As the perftimed tincture of tho roses — 
Ilang on such thorns, and jday as wantoidy 
When summer's breath their masked buds 

discloses ; 
But, for their virtue only is their .show ; 
They live unwooed, and vinrespected fade — 
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so ; 
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odors 

made : 
And so of you beauteous and lovely youth, 
Wlicn that shall fade, my verse distils your 

truth. 

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments 

Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme ; 



118 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



But you shall shino more bright in these con- 
tents 

Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish 
time. 

■When wasteful war shall statues overturn, 

And broils root out the works of masonry, 

Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire 
shall burn 

The living record of your memory. 

'Gainst death and all oblivious enmity 

Shall you pace forth : your praise shall still 
find room 

Even in the eyes of all posterity. 

That wear this world out to the ending doom. 
So, tai the judgment that yourself arise. 
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. 
William Shakespeare. 



FROM "IN MEMORIAM." 

I E^TT not, in any moods, 
The captive void of noble rage. 
The linnet born within the cage, 

That never knew the summer woods. 

I envy not the beast that takes 
Ills hcense in the field of time, 
Unfettered by the sense of crime, 

To whom a conscience never wakes : 

Nor, what may count itself as blest, 
The heart that never phghted troth, 
But stagnates in the weeds of sloth- 

Nor any want-begotten rest. 

I hold it true, whate'er befall — 
I feel it, when I sorrow most — 
'T is better to have loved and lost 

Than never to have loved at all. 



Wixn trembling fingers did wo weave 
The hoUy round the Christmas hearth ; 
A rainy cloud possessed the eai-th 

And sadly fell our Christmas eve. 

At our old pastimes in the hall 

We gambolled, making vain pretence 
Of gladness, with an awful sense 

Of one mute Shadow watching all. 



We paused ; the winds were in the beech — 
We heard them sweep the winter land ; 
And in a circle hand in hand 

Sat silent, looking each at each. 

Then echo-like oiu- voices rang ; 
AVe sang, though every eye was dim — 
A merry song we sang with him 

Last year — impetuously we sang ; 

We ceased. A gentler feeling crept 

Upon us ; surely rest is meet : 

" They rest," we said, " their sleep is sweet.' 
And silence followed, and we wept. 

Our voices took a higher range ; 

Once more we sang : " They do not die, 
Nor lose their mortal sympathy, 

Nor change to us, although they change : 

" Rapt from the fickle and the frail. 
With gathered power, yet the same, 
Pierces the keen seraphic flame 

From orb to orb, from veil to \eil. 

" Rise, happy morn ! rise, holy morn ! 

Draw forth the cheerfid day from night! 

Father ! touch the east, and hght 
The light that shone when Hope was born." 



Dost thou look back on what hath been, 
As some divinely gifted man. 
Whose life in low estate began, 

And on a simple village green ? 

Who breaks his bu-th's invidious bar. 
And grasps the skirts of happy chance, 
And breasts the blows of circumstance, 

And grapples with his evil star ; 

Who makes by force his merit known, 
j\jid lives to clutch the golden keys — 
To mould a mighty state's decrees. 

And shape tlie whisper of the throne ; 

And moving up from high to higher, 
Becomes on Fortune's crowning slope 
The pillar of a people's hope. 

The centre of a world's desu-e ; 

Yet feels, as in a pensive dream. 
When all his active powers are still, 



FROM "IN MEMORIAM.' 



119 



A distant drearness in the liill, 
A secret sweetness in the stream, 

The limit of his narrower fate, 
AVhile yet beside its vocal springs 
IIo plaj'ed at counsellors and kings. 

With one that was his earliest mate ; 

U'lio ploughs witli pain his native lea, 
And reaps tlic labor of his hands, 
Or in the furrow musing stands : 

" Does my old friend remember me ? " 



WiTcn-ELMs, tliat counterohange the floor 
Of this flat lawn with dusk and bright ; 
And thou, with all thy breadth and height 

Of foliage, towering sycamore ; 

IIow often, hither wandering down. 
My Arthur found your shadows fair. 
And shook to all the liberal air 

The dust and din and steam of town! 

He brought an eye for all he saw. 
Tie mixed in aU our simple sports ; 
They pleased him, fresh from brawling 
courts 

And dusky purlieus of the law. 

Oh joy to him, in this retreat, 
Inunantled in ambrosial dark. 
To drink the cooler air, and mark 

The landscape winking through the heat. 

Oh sound to rout the brood of cares, 
Tlie sweep of scythe in morning dew. 
The gust that round the garden flew. 

And tumbling half the mellowing pears ! 

Oh bliss, when all in circle drawn 
About him, heart and ear were fed. 
To hear him, as he lay and read 

The Tuscan poets on the lawn ; 

Or in the all-golden afternoon 
A guest, or happy sister, sung. 
Or here she brought the harp, and flung 

A ballad to t lie brightening moon ! 

Nor less it pleased, in livelier moods. 
Beyond the bounding hill to stray. 
And break the livelong summer day 

With banquet in the distant woods ; 



Whereat we glanced from theme to theme. 
Discussed the books to love or hate. 
Or touched the changes of the state. 

Or threaded some Sooratic dream. 

But if I praised the busy town. 
He loved to rail agamst it still. 
For " ground in yonder social mill. 

We rub each otlicr's angles down, 

"And merge," he said, "in form and gloss 
The picturesque of man and man." 
We talked ; the stream beneath us ran. 

The wine-flask lying couched in moss. 

Or cooled within the glooming wave ;' 
And last, returning from afar. 
Before the crimson-circled star 

Had fallen into her father's grave, 

And brushing ankle deep in flowers. 
We heard behind the woodbine veil 
The milk that bubbled in the pail, 

And bnzzings of the honeyed hours. 



TiiT converse drew us with delight, 
The men of rathe and riper years ; 
The feeble soul, a haunt of fears. 

Forgot his weakness in thy siglit. 

On thee the loyal-hearted hung, 

The proud was half disarmed of pride ; 
Nor cared the serpent at thy side 

To flicker with his treble tongue. 

The stern were mild when thou wert by ; 
The flippant put himself to school 
And heard thee ; and the brazen fool 

Was softened, and he knew not why ; 

While I, thy dearest sat apart, 
And felt thy triumph was as mine; 
And loved them more, that they were thine, 

The gra(;tf.^l tact, the Christian art ; 

Not mine the sweetness or the skill. 
But mine the love that will not tire. 
And, born of love, the vague desire 

That spurs an imitative will. 



ISO 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



DsAii friend, for off, my lost desire. 
So tar, so near, in woe and weal ; 
Oh, loved the most when most I feel 

There is a lower and a higher ; 

Known and nnknown, human, divine! 
Sweet human hand and lips and eye. 
Dear heavenly friend that canst not die, 

Mine, mino, for ever, ever mine ! 

Strange friend, past, present, and to he, 
Loved deeplier, darklier understood ; 
Behold I dream a dream of good, 

And mingle all the world with thee. 



Tnv voice is on the roUing air ; 

I hear thee where the waters run ; 

Thou standest in the rismg sun, 
And in the setting thou ai-t fair. 

What art tlioii, then? I cannot guess ; 
But though I seem in star and flower 
To feel thee, some diffusive power, 

I do not therefore love thee less : 

My love involves the love hefore ; 

J[y love is vaster passion now ; 

Though mixed with God and nature thou, 
I seem to love th«e more and more. 

Far off thou art, hut ever nigh ; 
I have thee still, and I rejoice, 
I prosper, circled with thy voice ; 

I shdl not lose thee, though I die. 

Alfued Tesntson. 



THE PASSAGE. 

Many a year is in its grave, 
Since I crossed this restless wave ; 
And the evening, fair as ever, 
Shines on ruin, rock, and river. 

Then in this same hoat heside 
Sat two comrades old and tried — 
One with all a father's truth. 
One vnt\\ all the fire of youth. 

One on earth in silence wrought, 
And his grave in silence sought ; 
But the younger, brighter form 
Passed in hattle and in storm. 



So, whene'er I turn my eye 

Back upon the days gone by, 

Saddening thoughts of friends come o'er me ; 

Friends that closed their course before me. 

But what hinds us, friend to friend. 
But that soul with soul can blend ? 
Soul-like were those hours of yore ; 
Let us walk in soul once more. 

Take, boatman, thrice thy fee, — 

Take, I give it willingly ; 

For, invisible to thee. 

Spirits twain have crossed with me. 

LtTDWio Uhland. (German.) 
Anonymous Translation. 



JxVFFAE. 

Jaffar, the Barmecide, the good vizier, 
The poor man's hope, the friend without a 

peer, 
Jafter was dead, slain by a doom unjust ; 
And guilty Ilaroun, sullen with mistrust 
Of what the good, and e'en the bad might 

say, 
Ordained that no man living from that day 
Should dare to speak his name on pain of 

death. 
All Araby and Persia held their breatli ; 

All but the brave Mondoer : he, proud to 

show 
IIow far for love a grateful soul could go. 
And facing death for very scorn and grief 
(For his great heart wanted a great relief). 
Stood forth in Bagdad daily, in the square 
Whore once had stood a happy house, and 

there 
Harangued the tremblers at the scyiuitar 
On all they owed to the divine Jaffar. 

" Bring me this man," the cahph cried ; the 

man 
Was brought, was gazed upon. The mutes 

began 
To bind Ms ai'ms. "Welcome, brave cords," 

cried he ; 
" Fi'om bonds far worse Jaffar delivered me ; 
From wants, from shames, from loveless 

household fears : 



L 



THE FIRE OP DRIFT-WOOD. 



181 



Made a man's eyes friends with delicious 

tears ; 
Restored mo, loved me, put me on a par 
With his great self. How can I pay Jaffar? " 

llaroun, who felt that on a soul like this 
The mightiest vengeance could but fall amiss, 
Now deigned to sinile, as one great lord of 

foto 
Might smile upon another half as great, 
lie said, " Lot worth grow frenzied if it will ; 
The caliph's judgment shall bo master still. 
Go, and since gifts so move thee, take this gem. 
The richest in the Tartar's diadem, 
And hold the giver as thou deemest fit! " 
" Gifts ! " cried tho friend ; he took, and 

holding it 
High toward the heavens, as though to moot 

his star, 
Exclaimed, " This, too, I owe to thee, Jaifar ! " 

Leigh Hunt. 



THE FIEE OF DRIFT-WOOD. 

We s:it within the farm-house old. 
Whose -nnndows, looking o'er the bay. 

Gave to the sea-breeze, damp and cold. 
An easy entrance, night and day. 

Not far away we saw tho port, — 
Tlie strange, old-fashioned, silent town, — 

Tho light-house, — the dismantled fort, — 
The wooden houses, quaint and brown. 

We sat and talked until the night, 
Descending, tilled the little room ; 

Our faces faded from the sight — 
Our voices only broke the gloom. 

We spake of many a vanished scene, 
Of what we once had thought and said, 

Of what had been, and might have been, 
And wlio was changed, and who was dead ; 

And all that fills the hearts of friends. 
When first they feel, with secret pain. 

Their lives thenceforth have separate ends. 
And never can be one again : 



Tho first slight swer^dng of the heart. 
That words arc powerless to express, 

And leave it still unsaid in part, 
Or say it in too great excess. 

The very tones in which we spsike 

Had something strange, I could but mart ; 

The leaves of memory seemed to make 
A mournful rustling in the dark. 

Oft died tho words upon our lips, 

As suddenly, from out the fire 
Built of tho wreck of stranded ships, 

The flames would leap and then expire. 

And, as their splendor flashed and failed. 
We thought of wrecks upon the main, — 

Of ships dismasted, that were hailed 
And sent no answer back again. 

The wmdows, rattling in their frames, — 
The ocean, roaring up the beach, — 

The gusty blast, — the bickering flames, — 
All mingled vaguely in our speech ; 

Until they made themselves a part 

Of ilmcies floating through tho brain, — 

The long-lost ventures of the heart. 
That sends no answers back again. 

Oh flames that glowed ! Ob hearts that 
yearned ! 

Tliey were indeed too much akin — 
The (h-ift-wood fire without that burned. 

The thoughts that burned and glowed 



within. 



IlENItY WaEBWOKTH Lo.NGFKLLOW. 



QUA CURSUM VENTUS. 

As ships, becalmed at eve, that lay 
With canvas drooping, side by side. 

Two towers of sail, at dawn of day 

Are scarce, long leagues apart, descried : 

When fell the night, upsprung tho breeze. 
And all the darkling hours they plied ; 

Nor dreamt but each the self-same seas 
By each was cleaving, side by side ; 



182 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



E'en so — but why the tale reveal 

Of those whom, year by year unchanged, 

Brief absence joined anew, to feel, 
Astounded, soul from soul estranged. 

At dead of night their sails were filled. 
And onward each rejoicing steered ; 

Ah, neither blame, for neither willed 
Or wist what first with dawn appeared. 

To veer, liow vain! On, onward strain, 
Rrave barks! In light, in darl;ness too ! 

Through winds and tides one compass guides- 
To that and your own selves be true. 

Hut O blitlie breeze ! and O great seas, 
Tlwugh ne'er, that earliest parting past. 

On your wide plain they join again, 
Together lead them home at last. 

One port, methoiight, alike they sought — 
One purpose hold where'er they fiuv ; 

O bounding breeze, O rushing seas. 
At last, at last, unite them tliere ! 

Artiuiu Hugh Clougu. 



OAPE-OOTTAGE AT SUNSET. 

We stood upon the ragged rocks, 
When the long day was nearly done ; 

The waves had ceased their sullen shocks. 
And lapped our feet witli murmuring tone. 

And o'er the bay in streaming locks 
Blew the red tresses of the sun. 

Along the West the golden bars 

Still to a deeper glory grew ; 
Above our heads the faint, few stars 

Looked out from the unfatliomed blue ; 
And the fair city's clamorous jars 

Seemed melted in that evening luie. 

Oh sunset sky ! Oh purple tide ! 

Oh friends to friends that closer pressed ! 
Tliose glories have in darkness died. 

And ye have left my longing breast. 
I cotdd not keep you by my side. 

Nor fix that radiance in the West. 

Upon those rocks the waves shall beat 
With the same low and murmuring strain ; 



Across those waves, with glancing feet. 
The sunset rays shall seek the main ; 

But when together shall we meet 
Upon that far-ofl:' shore again ? 

W. B. Glaziek. 



THE OLD FAMILL\K FACES. 

I RAVE had playmates, I have had com- 
panions. 

In mydiiys of childhood, in my joyful school- 
days ; 

All, all are gone, the old familiar taces. 

I have been laughing, I have been carousing. 
Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosora 

cronies ; 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

I loved a love once, foirest among women ; 
Closed are her doors on me, I must not see 

her ; 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man ; 
Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly — 
Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces. 

Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my 
childhood. 

Earth seemed a desert I was bound to trav- 
erse. 

Seeking to find tlie old fiimiliar fixces. 

Friend of my bosom, thou more than a bro- 
ther, 

Why wen thou not born in ray father's 
dwelling ? 

So might we talk of the old familiar faces — 

How some they have died, and some they 
have left me, 

And some are t.aken from me; all are de- 
parted, 

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces ! 

Chables Limb. 



STANZAS TO AUGUSTA. 



183 



TO- 



Too lato I stayed— forgive the crime— 

Unheeded flew the hours : 
How noiseless falls the foot of time 

That only treads on flowers! 

And who, with clear account, remarks 

The ehbings of his glass. 
When all its sands are diamond sparks. 

That dazzle as they pass ? 

Ah ! who to sober measurement 
Time's happy swiftness brings, 

"When birds of paradise have lent 
Their plumage to his wings ? 

IlouERT William Spencee. 



Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me, 
Though slandered, thou never couldst shake, 

Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim mo, 
Though parted, it was not to fly, 

Though watchful, 'twas not to defame me. 
Nor mute, that the world might belie. 



STANZAS TO AUGUSTA. 
[btron to his sister.] 

Though the day of my destiny 's over, 

And the star of my fate hath declined, 
Thy soft heart refused to discover 

The faults which so many could find ; 
Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted, 

It shrunk not to share it with me, 
And the love which my spirit hath painted 

It never hath found but in thee. 

Then when nature around me is smiling. 

The last smile wliich answers to mine, 
I do not believe it beguiling. 

Because it reminds me of thine ; 
As when winds are at war with the ocean, 

As the breasts I believed in with me, 
If their billows excite an emotion. 

It is that they bear me from thee. 

Though the rock of my last hope is shivered. 

And its fragments arc sunk in the wave, 
Though I feel that ray soul is delivered 

To pain — it shall not be its slave. 
There is many a pang to pursue me : 

They may crush, but they shall not con- 
temn — 
Thoy may torture, but shall not subdue me — 

T is of thee that I think — not of them. 

Though liuman, thou didst not deceive me. 
Though woman, thou didst not forsake. 



Yet I blame not the world, nor despise it, 

Nor the war of the many with one — 
If my soul was not fitted to prize it, 

'T was folly not sooner to shun ; 
And if dearly th.at error hath cost me, 

And more than I once could foresee, 
I have found that, whatever it lost me, 

It could not deprive me of thee. 

From the wreck of the past which hath per- 
ished 

Thus much I .at least nuiy recall. 
It h.ith taught mo that wh.at I most cherished 

Deserved to bo dearest of all. 
In the desert a fountain is springing, 

In the wild waste there still is a tree. 
And a bird in the solitude singing, 

"Which speaks to my spirit of thee. 

LonD Kteon. 



WE HAVE BEEN FKIENDS TOGETHER. 

We have been friends together. 

In sunshine and in shade ; 
Since first beneath the chestnut-trees 

In infimcy we played. 
But coldness dwells within thy hcart- 

A cloud is on thy brow ; 
Wo h.avo been friends together — 

Shall a light word part us now? 

We have been gay together ; 

We have laughed at little jests ; 
For the fount of liopo was gushing. 

Warm and joyous, in our lireasts. 
But laughter now hath fled thy lip, 

And sullen glooms thy brow ; 
We have been gay together— 

Shall a light word part us now ? 

We have been sad together — 
Wo have wept, with bitter tears, 

O'er the grass-grown graves, where slum- 
bered 
The hopes of early years. 



1S4 POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 


T]ie voices wliicli are sdlent there 


The same my sire scanned before, 


Would bid thee clear thy brow ; 


The same my grandsire thumbed o'er, 


"We have been sad together — 


The same his sire from college bore. 


Oh ! what shall part us now ? 


The well-earned meed 


Cakoline Norton. 


Of Oxford's domes : 




Old Homer blind, 
Old Horace, rake Anacreon, by 






Old Tnlly, Plautus, Terence lie ; 




Mort Arthur's olden minstrelsie. 


GIVE ME THE OLD. 


Quaint Burton, quainter Spenser, ay! 




And Gervase Markham's venerie — 


OLD WINE TO DEINK, OLD WOOD TO BtTEN, OLD 


Nor leave behind 


BOOKS TO BEAD, AND OLD FRIENDS TO CON- 


The Holye Book by which we live and die. 


VERSE WITH. 




I. 


IV. 


Old wine to drink ! — 


Old friends to talk !— 


Ay, give the slippery juice 


Ay, bring those chosen few, 


That drippeth from the grape thrown loose 


The wise, the courtly, and the true, 


Within the tun ; 


So rarely found ; 


Plucked from beneatli the cliff 


Him for my wine, him for my stud. 


Of sunny-sided Teneriffe, 


Him for my easel, distich, bud 


And ripened 'neath the blink 


In mountain ivalk ! 


Of India's sun ! 


Bring Walter good : 


Peat whiskey hot, 


With soulful Fred ; and learned Will, 


Tempered with well-boiled water! 


And thee, my alter ego, (dearer stUl 


These make the long night shorter, — 


For every mood). 


Forgetting not 


EOBEET IIlNCELET MeSSINOEB. 


Good stout old English porter. 




II. 
Old wood to burn ! — 


SPARKLING AND BPJGHT. 


Ay, brmg the hiU-side beech 




From where the owlets meet and screech, 


Sparkling and bright in liquid light. 


And ravens croak ; 


Does the wine our goblets gleam in ; 


The crackling pine, and cedar sweet; 


With hue as red as the rosy bed 


Bring too a clump of fragrant peat, 


Which a bee would choose to dream in. 


Dug 'neath the fern ; 


Then Jill to-mght, tcith hearts as light, 


The knotted oak. 


To loves as gay and fleeting 


A faggot too, perhap, 


As luVbles that swim on the leal-er^s trim, 


Whose bright flame, dancing, winking, 


And break on the lips while meeting. 


Shall light us at our drinking ; 




While the oozing sap 




Shall make sweet music to our thinking. 


Oh I if Mirth might arrest the flight 


D' 


Of Time through Life's dominions, 




We here a while would now beguile 


UL 


The graybeard of his pinions. 


Old books to read ! — ■ 


To drink fo-nigJit, with hearts as light, 


Ay, bring those nodes of wit^ 


To loves as gay and fleeting 


The brazen-clasped, the vellum writ. 


As Iniihles that swim on the leaker's Irim. 


Time honored tomes! 


And hreah on the lijis ■while meeting. 



CONVIVIAL SONGS. 18£ 


But since Delight can't tempt the wight, 


Say, why did time 


Nor fond Regret delay him, 


His glass sublime 


Nor Love himself can hold the elf. 


Fill up with sands unsightly, 


Nor sober Friendship stay him. 


When wine he knew 


WeHl drinh to-night, with hearts as light, 


Runs brisker through. 


To loirs as gay ami fleeting 


And sparkles far more brightly ? 


As T)ubhles that swim on the beaker''s brim, 


Oh, lend it us. 


And break on the lips while meeting. 


And, smiling thus, 


Cbaeles Fenno Hoffman. 


The glass in two we 'd sever, 




Make pleasure glide 


' 


Tn double tide 




And fill both ends for ever I 


WREATHE THE BOWL. 


Then wreathe the bowl 
With flowers of soul. 


Wreathe the bowl 


The brightest wit can find us; 


With flowers of soul, 


We'll take a flight 


The brightest wit can find us ; 


Towards heav'n to-night, 


We'll take a flight 


And leave dull earth behind us ! 


Towards heav'n to-night. 


Thomas Moore. 


And leave dull earth behind us ! 
Should Love amid 


• 


The wreaths be hid 




That Joy, the enchanter, brings us, 


CH.VMPAGNE ROSE ! 


No danger fear 




While wine is near — 


Lily on liquid roses floating — 


We'll drown him if he stings us. 


So floats yon foam o'er pink champagne- 


Then wreathe the bowl 


Fain would I join such pleasant boating. 


With flowers of soul, 


And prove that ruby main. 


The brightest wit can find us ; 


And float away on wine ! 


We '11 take a flight 




Towards heav'n to-night, 
And leave dull earth behind us! 


Those seas are dangerous, graybeards swear— 
Whose sea-beach is the goblet's brim ; 


'Twas nectar fed 
Of old, 'tis said, 


And true it is they drown old care — 
But what care we for him. 


Their Junos, Joves, Apollos ; 


So we but float on wine ! 


And man may brew 




His nectar too ; 


And true it is they cross in pain, 


The rich receipt's as follows — 


Who sober cross the Stygian ferry ; 


Take wine like this ; 
Let looks of bliss 


But only make our Styx champagne. 
And we shall cross right merry, 


Around it well be blended; 


Floating away in wine ! 


Then bring wit's beam 




To warm the stream. 
And there 's your nectar, splendid ! 
So wreathe the bowl 
With flowers of soul. 
The brightest wit can find us; 
We'll take a flight 
Towards heav'n to-night, 


Old Charon's self shall make him mellow. 
Then gayly row his boat from shore ; 

While we, and every jovial fellow, 
Hear, unconcerned, the oar. 
That dips itself in wine ! 

JouN Kenton, 


And leave dull earth behind us! 







186 POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 




Fill the bumper fair ! 


FILL THE BUMPER FAIR. 


Every drop we sprinkle 




O'er the brow of Care 


Fill the bumper fair ! 


Smooths away a wrinkle. 


Every drop we sprinkle 


Thomas Moobk. 


O'er the brow of care 
Smooths away a wrinkle. 






Wit's electric flame 




Ne'er so swiftly passes 


AND DOTH NOT A MEETING LIKE 
THIS. 


As when through the frame 


It shoots from brimming glasses. 


And doth not a meeting like this make 


Fill the bumper fair ! 


amends 


Every drop we sprinkle 


For aU the long years I 've been wand'ring 


O'er the brow of care 


away — 


Smooths away a wrinkle. 


To see thus around me my youth's early 




friends. 


Sages can, they say, 


As smUing and kind as in that happy day ? 


Grasp the lightning's pinions, 


Though haply o'er some of your brows, as 


And bring down its ray 


o'er mine. 


From the starred dominions: — 


The snow-fall of Time may be stealing — wh.at 


So we, sages, sit, 


then? 


And, 'mid bumpers bright'ning, 


Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine. 


From the heaven of wit 


We '11 wear the g.ay tinge of Youth's roses 


Draw down all its lightning. 


again. 


"Wouldst thou know what first 


What softened remembrances come o'er the 


Made our souls inherit 


heart, 


Thi-< ennobling thii-st 


In gazing on those we've been lost to so long! 


For wine's celestial spirit ? 


The sorrows, the joys, of which once they 


It chanced upon that day, 


were part. 


When, as bards inform us. 


Still round them, like visions of yesterday, 


Prometheus stole away 


throng ; 


The living fires that warm us : 


As letters some hand hath invisibly traced. 




When held to the flame will steal out on the 


The careless Youth, when up 


sight. 


To Glory's fount aspiring. 


So many a feeling, that long seemed eftaccJ, 


Took nor urn nor cup 


The warmth of a moment like this brings to 


To hide the pilfered fire in. — 


light. 


But oh his joy, when, round 




The liaUs of heaven spying 


And thus, as in memory's bark we shall glide, 


Among the stars, he found 


To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew. 


A bowl of Bficchus lying! 


Though oft we may see, looking down on the 




tide, 


Some drops were in that bowl. 


The wreck of full many a hope shining 


Pvemains of last night's pleasure. 


through ; 


With which the sparks of soul 


Yet still, as in fancy we point to the flowers 


Mixed their burning treasure. 


That once made a garden of all the gay shore, 


Hence the goblet's shower 


Deceived for a moment, we'll think them 


Hath such spells to win us ; 


still ours. 


Hence its mighty power 


And breathe the fresh air of Life's morning 


O'er that flame within us. 


once more. 



CONVIVIAL SONGS. 



181 



S(i In-ief otir existence, a glimpse, at the most. 
Is Jill we can have of the few we hold dear ; 
And oft even joy is unheeded and lost 
For want of some heart that could echo it, 

near. 
Ah, well may we hope, when this short life 

is gone, 
To meet in some world of more permanent 

bliss ; 
For a smile, or a grasp of the hand, liast'niug 

on. 
Is all wo enjoy of each other in this. 

But, come, the more rare such delights to the 

heart. 
The more we should welcome, and bless them 

the more ; 
They're ours, when we meet — they are lost 

when we part — 
Like birds that bring Summer, and fly when 

'tis o'er. 
Thus circling the cup, hand in hand, ere we 

drink, 
Let Sympathy pledge us, through pleasure, 

through pain, 
Tliat, fast as a feeling but touches one link. 
Ilcr magic shall send it direct through the 

chain. 

TUOMAS MOOEE. 



now STANDS THE GLASS AROUND? 

IIow stands the glass around ? 
For shame! ye take no care, my boys ; 

How stands the glass around 2 

Let mirth and wine abound. 

The trumpets sound ; 
Tlie colors they are flying, boys. 

To fight, kill, or wound, 

May we still be found 
Content with our hard fare, my boys, 

On the cold ground. 

Why, soldiers, why 
Should we be melancholy, boys? 
Why, soldiers, why, 
Whose business 'tis to die? 
What, sighing? fie! 



Don't fear, drink on, be jolly, boys ! 

'T is he, you, or I ! 

Cold, hot, wet or dry. 
We're always bound to follow, boys. 

And scorn to fly. 

'Tis but in vain — • 
I mean not to upbraid you, boys — 

'Tis but in vain 

For soldiers to complain : 

Should next campaign 
Send us to Him who made us, boys, 

We 're free from pain ! 

But if we remain, 

A bottle and a kind landlady 

Cure all again. 

Akohtuous. 



COME, SEND ROUND THE WINE. 

Come, send round the wine, and leave points 

of belief 
To simpleton sages and reasoning fools ; 
This moment's a flower too fair and brief 
To be withered and stained by the dust of the 

schools. 
Your glass may be purple, and mine may be 

blue, 
But while they are filled from the same bright 

bowl, 
The fool who would quarrel for difierence of 

hue 
Deserves not the comfort they shed o'er the 

soul. 

Shall I ask the brave soldier who fights by 

my side. 
In tlio cause of mankind, if our creeds may 

agree ? 
Shall I give up the friend I have valued and 

tried. 
If he kneel not before the same altar with mo? 
From the heretic girl of my soul should I fly 
To seek somewhere else a more orthodox 

kiss? 
No ! perish the hearts and the laws that try 
Truth, valor, or love, by a standard like this! 

Thomab Moore. 



18S 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



FRIEND OF MY SOUL. 

FiuEN'D of my soul ! tliis goblet sip — 

'T will chase the pensive tear ; 
'T is not so sweet as woman's lip, 

But, oh! 'tis more sincere. 
Like her delusive beam, 

'T will steal away the mind. 
Hut unlike affection's dream, 

It loaves no sting behind. 

Come, twine the wreath, thy brows to shade- 

These flowers were culled at noon ; 
Like woman's love the rose will fode, 

But all ! not half so soon : 
For though the flower's decayed, 

Its fragrance is not o'er ; 
But once when love's betrayed. 

The heart can bloom no more. 

Thomas Mooiie. 



TO THOMAS MOORE. 

My boat is on the shore. 

And my bark is on the sea ; 
But, before I go, Tom Moore, 

Here 's a double health to thee ! 

Here 's a sigh for those that love me, 
And a smile for those who hate ; 

And, whatever sky 's above me. 
Here 's a heart for every fate. 

Though the ocean roar around me. 
Yet it still shall bear me on ; 

Though a desert should surround me. 
It hath springs that may be won. 

Were 't the last drop in the well, 

As I gasped upon the brink, 
Ere my fainting spirit fell 

'T is to thee that I would drink. 

With that water, as this wine. 

The libation I would pour 
Should be — Peace with thine and mine. 

And a health to thee, Tom Moore ! 

LoKD Bybon. 



FAREWELL! BUT WHENEVER YOD 
WELCOME THE HOUR. 

Fakewell ! but whenever you welcome the 

hour 
That awakens the night-song of mirth in your 

bower, 
Then tliink of the friend who once welcomed 

it too. 
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with 

you. 
His griefs may return — not a hope may remain 
Of the few that have brightened his pathway 

of pain — 
But he ne'er will forget the short vision that 

threw 
Its enchantment around him while lingering 

with you ! 

And still on that evening, when pleasure 

Alls up 
To the highest top-sparkle each heart and 

each cup, 
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or briglit. 
My soul, happy friends! shall be with you 

that night — 
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and 

your wiles. 
And return to me beaming all o'er with your 

smiles ; 
Too blest if it tells me that, mid the gay 

cheer. 
Some kind voice had nmrmured, " I wish he 

were here ! " 

Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy. 
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot 

destroy ! 
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and 

care. 
And bring back the features that joy used to 

wear. 
Long, long be my heart with such memories 

filled! 
Like the vase in which roses have once been 

distilled ; 
You may break, you may ruin the vase if vou 

will, 
But the scent of the roses will hang round it 

stm. 

Thomas Moore. 



THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE. 



189 



THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE. 

A STiiEET there is in Paris famous, 

For wliich no rliyme our language yields, 
Rue Neuve des petits Champs its name is — 

The New Street of tlio Little Fields ; 
And there 's an inn, not rich and splendid. 

But still in comfortable case — 
The which in youth I oft attended. 

To eat a bowl of Bouillabaisse. 

This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is — ■ 

A sort of soup, or broth, or brew, 
Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes. 

That Greenwich never could outdo ; 
Green herbs, red peppers, muscles, satforn, 

Soles, onions, garlic, roach, and dace ; 
All these you eat at Terru's tavern, 

In that one dish of Bouillabaisse. 

Indeed, a rich and savory stew 't is ; 

And true philosophers, methinks, 
Who love all sorts of natural beauties, 

Should love good victuals and good drinks. 
And Cordelier or Benedictine 

Might gladly, sure, his lot embrace, 
Nor find a fast-day too afflicting, 

Which served him up a Bouillabaisse. 

I wonder if the house still there is ? 

Yes, here the lamp is as before ; 
Tlie smiling, red-cheeked 6caillfire is 

Still opening oysters at the door. 
Is Terri! still alive and able ? 

I recollect his droll grimace ; 
Ee 'd come and smile before your table. 

And hoped you liked your Bouillabaisse. 

We enter ; nothing 's changed or older. 

"How's Monsieur Terr6, waiter, pray?" 
The waiter stares and shrugs his shoulder ; — 

"Monsieur is dead this many a day." 
" It is tlie lot of saint and sinner. 

So honest Terr6 's run his race ! " 
" What will Monsieur require for dinner ? " 

" Say, do you still cook Bouillabaisse ? " 

" Oh, oui. Monsieur," 's the waiter's answer ; 

" Quel vin Monsieur desire-t-il ! " 
" Tell me a good one." " That I can, sir ; 

The Chambertin with yellow seal." 



" So Terre's gone," I say, and sink in 
My old accustomed corner-place ; 

" He 's done witli feasting and with drinking, 
With Burgundy and Bouillabaisse." 

My old accustomed corner here is — 

The table still is in tlie nook ; 
Ah ! vanished many a busy year is, 

This well-known chair since last I took. 
When first I saw ye, C'ari luoghi, 

1 'd scarce a beard upon my face, 
And now a grizzled, grim old fogy, 

I sit and wait for Bouillabaisse. 

Where are you, old companions trusty 

Of early days, here met to dine ? 
Come, waiter ! quick, a flagon crusty — 

I '11 pledge them in the good old wine. 
Tlie kind old voices and old faces 

My memory can quick retrace ; 
Around tlie board they take their places. 

And share the wine and Bouillabaisse. 

There 's Jack has made a wondrous marriage ; 

There 's laughing Tom is laughing yet ; 
There 's bravo Augustus drives his carriage ; 

There 's poor old Fred in the Gazette ; 
On James's head the grass is growing : 

Good Lord ! the world has wagged apace 
Since hero wo set the Claret flowing. 

And drank, and ate the Bouillabaisse. 

Ah me ! how quick the days are flitting ! 

I mind me of a time that 's gone, 
AVhen here I 'd sit, as now I 'm sitting. 

In this same place — but not alone. 
A fiiir young form was nestled near me, 

A dear, dear face looked fondly up, 
And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer me. 

— There 's no one now to share my cup. 
* * * * 

I drink it as the Fates ordain it. 

Come, fill it, and have done with rhymes; 
Fill up the lonely glass, and drain it 

In memory of dear old times. 
Welcome the wine, whate'er the seal is ; 

And sit yon down and say your grace 
With thankful heart, whate'er the meal is. 

— -Here comes the smoking Bouillabaisse! 

William Makepeach Ti?ackeeay, 



190 rOEMS OF FlUENDSniP. | 




It made each glowing page. 


on FILL Till-: WIN"E-CUP HIGH! 


Its eloiiuonco, and truth, 




In tho glory of their golden age. 


Oir fill the wmo-cup liigli 1 


Outshine tho fire of youth. 


The sparkling liquor pour ; 




For wo will caro and griof defy, 


Joy to tho lone heart — joy 


They ne'er shall 'plague us more. 


To tho desolate — oppressed; 


And ere the snowy foam 


For wine can every grief destroy 


From off the wine departs, 


That gathers in the breast. 


The iirecious draught shall find a home. 


The sorrows and the care, 


A dwelling in our hearts. 


That in our hearts abide, 




'T will chase them from their dweUings 


Though bright may be the beams 


there. 


That woman's eyes display : 


To drown them in its tide. 


Tlioy are not like the ruby gleams 




That in our goblets play. 


And now tho heart grows warm 


For though surpassing bright 


"With feelings uudefuied, 


Their brilliancy may be. 


Throwing their deep diffusive charm 


Ago dims the lustre of their light 


O'er nil the realms of mind. 


But adds more worth to thee. 


The loveliness of truth 




Flings out its hviglitest rays. 


Give mo another draught, 


Clothed in the songs of early youth. 


Tlio sparkling, and the strong; 


Or joys of other days. 


He who would loiirn the poet craft — 




IIo who woidd shiuo in song — 


Wo think of her, tho young, 


Should pledge the llowiiig bowl 


Tho beautiful, the bright. 


With warm and generous wine ; 


We hear the music of her tongue. 


'Twas wine that warmed Anacrcon's soul, 


Breathing its deep delight. 


And made his songs divine. 


We see again each glance, 




Each bright and dazzling beam. 


And o'en in tragedy, 


Wo feel our throbbing hearts still dance. 


WIio lives that never knew 






We live but in a dream. 


The honey of tho Attic Bee 




AVas gathered from thy dew? 






From darkness, and from woe, 


IIo of the tragic muse. 


A power like lightning darts; 


Whoso praises bards rehearse ; 


A glory Cometh down to throw 


What power but thine could e'er diffuse 


Its shadows o'er our hearts ; 


Such sweetness o'er his verse? 


And dimmed by falling tears, 


Oh would that I could raise 


A spirit seems to rise. 


Tho magic of that tongue; 


That shows tho friend of other years 


Tho spirit of those deathless lays. 


Is mirrored in our eyes. 


Tlio Swan of Teios sung ! 




Each song tho bard has given 


But sorrow, grief, and care. 


Its beauty and its worth. 


Had dimmed his setting star; 


Sounds sweet as if a voice from heaven 


And wo think witli tears of those that 


Was echoed upon the earth. 


were, 




To smile on those that are. 


IIow mighty — how divine. 


Yet though tho grassy mound 


Thy spirit seemeth when 


Sits lightly on his head, 


The rich draught of the purple vine 


We'll pledge, in solemn silence round, 


Dwelt in these godlike men. 


Tho memory of tlie dead! 



SAINT PERAY. 



191 



Tlie sparkling juice now pour, 

"With fond and liberal Land ; 
Oh raise the laughing rim once more, 

Ilere 's to our Fatherland 1 
Up, every soul that hears, 

Hurrah I with three times three; 
And shout aloud, with deafening cheers, 

The " Island of the Free ! " 

Then fill tlio wine-cup high, 

Tlic sparkling liquor pour ; 
For wo will care and grief defy. 

They ne'er shall plague us more. 
And ere the snowy foam 

From off the wine departs, 
The precious draught shall find a home — 

A dwelling in our hearts. 

IloBEET Folkestone Williaus. 



SAINT PERAY. 

ADDRESSED TO II. T. P. 

When to any saint I pray, 
It sliall be to Saint Peray. 
lie alone, of all the brood, 
Ever did me any good : 
Many I have tried tha-t are 
Humbugs in the calendar. 

On the Atlantic, fiiint and sick. 
Once I prayed Saint Dominick : 
Ho was lioly, sure, and wise; — 
Was't not he that did devise 
Auto da Fes and rosaries ? — 
Hut for one in my condition 
This good saint was no physician. 

Next, in pleasant Normandio, 
I made a prayer to Saint Denis, 
In the great cathedral, where 

All the ancient kings repose ; 
But, how I was swindled there 

At the " Golden Fleece," — he knows I 

In my wanderings, vague and various. 
Reaching Naples — as I lay 
Watching Vesuvius from the bay, 

I besought Saint Januarius; 



But I was a fool to try him ; 
Naught I said could liquefy him ; 
And I swear he did mo wrong, 
Keeping me shut up so long 
In that pest-house, with obscene 
Jews and Greeks and things unclean — 
"What need had I of quarantine ? 

In Sicily at least a score — 
In Spain about as many more — 
And in Rome almost as many 
As the loves of Don Giovanni, 
Did I pray to — sans reply ; 
Devil take the tribe 1 — said I. 

Worn with travel, tired and lame, 

To Assisi's walls I came ; 

Sad and full of liomosijsk fancies, 

I addressed me to Saint Francis ; 

But the beggar never did 

Any thing as he was bid. 

Never gave mo aught — but fleas — 

Plenty had I at Assise. 

But in Provence, near Vauclusc, 

Hard by the Rhone, I found a Saint 
Gifted with a wondrous juice, 

Potent for the worst complaint. 
'Twas at Avignon tliat first — 
In the witching time of thirst — 
To my brain the knowledge came 
Of this blessed Catholic's name ; 
Forty miles of dust tliat day 
Made mo welcome Saint Peray. 

Though till then I had not heard 
Aught about him, ere a third 
Of a litre passed my lips. 
All saints else were in eclipse. 
For his gentle spirit glided 

Witli such magic into mine. 
That racthought such bliss as I did 

Poet never drew from wine. 

Rest he gave mo, and refection — 

Chastened hopes, cilm retrospection^ 

Softened images of sorrow. 

Bright forebodings for the morrow — 

Charity for what is past — 

Faith in something good at last. 

Now, why should any almanack 
The name of this good creature lack ? 



192 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



Or -wherefore should the hre%-iary 
Omit a saint so sage and merry ? 
The Pope himself should grant a day 
Especially to Saint Peray. 
But, since no day hath heen appointed, 
On purpose, hy the Lord's anointed, 
Let us not wait — we '11 do him right ; 
Send round yoiu- bottles, ILil — and set 
your night. 

TnOMAS William Parsons. 



AULD LANG SYNE. 



SnocxD auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And never brought to min' ? 
Should auld acquaintance he forgot. 

And days o' lang syne ? 
For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne. 
We '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet 

For auld lang syne ! 



We twa hae run about the braes. 

And pu'd the gowans fine ; 
But we 've wandered mony a weary foot 

Sin auld lang syne. 



We twa hae paidl't i' the burn 
Frae niornin' sim till dine ; 

But seas between us braid hae roared 
Sin auld lang syiie. 



And here's a hand, my trusty fiere. 

And gie 's a hand o' thine ; 
And we '11 tak a right gnid willie-wauglit 

For auld lang syne ! 



And surely ye '11 bo your pint-stowi>, 

And surely I 'U bo mine ; 
And we '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet 

For auld lang syne. 
For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne, 
We '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet. 

For auld lang syne t 

Kqbert Bmxs. 



NIGHT AT SEA. 

The lovely purple of the noon's bestowing 
Has vanished from the waters, where it 
flung 
A royal color, such as gems are throwing 

Tyrian or regal garniture among. 
'T is night, and overhead the sky is gleaming, 
Tliroiigh the slight vapor trembles each dim 
star; 
I turn away — my heart is sadly dreaming 
Of scenes they do not light, of scenes afar. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 

Do you think of me, as I think of you? 

By each dark wave around the vessel sweep- 
ing. 
Farther am I from old dear friends re- 
moved ; 
Till the lone vigil that I now am keeping, 
I did not know how much you were be- 
loved. 
How many acts of kindness little liecded. 
Kind looks, kind words, rise half reproach- 
ful now! 
Hm'ried and anxious, my vexed life has 
speeded. 
And memory wears a soft accusing brow. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 
Do you think of me, as I think of you? 

The very stars are strangers, as I catch them 
Athwart the shadowy sails that swell 
above ; 
I caimot hope that other eyes wiU watch them 

At the same moment with a mutual love. 
They shine not there, as here they now are 
shining ; 
TIio very hours are changed. — Ah, do ye 
sleep? 
O'er each home piUow midnight is deohning — 
May some kind dream at least my image 
keep! 
My friends, my absent friends ! 

Do you think of me, as I think of you? 

Yesterday has a charm. To-day could never 
Fling o'er the mind, which knows aot till 
it parts 



NIGHT AT SEA. 



193 



How it turns back with tenilcrest endeavor 

To fix the past within the heart of hearts. 
Absence is full of raeraory ; it teaches 
Tlie value of all old familiar things ; 
The strengthener of affection, while it 
reaches 
O'er the dark parting, with an angel's 
wingsi 
My friends, my absent friends ! 
Do you think of me, as I think of you ? 

The world, with one vast element omitted — 

Man's own especial element, the earth ; 
Yet, o'er the waters is his rule transmitted 
By that great knowledge whence has power 
its birth.. 
How oft on some strange loveliness while 
gazing 
Have I wished for yon — beautiful as new. 
The purple waves like some wild army rais- 
ing 
Their snowy banners as the ship cuts 
through. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 
Do you think of me, as I think of you !' 

1?earing upon its wings the hues of morn- 
ITp sprmgs the flying fish like life's false 

joy, 

Which of the sunshine asks that frail adorn- 
ing 
Whose very light is fated to destroy. 
All, so doth genius on its rainbow pinion 
Spring from the depths of an unkindly 
world ; 
So spring sweet ftmcies from the heart's 
dominion — 
Too soon in death the scorched-up wing is 
furled. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 

"Sf hate'er I see is linked with thoughts 
of you. 

No life is in the air, but in the waters 

Are creatures, huge, and terrible, and 
strong ; 
The sword-fish and the shark pursue their 
slaughters. 
War universal reigns these depths along. 
14 



Like some new island on the. ocean spring- 
ing, 
Floats on the surface some gigantic whale, 
From its vast head a silver fountain flinging. 
Bright as the fountain in a fairy talc. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 

I read such fairy legends while with 
you. 

Light is amid the gloomy canvas spreading. 

The moon is whitening the dusky sails. 
From the thick bank of clouds she masters, 
shedding 
The softest influence that o'er night pre- 
vails. 
Pale is she like a young queen pale with 
splendor. 
Haunted with passionate thoughts toO' fond^ 
too deep ; 
The very glory that she wears is tender, 
The eyes that watch her beauty fain would 
weep.. 
My friends, niy absent friends ! 
Do you think of me, as I think of you ? 



Sunshine is ever cheerful, when the morning 
Wakens the world with cloud-dispelling 
eyes; 
The spirits mount to glad endeavor, scorning 

What ton upon a path so sunny lies. 
Sunshine and hope are comrades, and their 
weather 
Calls into life an energy like Spring's ; 
But memory and moonlight go together, 
Itetlcotcd in tlie light tliat either brings. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 
Do you think of me, then ? I think 
of you. 



The busy deck is hushed, no sounds are wak- 
ing 
But the watch pacing silently and slow ; 
The waves against the sides incessant brcak- 

ingr 
And rope and canvas swaying to and fro. 
The topmast sail, it seems like some dim pin- 
nacle 
Cresting a shadowy tower amid the air ; 



194 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



VfUl 



rod and fitful gleams come from the 
binnacle. 
The only light on board to guide us — 
where ? 
My friends, my absent friends ! 
Far from my native land, and far from 
you. 



On one side of the ship, the moonbeam's 
shimmer 
In luminous nbrations sweeps the sea, 
But wliere tlio shadow falls, a strange, pale 
glimmer 
Seems, glow-worm like, amid the waves 
to be. 
All that the spirit thinks of thought and feel- 
ing. 
Takes visionai-y hues from such an hour ; 
But while some phantasy is o'er me stealing, 
I start — remembrance has a keener power : 
My friends, my absent friends ! 
From the fab dream I start to think 
of you. 

A dusk line in the moonlight — I discover 

What all day long vainly I sought to catch ; 
Or is it but the varj'ing clouds that hover 
Thick in the air, to mock the eyes that 
watch ? 
No; well the sailor knows each speck, ap- 
pearing. 
Upon the tossing waves, the far-off strand ; 
To that dark line our eager ship is steering. 
Her voyage done — to-morrow we shall 
land. 

L^ETITIA EUZABETU LaNDON. 



THE JODKNEY ONWARDS. 

As slow our ship her foamy track 

Against the wind was cleaving. 
Her trembling pennant still looked back 

To that dear isle 't was lea\nng. 
So loth we part from all we love, 

From all the links that bind us; 
So turn our hearts, as on we rove, 

To those we 've left behind us ! 



When, round the bowl, of vanished years 

We talk with joyous seeming — 
With smiles that might as weU be tears. 

So faint, so sad their beaming ; 
While memory brings us back again 

Each early tie that twined us, 
Oh sweet 's the cup that circles then 

To those we 've left behind us ! 

And when, in other climes, we meet 

Some isle or vale enchanting, 
Wliere all looks flowery, wild, and sweet, 

Aud naught but love is wanting ; 
We think how great had been om- bliss 

If Heaven had but assigned us 
To live and die in scenes like this, 

With some we 've left behind us ! 

As travellers oft look back at eve 

When eastward darkly going. 
To gaze upon that light they leave 

StiU faint behind them glowing, — 
So, when the close of pleasure's day 

To gloom hath near consigned us. 
We turn to catch one fading ray 

Of joy that 's left behind us. 

TnosiAS MooBB. 



THE KcmOGANY TREE. 

CinasTMAS is here ; 
Winds whistle shrUl, 
Icy and chUl, 
Little care we ; 
Little we fear 
AVeather 'n-ithout, 
Sheltered about 
The Mahogany Tree. 

Once on the boughs 
Birds of rare plume 
Sang, in its bloom ; 
Night birds are we; 
Here we carouse, 
Singing, like them. 
Perched round the stem 
Of the jolly old tree. 

Here let us sport. 
Boys, as we sit — 
Laughter and wit 
Flashing so free. 



CHRISTMAS. 195 


Life is but short — 


Drown sorrow in a cup of wine, 


When we are gone, 


And let us aU be merry. 


Let them sing on, 




Round the old tree. 


Now all our neighbors' chimneys smoke, 




And Christmas blocks are burning; 


Evenings we knew, 


Their ovens they with baked meat choke, 


Happy as tliis ; 


And all their spits are turning. 


Faces we miss, 


Without the door let sorrow lie ; 


Pleasant to see. 


And if for cold it hap to die, 


Kind hearts and true. 


We '11 bury 't in a Christmas pie. 


Gentle and just, 


And evermore be merry. 


Peace to your dust ! 


Now every lad is wond'rous trim. 


We sing round the tree. 


And no m.-m minds his labor ; 


Care, like a dun, 


Our lasses have provided them 


Lurks at the gate : 
Let the dog wait; 


A bagpipe and a tabor ; 
Young men and maids, and girls and boys, 


Happy wo '11 be ! 
Drink, every one ; 
Pile up the coals ; 


Give life to one another's joys ; 
And you anon shall by their noise 
Perceive that they are merry. 


Fill the red bowls. 


Rank misers now do sparing shun — 


Round the old tree ! 


Their hall of music soundeth ; 




And dogs thence with whole shoulders run, 


Drain we the cup. — 


So all things there aboundeth. 


Friend, art afraid ? 
Spirits are laid 
In the Red Sea. 
Mantle it up ; 


The country folks themselves advance, 
With crowdy-muttons out of France ; 


And Jack shall pipe, and Gill shall dance, 
And all the town be merry. 


Empty it yet; 




Let us forgot. 
Round the old tree ! 


Ned Squash has fetched his bands from pawn, 
And all his best apparel ; 


Sorrows begone ! 


Brisk -Nell hath bought a rufi"of lawn 


Life and its ills. 


With dropping of the barrel. 


Duus and their bills. 


And those that hai'dly all the year 


T^id we to flpp 


Had bread to eat, or rags to wear. 


Come with the dawn. 


Will have lioth clotlies and dainty fare. 


Blue-devil sprite ; 


And all the day be merry. 


Leave us to-night. 
Round the old tree ! 


Now poor men to the justices 




With capons make their errants ; 


William Makepeace Thaokeeat. 


And if they hap to fail of these. 




They plague them with their warrants : 
But now they feed them with good cheer, 




CHRISTMAS. 


And what they want they take in beer ; 




For Christmas comes but once a year. 


So now is come our joyful'st feast; 


And then they shall be merry. 


Let every man be jolly ; 




Each room with ivy leaves is drest. 


Good farmers in the country nurse 


And every post with holly. 


The poor, that else were undone; 


Though some churls at our mirth repine. 


Some landlords spend their money worse, 


Round your foreheads garlands twine. 


On lust and pride at London. 



196 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



There the roysters they tlo play, 
Drab and dice their lands away, 
Which may be ours another day, 
And therefore let 's be merry. 

The client now his snit forbears ; 

The prisoner's heart is eased ; 
The debtor drinks away his caresj 

And for the time is pleased. 
Though others' purses bo more fat, 
Why should we pine or grieve at that ? 
Ilang sorrow ! Care wiU kUl a cat — 

And therefore let's be merry. 

Hark ! now the wags abroad do call 

Each other forth to r.ambling ; 
Anon you'll see them in the hall. 

For nuts and apples scrambling. 
Hark! how the roofs with laughter sound! 
Anon they'll think the house goes roimd, 
For they the cellar's depth have found. 

And there they wiU be merry. 

The wenches with their wassail bowls 

About the streets are singing ; 
The boys are come to catch the owls 

The wild mare in is bringing. 
Our kitchen boy hath broke his box ; 
And to the dealing of the ox 
Our honest neighbors come by flocks, 

And here they will be merry. 

tfow kings and queens poor sheepcotes have, 

And mate with everybody ; 
The honest now may play the knave. 

And wise men play the noddy. 
Some youths wll now a mumming go. 
Some others play at Rowland-bo, 
And twenty other game boys mo, 

Because they will be merry 



Then wherefore, in these merry days, 

Should we, I pray, be duller ? 
No, let us sing some roundelays. 

To make our mirth the fuller ; 
And, while we thus inspired sing. 
Let all the streets with echoes ring ; 
Woods and hUls, and every thing. 

Bear witness we are merry I 

George Wither. 



WHAT MIGHT BE DONE. 

What might be done if men were wise — 
What glorious deeds, my suffering brother. 
Would they unite 
In love and right. 
And cease their scorn of one another ? 

Oppression's heart might be imbued 
With kindling drops of loving-kindness ; 
And knowledge jjour, 
From shore to shore. 
Light on the ej-os of mental blindness. 

AU slavery, warfare, lies, and wrongs. 
All vice and crime, might die together ; 
And wine and corn, 
To each man born. 
Be free as warmth in summer weather. 

The meanest wretch that ever trod, 
The deepest sunk in guilt and sorrow, 

Might stand erect 

In scLf-respect, 
And share the teeming world to-moiTow. 

What might be done ? Tliis might be done, 
And more than this, my suffering brother — 

More th.in the tongue 

E'er said or sung, 
If men were wise and loved each other. 

CnARLES Mackay. 



PART IV. 
POEMS OF LOYE 



Love ? I will tell thee what it is to love ! 

It is to build with human thoughts a shrine, 

Where Ilope sits brooding like a beauteous dove ; 

Where Time seems young, and Life a thing divine. 

All tastes, all pleasures, all desires combine 

To consecrate this sanctuary of bliss. 

Above, the stars iu cloudless beauty shine ; 

Around, the streams their flowery margins kiss ; 

And if there's heaven on earth, that heaven is surely this. 

Yes, this is Love, the steadfast and the true, 

The immortal glory which hath never set ; 

The best, the brightest boon the heart e'er knew : 

Of all life's sweets the very sweetest yet ! 

O ! who but can recall the eve they met 

To breathe, iu some green walk, their first, young vow ? 

While summer flowers with moonlight dews were wet, 

And ivinds sighed soft around the mountain's brow, 

And all was rapture then which is but memory now ! 

Chablis BwAirr. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



SIR CAULINE. 



THE FIRST PART. 



In Ireland, ferr over the sea, 
There dweUeth a bonnye kinge ; 

And with him a yong and comlye knighte, 
Men call hnn Syr Cauline. 

The kinge had a ladye to his daughter, 
In fashyon she hath no peere ; 

And princely wightes that ladye wooed 
To be theyr wedded fere. 

Syr Cauline loveth her best of all, 

But nothing durst he saye, 
Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man. 

But deerlye he lovde this may. 

Till on a daye it so beflfell 

Great dill to him was dight ; 
The mayden'3 love removde his mind, 

To care-bed went the knighte. 

One while he spred his armes him fro, 
One while he spred them nye : 

"And aye ! but I winne that ladye's love, 
For dole now I mun dye." 

And whan our parish-masse was done. 
Our kinge was bowne to dyne : 

He sayes, " "Where is Syr Cauline, 
That is wont to serve the wyne ? " 

Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte. 
And fast his handes gan wringe : 

" Syr Cauline is sicke, and like to dye, 
Without a good leechinge." 



" Fetche me downe my daughter deere. 

She is a leeche fuUo fine ; 
Goe take him doughe and the baken bread, 
And serve him with the wyne soe rod : 

Lothe I were him to tine." 

Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes. 

Her maydens followyng nye : 
" Oh well," she saytli, " how doth my lord ?" 

" Oil sicke, thou foyr ladye." 

" Nowe ryso up wightlye, man, for shame ; 

Never lye soe cowardlee ; 
For it is told in my father's halle 

You dye for love of mee." 

"Fayre ladye, it is for your love 

That all this dill I drye : 
For if you wold comfort me with a kisse, 
Then were I brought from bale to blisse, 

No lenger wold I lye." 

" Syr knighte, my father is a kinge, 

I am his onlye heire ; 
Alas ! and well you knowe, syr knighte, 

I never can be youre fere." 

" ladye, thou art a kinge's daughter, 

And I am not thy peere ; 
But let me doe some deedes of armes. 

To be your bacheleere." 

" Some deedes of armes if thou wUt doe, 

My bacheleere to bee 
(But ever and aye my heart wold rue, 

GifF harm should happe to thee,) 



•200 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



" Upon Eldridge hill there groweth a thorne, 

Upon the mores brodinge ; 
And dare ye, syr kniglite, wake tliei-e all 
nighte, 

Untill the fayre^morninge? 



"For the Eldridg« knighte, so mickle of 
mighte, 

Will examine you beforne ; 
And never man bare life awaye, 

But h« did him scath and scorne. 

"That knighte he is a foul paynim, 

And large of limb and bone ; 
And but if heaven may be thy speede, 

Thy life it is but gone." 

"Nowe on the Eldridge hilles He walke, 

For thy sake, fair ladie ; 
And He either bring you a ready token, 

Or He never more you see." 

The lady is gone to her own chaumbere, 

Her maydens following bright ; 
Syr Cauline lope from care-bed soone, 
And to the Eldridge hills is gone. 

For to wake there all night. 

Unto midnight, that the moone did rise, 

lie walked np and downe ; 
Then a lightsome bugle heard he blowe 

Over the bents soe browne ; 
Quoth hee, "If cryance come till my heart, 

I am farre from any good towne." 

And soone he spyde on the mores so broad 

A furyous wight and fell ; 
A ladye bright his brydle led. 

Clad in a fayre kyrtell : 

And Boe fast he called on Syr Cauline, 

" O m.m, I rede thee flye. 
For but if cryance come tiU thy heart, 

I weene hut thou mun dye." 

He sayth, " No cryance comes till my heart, 

Nor, in faith, I wyU not flee ; 
For, cause thou miuged not Christ before, 

The less me dreadeth thee." 



The Eldridge knight«, ho pricked his steed ; 

Syr Cauline bold abode : 
Then either shooke his trustye speare, 
And the timber these two childi'en bare 

Soe soone in sunder slode. 

Then tooke they out theyr two good swordes, 

And layden on full faste. 
Till helme and hawberke, mail and sheelde. 

They all were w^eU-nighe brast. 

The Eldridge knight was mickle of might. 
And stifle in stower did stande ; 

But Syr Cauline with an aukeward stroke 
ne smote off his right-hand ; 

That soone he, with paine, and iacke of blond, 
Fell downe on that lay -land. 

Then up Syr Cauline lift his brandc 

All over his head so hye : 
"And here I sweare by the holy roode, 

Nowe, caytifl'e, thou shalt dye." 

Then up and came that ladye brighte, 

Faste wringing of her hande : 
"For the mayden's love, that most you love, 

Withold that deadlye hrande : 

"For the mayden's love, that most you love, 

Now smyte no more I praye ; 
And aye whatever thou wUt, my lord, 

He shall thy bests obaye." 

"Now sweare to mee, thou Eldridge knighte, 

And here on this lay-land. 
That thou wilt believe on Christ his laye, 

And therto plight thy hand : 

"And that thou never on Eldridge hill come 

To sporte, gamon, or playe ; 
And that thou here give up thy armes 

Until thy dying daye." 

The Eldridge knighte gave up his armes, 
With many a sorrowfuUe sighe ; 

And sware to obey Syr Cauliue's best, 
Till the tyme that he shold dye. 

And he then np, and the Eldridge knighte 

Sett him in his saddle anone ; 
And the Eldridge knighte and his ladye. 

To thejT castle are they gone. 



SIR CAULINE. 



201 



Then he tooke up the bloudy hand, 

That -was so hirge of bone, 
And on it he founde five ringes of gold. 

Of knightes that had he slone. 

Then he tooke up the Eldridge sworde, 

As hard as any flint ; 
And he tooke ofl:" those ringes five, 

As bright as fyre and brent. 

Home then pricked Syr Cauline, 

As light as leafe on tree ; 
I-wys he neither stint ne blanne, 

Till he his ladye see. 

Then downe he knelt upon his knee, 

Before that lady gay : 
" O ladye, I have bin on the Eldridge hills ; 

These tokens I bring away." 

"Now welcome, welcome, Syr Cauline, 

Thrice welcome unto mee, 
For now I perceive thou art a true knighte, 

Of valour bolde and free." 

" O ladye, I am thy own true knighte. 

Thy bests for to obaye ; 
And mought I hope to winne thy love ! " — 

No more his tonge colde say. 

The ladye blushed scarlette redde. 

And fette a gentill sighe : 
"Alas! syr knight, how may this bee. 

For my degree's soe highe? 

"But sith thou hast hight, thou comely youth. 

To be my bachelere. 
He promise, if thee I may not wedde, 

I wDl have none other fere." 

Then shoe held forthe her liley-white hand 

Towards that knighte so free ; 
He gave to it one gentill kisse, 
His heart was brought from bale to blisse. 

The teares sterte from his ee. 

"But keep my coimsayl, Syr Cauline, 

Ne let no man it knowe ; 
For, and ever my father sholde it ken, 

I wot be wokle us sloe." 



From that daye forthe, that ladye fayre 
Lovde Syr Cauline the knighte ; 

From that daye forthe, be only joyde 
'Whan shee was in his sight. 

Yea, and oftentimes they mette 

Within a fayre arboure, 
"Where they, in love and sweet daliaunce. 

Past manye a pleasaunt houre. 



TBtE SECOND PAET. 

EvERTE white will have its blacke, 

And everye sweete its sowre : 
This founde the ladye Christabelle 

In an untimely howre. 

For so it befelle, as Syr Cauline 

Was with that ladye faire. 
The kinge, her father, walked forthe 

To take the evenyng aire : 

Aud into the arboure as he went 

To rest his wearye feet. 
He found his daughter and Syr Cauline 

There sette in daliaunce sweet. 

The kinge bee sterted forthe, i-wys, 

And an angrye man was bee : 
" Nowe, traytoure, thou shalt hange or drawo, 

And rewe shall thy ladie." 

Then forthe Syr Cauline he was ledde. 
And throwne in dungeon deeps ; 

And the ladye into a towre so bye, 
Tliere left to wayle and weepe. 

The queene she was Syr Cauline's friend, 

And to the kinge sayd shee : 
" I pray you save Syr Cauline's life. 

And let him banisht bee." 

" Now, dame, that traytoure shall be sent 

Across the salt-sea fome ; 
But here I will make thee a band. 
If ever he come within this land, 

A foule deathe is his doome." 



202 POEMS OF LOVE. 


All woe-begone was that gentil knight 


And now three days were prestlye past 


To parte from his ladye ; 


In feates of chivalrye. 


And many a time he sighed sore, 


When lo ! upon the fourth morninge, 


And cast a wistfulle eye : 


A sorrowfulle sight they see : 


" Faire Ohristabelle, from thee to parte, 




Farre lever had I dye." 


A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke, 




All foide of limbe and lere. 


Faire Ohristabelle, that ladye bright, 


Two goggling eyen, like fire farden. 


Was had forthe of the towro ; 


A mouthe from eare to eare. 


But ever shee droopeth in her minde. 
As nipt by an ungentle winde 
Doth some faire liley flowre. 


Before him came a dwarfifo full lowe. 

That waited on his knee ; 
And at his backe five heads he bare, 


And ever shee doth lament and weepe. 


All wan and pale of blee. 


To tint her lover soe : 
" Syr Cauline, thou little think'st on mee. 
But I will still be true." 


" Sir," quoth the dwarffe, and louted lowe, 

"Behold that hend soldain ! 
Behold these heads I heare with me ! 


Manye a kinge, and manye a duke, 


They are kings which he hath slain. 


And lorde of high degree, 
Did sue to that fayre ladye of love ; 


" The Eldi-idge knight is his own cousino. 
Whom a knight of thine hath shent ; 


But never shee woldo them nee. 


And hee is come to avenge his wrong : 




And to thee, all thy knightes among, 


Wheu manye a daye was past and gone. 


Defiance here hath sent. 


Ne comforte shee colde finde, 




The kynge proclaimed a tourneament. 


" But yette he will appease his wrath. 


To cheere his daughter's mind. 


Thy daughter's love to winne ; 




And, but thou yeelde him that foyre maid, 


And there came lords, and there came knights 


Thy halls and towers must brenne. 


Fro manye a farre countrye, 
To break a spere for theyr ladye's love, 
Before that faire ladye. 


" Thy head, syr king, must goe with mee, 

Or else thy daughter dere ; 
Or else within these lists soe broad, 


And many a ladye there was sette. 


Thou must finde him a peere." 


In purple and in palle ; 
But faire Ohristabelle, soe woe-hegone, 
"Was the fayi-est of them all. 


The kinge he turned him round aboute, 

And in his heart was woe : 
"Is there never a knighte of my round table 




This matter will undergoe ? 


Tlien manye a knighte was mickle of might, 




Before his ladye gaye ; 


"Is there never a knighte amongst yee all 


But a stranger wight, whom no man knewe, 


Will fight for my daughter and mee ? 


lie wan the prize eche daye. 


Whoever will fight yon grimme soldan. 




Right fair his meede shall bee. 


Ilis acton it was all of blacke, 
His hewberke and his sheelde ; 


" For hee shall have my broad lay -lands. 


Ne noe man wist whence he did come. 


And of my orowne be heyre ; 


Ne noo man knewe where he did gone. 


And he shall ■winne fajTO Ohristabelle 


"When they came out the feelde. 


To be his wedded fere." 



SIR CAULINE. 



203 



But every knighte of his round table 

Did stand both still and pale ; 
For, whenever they lodkt on the grim soldan, 

It made their hearts to quail. 

AH woe-begone was that fayre ladye, 
"When she sawe no helpe was nye : 

She cast her thought on her owne true-love, 
And the teares gusht from her eye. 

Up then sterte the stranger knighte, 

Sayd, "Ladye, be not aftrayd; 
lie fight for thee with this grimme soldan, 

Thoughe he be unraacklye made. 

"And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge 
sworde, 

That lyeth within thy bowre, 
I truste in Christe for to slay this fiende, 

Thoughe he be stiff in stowre." 

" Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde," 
The kinge he cryde, " with speede : 

If owe, heaven assist thee, courteous knighte ; 
My daughter is thy meede." 

The gyaunt he stepped into the lists, 

And sayd, "Awaye, awaye! 
I sweare, as I am the hend soldan. 

Thou lettest me here all daye." 

Then forthe the stranger knight he came, 

In his blacke armoure dight ; 
Tlie ladye sighed a gentle sighe, 

" That this were my true knighte ! " 

And nowe the gyaunt and knight be mett 

Within the lists soo broad ; 
And now, with swordes soe sharpe of Steele, 

They gan to lay on load. 

Tlie soldan strucke the knighte a stroke 

That made him reele asyde ; 
Then woe-begone was that fayre ladye, 

And thrice she deeply sighde. 

The soldan strucke a second stroke. 
And made the blonde to flowe ; 

All pale and wan was that ladye fayre, 
And thrice she wept for woe. 



The soldan strucke a third fell stroke. 
Which brought the knighte on his knee ; 

Sad sorrow pierced that ladyes heart. 
And she shriekt loud shriekings three. 

The knighte he leapt upon his feete, 

All recklesse of the pain ; 
Quoth hee, " But heaven be now my speede. 

Or else I shall be slaine." 

He grasped his sworde with mayne and mights, 

And spying a secrette part, 
He drave it into the soldan 's syde, 

And pierced him to the heart. 

Then all the people gave a shoute, 
Whan they sawe the soldan falle ; 

The ladye wept, and thanked Christ 
That had reskewed her from thrall. 

And nowe the kinge, with all his barons. 

Rose uppe from offe his seate, 
And downe he stepped into the listes 

That curteous knighte to greete. 

But he, for payne and lacko of bloude. 

Was fallen into a swounde. 
And there, aU walteringe in his gore. 

Lay lifelesse on the grounde. 

"Oome downe, come downe, my daughter 
deare. 

Thou art a leeche of skille ; 
Farre lever had I lose halfe my landes 

Than this good knighte sholde spille." 

Downe then steppeth that fayre ladye, 

To helpe him if she maye ; 
But when she did his beavere raise, 
"It is my life, my lord ! " she sayes, 

And shriekte and swound awaye. 

Sir Cauline juste lifte up his eyes, 

When he heard his ladye crye : 
" ladye, I am thine owne true love ; 

For thee I wisht to dye." 

Then giving her one partinge looke, 

He closed his eyes in death, 
Ere Christabelle, that ladye milde, 

Begane to drawe her breathe. 



204 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



But when she found her comelye knighte 

Indeed was dead and gone, 
She layde her pale, cold cheeke to his, 

And thus she made her moane : 

" Oh staye, my deare and onlye lord, 

For mee, thy faithfiiUe fere ; 
'T is meet that I shold followe thee. 

Who hast bought my love so deare." 

Tlien foyntinge in a deadlye swoune. 

And with a deep-fette sighe 
That burst her gentle heart in twayne, 

Fayre Christabelle did dye. 

Anonymous. 



THE NUT-BROWN MAID. 

Be it right, or wrong, these men among 

On women do complain ; 
Affirming this, how that it is 

A labour spent in vain 
To love them wele; for never a dele 

They love a man again: 
For let a man do what he can, 

Their favour to attain. 
Yet, if a new do tliem pursue. 

Their first true lover then 
Laboureth for nought, for from her thought 

He is a banished man. 

I say not nay, but that all day 

It is both writ and said 
That woman's faith is, as who saith, 

All utterly decayed ; 
But, nevertheless, right good witness 

In this case might be laid. 
That they love true, and continiie, 

Record the nut-brown maid : 
Wliich, when her love came, her to prove. 

To her to make his moan. 
Would not depart ; for in her heart 

She loved but him alone. 

Then between us let us discuss 

What was all the manere 
Between them too : we will also 

Tell all the pain and fere 



That she was in. Now I begin, 

So that ye me answcre ; 
Wherefore, all ye that present be, 

I pray- you, give an ear. 
I am the knight ; I come by night, 

As secret as I can ; 
Saying, " Alas ! thus standeth the case, 

I am a banished man." 



And I your will for to fulfil 

In this will not refuse ; 
Trusting to shew, in wordes few, 

That men have an ill use 
(To their own shame) women to blame. 

And causeless them accuse : 
Therefore to you I answer now, 

All women to excuse — 
Mine own heart dear, with you what chere? 

I pray you, tell anone ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 



It standeth so ; a dede is do 

Whereof great harm shaU grow : 
My destiny is for to die 

A shameful death, I trowe ; 
Or else to flee ; the one must be. 

None other way I know. 
But to withdraw as an outlaw. 

And take me to my bow. 
Wherefore, adieu, my own heart true ! 

None other rede I can ; 
For I must to tho green wood go, 

Alone, a banished man. 



Lord, what is this worldys bliss, 
That changeth as the moon ! 

My summer's day in lusty May 
Is darked before the noon. 

1 hear yon say farewell : nay, nay, 

We depart not so soon. 
"Why say ye so ? Wheder will ye go ? 

Alas ! what have ye done ? 
All my welfare to sorrow and care 

Should change, if yo were gone ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 



THE NUT-BROWN MAID. 



20S 



I can believe, it shall you grieve, 

And somewhat you distrain ; 
But afterward your paines hard 

Within a day or twain 
Shall soon aslake ; and ye shall take 

Comfort to you again. 
Why should ye ought? for to make thought, 

Your labour were in vain. 
And tlms I do ; and pray you too. 

As heartily as I can ; 
For I must to the green wood go. 

Alone, a banished man. 

SHE. 

Now, sith that ye have shewed to me 

The secret of your mind, 
I shall be plain to you again, 

Like as ye shall me find. 
-Sith it is so, that ye will go, 

I wolle not leave behind ; 
Shall never be said, the nut-brown maid 

Was to her love unkind : 
Make you ready, for so am I, 

Although it were anone ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 



Yet I you rede to take good heed 

What men wUl think and say : 
Of young and old it shall be told, 

That ye be gone away, 
Your wanton wiU for to fulfil, 

In green wood you to play ; 
And that ye might from your delight 

ISTo longer make delay. 
Rather than ye should thus for me 

Bo called an ill woman. 
Yet would I to the green wood go. 

Alone, a banished man. 



Though it be sung of old and young 

That I should be to blame. 
Theirs be the charge, that speak so large 

In hurting of my name ; 
For I will prove that faithfid love 

It is devoid of shame ; 
In your distress and heaviness 

To part with you, the same ; 



And sure all tho that do not so. 
True lovers are they none ; 

For, in my mind, of all mankind 
I love but you alone. 



I counsel you, remember how 

It is no maiden's law. 
Nothing to doubt, but to renne out 

To wood with an outliw : 
For ye must there in your hand bear 

A bow, ready to draw ; 
And, as a thief, thus must you live, 

Ever in dread and awe ; 
Whereby to you great harm might grow : 

Yet had I lever than, 
That I had to the green wood go. 

Alone, a banished man. 

SHE. 

I think not nay, but as ye say. 

It is no m.aiden's lore ; 
But love may make me for your sake. 

As I have said before. 
To come on foot, to hunt, and shoot 

To get us meat in store ; 
For so that I your company 

May have, I ask no more : 
From which to part, it maketh my heart 

As cold as any stone ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 

HE. 

For an outlaw this is the law, 

That men him take and bind; 
Without pity hanged to be. 

And waver with the wind. 
If I had nede, (as God forbede !) 

What rescue could ye find ? 
Forsooth, I trow, ye and your bow 

For fear would draw behind ; 
And no mervayle : for little avail 

Were in your counsel then ; 
Wherefore I will to the green wood go, 

Alone, a banished man. 



Right weU know ye that women be 

But feeble for to fight ; 
No womanhede it is indeed 

To be bold as a knight ; 



206 POEMS OF LOVE. 


Yet in such fear if that ye nvere" 


SHE. 


With enemies day or night, 


Among the wild dere, such an archere 


I would withstand, with how in hand, 


As men say that ye be, 


To greve them as I might, 


Ne may not fail of good vitayle, 


And you to save ; as women have 


Where is so great plenty : 


From death men many a one ; 


And water clear of the ryv6re 


For, in my mind, of all mankind 


Shall be full sweet to me ; 


I love hut you alone. 


With which in hele I shall right wele 




Endure, as ye shall see ; 


HE. 


And, or we go, a bed or two 


Yet take good hede ; for ever I drede 


I can provide anone ; 


That ye could not sustain 


For, in my mind, of all mankind 


The thorny ways, the deep valleys. 


I love but you alone. 


The snow, the frost, the rain. 




The cold, the heat : for, dry or wet, 


HE. 


TVe must lodge on the plain ; 


Lo ! yet, before, ye must do more, 


And, us above, none other roof 


If ye will go with me: 


But a brake bush, or twain ; 


As cut your hair up by your ear, 


■Which soon should grieve you, I believe ; 


Your kirtle by the knee ; 


And ye would gladly then 


With bow in hand for to withstand 


That I had to the green wood go, 


Your enemies, if need be ; 


Alone, a banished man. 


And this same night before day-light, 




To wood-ward will I flee. 


SHE. 


If that ye will all this fulfil. 


Sith I have here been partynere 
With you of joy and bliss. 


Do it shortly as ye can ; 
Else will I to the green wood go, 
Alone, a banished man. 


I must als6 part of your woe 




Endure, as reason is ; 


SHE. 


Yet am I sure of one pleasdre ; 


I shall as now do more for you 


And, shortly, it is this : 


Than 'longeth to womanhede ; 


That, where ye be, me seemeth, parde. 


To shorte my hair, a bow to bear, 


I could not fare amiss. 


To shoot in time of need. 


Without more speech, I you beseech 


my sweet mother, before all other 


That we were soon agone ; 


For you I have most drede ; 


For, in my mind, of all mankind 


But now, adieu ! I must ensne, 


I love but you alone. 


Where fortune doth me lead. 




All this make ye : now let us flee ; 


HE. 


The day cometh fast upon ; 


If ye go thyder, ye must consider, 


For, in my mind, of all mankind 


When ye have lust to dine, 


I love but you alone. 


There shall no meat be for you gete. 




Nor drink, beer, ale, nor wine. 


HE. 


No shetes clean, to lie between. 


Nay, nay, not so ; ye shall not go 


Made of thread and twine ; 


And I shall tell ye why, 


None other house but leaves and boughs, 


Your appetite is to be light 


To cover your head and mine ; 


Of love, I wele aspy : 


mine heart sweet, this evil diete 


For, like as ye have said to me, 


Should make you pale and wan ; 


In like wise hardely 


Wlierefore I will to the green wood go. 


Ye would answere whosoever it were, 


Alone, a banished man. 


In way of company. 



THE NUT-BROWN MAID. 



201 



It is said of old, Soon hot, soon cold ; 

And so is a woman ; 
Wherefore I to the wood will go 

Alone, a banished man. 

SHE. 

If ye take heed, it is no need 

Such words to say by me ; 
For oft ye prayed, and long assayed. 

Or I you loved, pardS ; 
And thongh that I of ancestry 

A baron's daughter be. 
Yet have you proved how I you loved 

A squire of low degree ; 
And ever shall, whatso befaU ; 

To die therefore anone ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 

HE. 
A baron's child to be beguiled ! 

It were a cursed dede ; 
To be felawe with an ontliwe ! 

Almighty God forbede ! 
Yet better were, the poor squyfere 

Alone to forest yede. 
Than ye should say another day, 

That, by my cursed dede. 
Ye were betrayed ; wherefore, good maid, 

The best redo that I can. 
Is, that I to the green wood go. 

Alone, a banished man. 

SHE. 

Whatever befall, I never shall 

Of this thing you upbraid ; 
But if ye go, and leave me so. 

Then have ye me betrayed. 
Remember you wele, how that ye dele ; 

For if ye, as ye said. 
Be so unkind, to leave behind, 

Your love, the nut-brown maid, 
Trust me truly, that I shall die 

Soon after ye be gone ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 

HE. 

If that ye went, ye should repent ; 

For in the forest now 
I have purvayed me of a maid. 

Whom I love more than you ; 



Another, fayrSre than ever ye were, 

I dare it wele avow ; 
And of you both each should be wroth 

With other, as I trow : 
It were mine ease to live in peace ; 

So wUl I, if I can ; 
Wherefore I to the wood will go. 

Alone, a banished man. 



Though in the wood I understood 

Ye had a paramour, 
All this may nought remove my Ihonght, 

But that I wiU be your : 
And slie shall finde me soft and kind, 

And courteys every hour ; 
Glad to fulfil all that she will 

Command me to my power : 
For had ye, lo ! an hundred mo, 

Of them I would be one ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but yon alone. 



Mine own dear love, I see the proof 

That ye be kind and true ; 
Of maid, and wife, in all my life. 

The best that ever I knew. 
Be merry and glad, be no more sad. 

The case is changed new ; 
For it were rnth, that, for your truth, 

Ye should have cause to rue. 
Be not dismayed, whatsoever I said 

To you, when I began ; 
I will not to the green wood go, 

I am no banished man. 



These tidings be more glad to me. 

Than to be made a queen, 
If I were sure they should endure : 

But it is often seen, 
When men wUl break promise, they speak 

The word^s on the splene. 
Ye shape some wile me to beguile. 

And steal from me, I ween ; 
Then were the case worse than it was, 

And I more wo-begone ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 



208 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Ye shall not neiie further to drede ; 

I will not disparage 
You, (God defend !) sith ye descend 

Of so great a lineilge. 
Now understand ; to Westmoreland, 

"Wliich is mine heritage, 
I will you bring; and with a ring. 

By way of marriage 
I will you take, and lady make. 

As shortly as I can : 
Thus have you won an erly's son. 

And not a banished man. 

AUTHOE. 

Here may ye see, that women be 

In love, meek, kind, and stable ; 
Let never man reprove them then. 

Or call them variable ; 
But rather pray God that we may 

To them bo comfortable ; 
Which sometime proveth such, as ho loveth. 

If they be charitable. 
For sith men would that women should 

Bo meek to them each one ; 
Much more ought they to God obey. 

And servo but him alone. 

Anontmocs. 



YOUNG BEIGHAN AND SUSIE PYE. 

In London was young Beichan born. 
Ho longed strange countries for to see ; 

But he was taen by a savage Moor, 
Who handled him right cruellio ; 

For he viewed the fashions of that land : 
Their way of worship viewed he ; 

But to Mahound, or Termagant, 
Would Beichan never bond a knee. 

So in every shoulder they 've putten a bore ; 

In every bore they 've putten a tree ; 
And they have made him trail the wine 

And spices on his fair bodio. 

They 've casten him in a dungeon deep, 
AYhere he could neither hear nor see ; 

For seven years they kept him there, 
Till he for hunger's like to die. 



This Moor he had but ae daughter. 
Her name was called Susie Pye ; 

And every day as she took the air, 
Near Beichan's prison she passed by. 

Oh so it fell, upon a day 

She heard young Beichan sadly sing ; 
"My hounds they all go masterless ; 

My hawks they tiee from tree to tree ; 
My younger brother will heir my land ; 

Fair England again I '11 never see ! " 

All night long no rest she got. 
Young Beichan's song for thinking on ; 

She's stown the keys from her fother's head, 
And to the prison strong is gone. 

And she has opened the prison doors, 

I wot she opened two or three, 
Ere she could come young Beichan at, 

He was locked up so curiouslie. 

But when she came young Beichan before, 
Soro wondered ho that may to see ; 

lie took her for some fair captive ; — 
"Fair Lady, I pray, of what countrie?" 

" Oh have ye any lands," she said, 
" Or castles in your own countrie. 

That ye could give to a lady fair. 
From prison strong to set you free ? " 

" Near London town I have a hall, 
With other castles two or three ; 

I' 11 give them all to the lady fair 
Tliat out of prison will set me free." 

'' Give me the truth of your right hand. 

The truth of it give unto me. 
That for seven years ye '11 no lady wed. 

Unless it be along with me." 

" I '11 give thee the truth of my right hand. 

The truth of it I '11 freely gie, 
That for seven years I '11 stay unwed. 

For the kindness thou dost show to me." 

And she has bribed the proud warder 
Wi' micklo gold and white monie ; 

She 's gotten the keys of the prison strong. 
And she has set young Beichan free. 



YOUNG BEICHAN AND SUSIE PYE. 



•203 



She 's gi'en him to eat the good spice-cake, 
She 's gi'en him to drink the hlood-red wine ; 

She '3 hidden him sometimes tliink on her 
That sae kindly freed him out of pine. 

She 's broken a ring from her finger, 
And to Beichan half of it gave she : 

" Keep it, to mind you of that love 
The lady borr that set you free. 

" And set your foot on good ship-board. 
And haste ye back to your own countrie ; 

And before that seven years have an end. 
Come back again, love, and marry me." 

But long ere seven years had an end, 
She longed full sore her love to see ; 

For ever a voice within her breast 
Said, " Beichan has broke his vow to thee." 

So she 's set her foot on good ship-board, 
And turned her back on her own countrie. 

She sailed east, she sailed west. 
Till to fair England's shore she came ; 

Where a bonny shepherd she espied. 
Feeding his sheep upon the plain. 

" What news, what news, thou bonny shep- 
herd? 

What news has thou to tell to me ? " 
"Such news I hear, ladie," he says, 

" The like was never in this countrie. 

'• There is a wedding in yonder hall, 
Has lasted these thirty days and three ; 

Young Beichan will not bed with his bride, 
For love of one that 's yond the sea." 

She 's put her hand in her pocket, 
Gi'en him the gold and white monie ; 

" Here, take ye that, my bonny boy, 
For the good news thou tell'st to me." 

When she came to young Beichan'a gate. 

She tirled softly at the pin ; 
So ready was the proud porter 

To open and let this lady in. 

" Is this young Beichan's hall," she said, 
" Or is that noble lord within ? " 

" Yea, he 's in the hall among them all, 
And this is the day o' his weddin." 
15 



" And has he wed anither love ? 

And has he clean forgotten me?" 
And, sighin', said tliat gay ladie, 

"I wish I were in my own countrie." 

And she has taen her gay gold ring. 
That with her love she brake so free ; 

Says, " Gie him that, ye proud porter, 
And bid the bridegroom speak to me." 

When the porter came his lord before, 
lie kneeled down low on his knee — 

" What aileth tliee, my proud porter, 
Tliou art so full of courtesie? " 

"I've been porter at your gates, 
It 's thirty long years now and three ; 

But there stands a lady at them now. 
The like o' her did I never see ; 

" For on every finger she has a ring. 
And on her mid finger she has three ; 

And as meickle gold aboon her brow 
As would buy an earldom to me." 

Its ont then spak the bride's mother, 
Aye and an angry woman was shee ; 

"Ye might have excepted our bonny bride, 
And twa or three of our companie." 

"Oh hold your tongue, thon bi-ide's mother; 

Of all your folly let me be ; 
She 's ten times fairer nor the bride. 

And all tliat 's in your companie. 

" She begs one sheave of your white bread, 
But and a cup of your red wine ; 

And to remember the lady's love, 
That last relieved you out of pine." 

" Oh well-a-day ! " said Beichan then, 
"That I so soon have married thee ! 

For it can be none but Susie Pye, 
That sailed the sea for love of me." 

And quickly hied he down the stair ; 

Of fifteen steps he made but three ; 
He's ta'en his bonny love in his arms, 

And kist, and kist her tenderlie. 



210 



POEMS or LOVE. 



"Oh hae ye ta'en anither bride? 

And hae ye quite forgotten me ? 
And hae ye quite forgotten her, 

That gave you life and libertie ? " 

Slie looked o'er hor left shoulder, 
To hide the tears stood in her e'e : 

" Now tare thee well, young Beichan," she 
says, 
" I'll try to think no more on thee." 

" never, never, Susie Pye, 

For surely this can never he ; 
Nor ever shall I wed but her 

That's done and dree'd so much for mo." 

Then out and spak the forenoon bride — 
" My lord, your love it changeth soon ; 

This morning I was made your bride, 
And another chose ere it be noon." 

" Oh hold thy tongue, thou forenoon bride ; 

Ye 're ne'er a whit the worse for me ; 
And wh.an ye return to your own countrie, 

A double dower I '11 send with thee." 

lie 's taen Susie Pye by the white hand, 
And gently led her up and down ; 

And ay, as he kist her red rosy lips, 
"Ye 're welcome, jewel, to your own." 

lie's taen her by the milk-white h.and, 
And led lier to yon fountain stane ; 

He 's changed her name from Susie Pye, 
And he 's called her his bonny love. Lady 
Jane. 

AN0NTSI0U8. 



LORD LOVEL. 

Lord Lovel he stood at his castle gate. 

Combing his milk-white steed ; 
When up came Lady Nancy Belle, 

To wish her lover good speed, speed. 

To wish her lover good speed. 

"Where are you going, Lord Lovel?" she 
said, 

" Oh ! where are yon going ? " said she ; 
" I 'm going, my Lady Nancy Belle, 

Strange countries for to see, to see, 

Strancco countries for to see." 



" When will you be back, Lord Lovel ? " said 
she ; 

"O! when will you comeback?" said she; 
" In a year or two — or three, at the most, 

I '11 return to my fair Nancy-cy, 

I'll return to my fair Nancy." 

But he had not been gone a year and a day, 
Strange countries for to see, 

When languishing thoughts came into Ids 
head, 
Lady Nancy Belle he would go see, see, 
Lady Nancy BeUe he would go see. 

So he rode, and he rode on his milk-white 
steed, 
TiU he came to London town. 

And there he heard St. Pancras' bells. 

And the people all mourning, round, round. 
And the people all mourning round. 

"Oh, what is the matter," Lord Lovel he said, 
" Oh ! what is the matter ? " said he ; 

"A lord's lady Is dead," a woman replied, 
" And some call her Lady Nancy-cy, 
And some call her Lady Nancj'." 

So he ordered the grave to be opened wide. 
And the shroud he turned down. 

And there he kissed her clay-cold lips, 
Till the tears came trickliug down, down. 
Till the tears came trickling down. 

Lady Nancy she died as it might be to-day. 
Lord Lovel he died as to-morrow ; 

Lady Nancy she died out of pure, pure grief. 
Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow, sorrow. 
Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow. 

Lady Nancy was laid in St. Pancras' church. 
Lord Lovel was laid in the choir ; 

And out of her bosom there grew a red rose, 
And out of her lover's a brier, brier, 
And out of her lover's a brier. 

They grew, and they grew, to the church 
steeple top, 
And then they could grow no higher : 
So there they entwined in a true-lover's knot, 
For all lovers true to adniirc-mire. 
For all lovers true to admire. 

Anonymous. 



KOBIN HOOD AND ALLEN-A-D ALE. 211 




" Yesterday I should have married a maid. 


ROBIN HOOD AND AT,T,EN-A-DALE. 


But she was from me ta'en. 
And chosen to be an old knight's delight, 


Come listen to me, you gallants so free, 


Whereby my poor heart is slain." 


AU you that love mirth for to hear, 
jVnd I will tell you of a bold outliw, 
That lived in Nottinghamshire. 


" What is thy name ? " then said Robin Hood, 

" Come teU me, without any fail." 
" By the faith of my body," then said the 


As Eobin Ilood in the forest stood, 
All under the greenwood tree, 


young man, 
"My name it is Allen-a-Dale." 


There he was aware of a brave young man, 
As fine as fine might be. 


"What wOt thou give me," said Robin Hood, 
" In ready gold or fee. 


The youngster was clad in scarlet red, 


To help thee to thy true love again. 
And deliver her unto thee ? " 


In scarlet fine and gay ; 




And he did frisk it over the plain, 
And chaunted a roundelay. 


"I have no money," then quoth the young 
man, 


As Robin Hood nest morning stood 


No ready gold nor fee. 
But I will swear upon a book 


Amongst the leaves so gay, 
There did he espy the same young man 


Thy true servant for to be." 


Come drooping along the way. 


"How many miles is it to thy true love? 




Come tell me without guile." 


The scarlet he wore the day before 


" By the fiiith of my body," then said the 


It was clean cast away ; 


young man, 


And at every step he fetched a sigh, 


"It is but five little mile." 


"Alas! and a well-a-day ! " 






Then Robin he hasted over the plain ; 


Then stepped forth brave Little John, 


He did neither stint nor lin, 


And Midge, the miller's son ; 


Until he came unto the church 


Which made the young man bend his bow. 


Where AUen should keep his weddin'. 


When as he see them come. 






"What hast thou here? " the bishop then said; 


" Stand off ! stand off! " the young man said, 


" I prithee now tell unto me." 


" What is your will with me ? " 


" I am a bold harper," quoth Robin Hood, 


"Tou must come before our master straight. 


"And the best in the north country." 


Under yon greenwood tree." 






" Oh welcome, oh welcome," the bishop he 


And when he came bold Robin before. 


said ; 


Robin asked him courteously. 


" That music best pleaseth me." 


" 0, hast thou any money to spare. 


" You shall have no music," quotli Robin Hood, 


For my merry men and me ? " 


"TiU the bride and bridegroom I see." 


" I have no money," the young man said. 


With that came in a wealthy knight. 


" But five shillings and a ring ; 


Which was both grave and old ; 


And that I have kept this seven long years. 


And after liira a finikin lass, 


To have at my wedding. 


Did shine like the glistering gold. 



212 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



" This is not a fit match," quoth Eobin Hood, 
" That you do seem to make here ; 

For since ■n-e are come into the church, 
The bride shall chuse her own dear." 

Then Eobin Hood put his horn to his month, 
And blew blasts two or three ; 

When four-and-twenty yeomen bold 
Came leaping over the lea. 

And when they came into tlie church-yard. 

Marching all in a row, 
The first man was AUen-a-Dale, 

To give bold Eobin his bow. 

" This is thy true love," Eobin he said, 
" Young Allen, as I hear say ; 

And you shall be married this same time, 
Before we depart away." 

" That shall not be," the bishop he cried, 
" For thy word shall not stand ; 

They shall be three times asked in the church, 
As the law is of our hind." 

Eobin Hood pulled off the bishop's coat. 
And put it upon Little John ; 

" By the fiiith of my body," then Eobin said, 
" This cloth doth make thee a man." 

When Little John went into the quire. 

The people began to laugh ; 
He asked them seven times into church, ' 

Lest three times should not be enough. 

""Who gives me this maid? " said Little John, 
Quoth Eobin Hood, " That do I ; 

And he that takes her from Allen-a-Dale, 
Full dearly he shall her buy." 

And then having ended this merry wedding, 
The bride looked like a queen ; 

And so they returned to the merry green 
wood. 
Amongst the leaves so green. 

Ahonymoits. 



TEUTH'S INTEGEITY. 

FIRST PAET. 

Over the mountains 

And under the waves. 
Over the fomitaius 

And under the graves. 
Under floods which are deepest, 

Which do Neptune obey. 
Over rocks which are steepest, 

Love will find out the way. 

Where there is no place 

For the glow-worm to lie. 
Where there is no place 

For receipt of a fly. 
Where the gnat dares not venture. 

Lest herself fast she lay, 
But if Love come he will enter. 

And find out the way. 

You may esteem him 

A child of his force, 
Or you may deem him 

A coward, which is worse ; 
But if he whom Love doth honor 

Be concealed from the day. 
Set a thousand guards upon him — • 

Love will find out the way. 

Some think to lose him. 

Which is too unkind ; 
And some do suppose him. 

Poor heart, to be blind ; 
But if he were hidden. 

Do the best you may. 
Blind Love, if you so call him, 

WUl find out the way. 

Well may the eagle 

Stoop down to the fist. 
Or you may inveigle 

The phoenix of the east ; 
With fear the tiger 's moved 

To give over their prey ; 
But never stop a lover — 

He will find out the way. 



THE FRIAR OF 


ORDERS GRAY. 213 


From Dover to Berwick, 


Winds that have no abidings, 


And nations tliereabout, 


Pitying their delay. 


Brave Guy, earl of "Warwicl^, 


Would come and bring him tidings, 


Tliat champion so stout. 


And direct him the way. 


With his vrarlike behavior, 




Through the world he did stray. 


If the earth should part him, 


To win his Phillis's favor — ■ 


He would gallop it o'er ; 


Love will find out the way. 


If the seas should o'erthwart him, 




He would swim to the shore. 


lu order next enters 


Should his love become a swallow. 


Bevis so brave, 


Through the air to stra}', 


After adventures 


Love will lend wings to follow, 


And policy brave. 


And will find out the way. 


To see whom he desired. 




His Josian so gay, 


There is no striving 


For whom his heart was fired — 


To cross his intent, 


Love will find out the way. 


There is no contriving 




His plots to prevent ; 




But if once the message greet him, 


SECOND PART. 


That his true love doth stay, 




If death should come and meet him, 


The Gordian knot 


Love will find out the way. 


Which true lovers knit, 


Anonymous. 


Undo it you cannot. 
Nor yet break it ; 






Make use of your inventions. 




Their fancies to betray. 


THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. 


To frustrate their intentions — 




Love wUl find out the way. 


It was a friar of orders gray 




Walked forth to tell his beads ; 


From court to the cottage, 


And he met with a lady fair 


In bower and in hall, 


Clad in a pilgrim's weeds. 


From the king unto the beggar, 




Love conquers all. 


" Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar ; 


Though ne'er so stout and lordly, 


I pray thee tell to me. 


Strive or do what you may. 


If ever at yon holy shrine 


Yet be you ne'er so hardy, 


My true-love thou didst see." 


Love will find out the way. 






" And how should I know your true-love 


Love hath power over princes, 


From many another one ? " 


And greatest emperors ; 


" O, by his cockle hat, and stal^ 


In any provinces. 


And by his sandal shoon. 


Such is Love's power 




There is no resisting. 


"But chiefly by his face and mien, 


But him to obey ; 


That were so fair to view ; 


In spite of all contesting. 


His flaxen locks that sweetly curled. 


Love will find out the way. 


And eyes of lovely blue." 


If that he were hidden. 


"0 lady, he's dead and gone ! 


And all men that are 


Lady, he 's dead and gone ! 


Were strictly forbidden 


And at his head a green grass turf, 


That place to declare. 


And at his heels a stone. 



214 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



"Within these holy cloisters long 

He languished, and he died, 
Lamenting of a lady's love, 

And 'plaining of her pride. 

" Here bore him barefaced on his bier 

Six proper youths and tall, 
And many a tear bedewed his grave 

"Within yon kirk-yard wall." 

"And art thou dead, thou gentle youth? 

And art thou dead and gone ? 
And didst thou die for love of me ? 

Break, cruel heart of stone ! " 

" Oh weep not, lady, weep not so ; 

Some ghostly comfort seek : 
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart, 

Nor tears bedew thy cheek." 

"Oh do not, do not, holy friar, 

My sorrow now reprove ; 
For I have lost the sweetest youth 

That e'er won lady's love. 

" And now, alas ! for thy sad loss 
I '11 evermore weep and sigh : 

For thee I only wished to live. 
For thee I wish to die." 

" Weep no more, lady, weep no more. 

Thy sorrow is in vain ; 
For violets plucked, the sweetest showers 

Will ne'er make grow again. 

" Our joys as winged dreams do fly ; 

Why then should sorrow last? 
Since grief but aggravates thy loss. 

Grieve not for what is past." 

" Oh say not so, thou holy friar ; 

I pray thee, say not so ; 
For since my true-love died for me, 

'T is meet my tears should flow. 

" And will he never come again ? 

Will he ne'er come again ? 
Ah! no, be is dead and laid in his grave : 

For ever to remain. 



"His cheek was redder than the rose ; 

Tlie conieliest youth was he ! 
But he is dead and laid in his grave : 

Alas, and woe is me ! " 

"Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more. 

Men were deceivers ever : 
One foot on sea and one on land. 

To one thing constant never. 

" Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, 

And left thee sad and heavy ; 
For young men ever were fickle found, 

Since summer trees were leafy." 

" Now say not so, thou holy friar, 

I pray thee say not so ; 
My love be had the truest heart — 

Oh he was ever true ! 

" And art thou dead, thou much-loved youth. 

And didst thou die for me ? 
Then farewell home ; for evermore 

A pilgrim I will be. 

" But first upon my true-love's grave 

My weary limbs I '11 lay. 
And thrice I '11 kiss the green-grass turf 

That wraps bis breathless clay." 

" Yet stay, fair lady : rest awhile 

Beneath this cloister wall ; 
See through the hawthorn blows the cold 
wind. 

And drizzly rain doth fall." 

" Oh stay me not, thou holy friar, 

Oh stay me not, I pray ; 
No drizzly rain that falls on me, 

Can wash my fault away." 

" Yet stay, fair lady, turn again. 

And dry those pearly tears ; 
For see beneath this gown of gray 

Thy own true-love appears. 

"Here forced by grief and hopeless love. 

These holy weeds I sought ; 
And here, amid tliese lonely walls. 

To end my days I thought. 



THE SPANISH 


LADY'S LOVE. 215 


" But haply, for my year of grace 


"How should 'st thou, fair lady, love me. 


Is not yet passed away, 


"Whom thou know'st thy country's foe ? 


Might I still hope to win thy love. 


Thy fair wordes make me suspect thee : 


No longer would I stay." 


Serpents are where flowers grow." 




" All the evil I think to thee, most gracious 


" Now farewell grief, and welcome joy 
Once more unto my heart ; 


knight, 
God grant unto myself the same may fully 
light. 


For since I have found thee, lovely youth. 




"We never more will part." 


"Blessed' be the time and season, 


TH0.VA8 Peecy. 


That you came on Spanish ground ; 




If you may our foes be termed. 




Gentle foes we have you found : 
"With our city, you have won our hearts each 




THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE. 


one ; 
Then to your country bear away that is your 
own." 


^Vll.l, you hear a Spanish lady, 


" Rest yon still; most gallant lady ; 


How she wooed an English man ? 


Rest you still, and weep no more ; 


Garments gay, as rich as may he, 


Of fair lovers there are plenty. 


Decked with jewels,had she on. 


Spain doth yield a wondrous store." 


Of a comely countenance and grace was 


"Spaniards fraught with jealousy we often 


she, 


find, 


And by birth and parentage of high degree. 


But Englishmen throughout the world are 




counted kind. 


As his prisoner there he kept her. 

In his hands her life did lye ; 
Cupid's bands did tye her faster 
By the liking of an eye. 
In his courteous company was all her joy. 
To favour him in any thing she was not 


" Leave me not unto a Spaniard, 

You alone enjoy my heart ; 
I am lovely, young, and tender, 
And so love is my desert. 
StiU to serve thee day and night my mind is 
prest; 


coy. 


The wife of every Englishman is counted 




blest." 


At the last there came commandment 

For to set the ladies free, 
"With their jewels still adorned. 
None to do them injury. 
" Alas ! " then said this lady gay, " full woe is 
me; 


" It would be a shame, fair lady. 
For to bear a woman hence ; 

English soldiers never carry 
Any such without offence." 
"I wiU quickly change myself, if it be so. 


1 
Oh let me still sustain this kind captivity 1 


And like a page I'll follow thee, where'er 
thou go." 


"0 gallant captain, shew some pity 


"I have neither gold nor silver 


To a ladye in distresse ; 


To maintain thee in this case, 


Leave me not within this city, 


And to travel, 'tis great charges, 


For to dye in heavinesse. 


As you know, in every place." 


Thou hast set this present day ray body 


"My chains and jewels every one shall be 


free, 


thine own, 


But niy heart in prison strong remains with 


And eke ten thousand pounds in gold that 


thee." 


lies unknown." 



216 POEMS OF LOVE. 


" On th« seas are many dangers ; 




Many storms do there arise, 


THE HERMIT. 


Which -will be to ladies dreadful, 




And force tears from wat'ry eyes." 


" TuEN, gentle hermit of the dale, 


'■ Well in worth I could endure extremity, 


And guide my lonely way 


For I could find in heart to lose my life for 


To where yon taper cheers the vale 


thee." 


With hospitable ray. 


" Courteous lady, be contented ; 


" For here forlorn and lost I tread. 


Here comes all that breeds the strife ; 


With fainting steps and slow ; 


I in England have already 


Where wilds, immeasurably spread. 


A sweet woman to my wife : 


Seem lengthening as I go." 


I will not falsiiie my vow for gold or gain, 




Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in 


"Forbear, my son," the hermit cries, 


Spain." 


" To tempt the dangerous gloom ; 




For yonder faithless phantom flies 


" Oh how happy is that woman 


To lure thee to thy doom. 


That enjoys so true a friend! 




Many days of joy God send you! 


" Here to the houseless child of want 


Of my suit I '11 make an end : 


My door is open still ; 


On my knees I pardon crave for this oifence. 


And though my portion is but scant. 


Which love and true aifection did first com- 


I give it with good wUl. 


mence. 


" Then turn to-night, and freely share 




Whate'er my cell bestows ; 


" Commend me to thy loving lady; 


My rushy couch and frugal fare. 


Bear to her this chain of gold, 


My blessing and repose. 


And these bracelets for a token ; 




Grieving that I was so bold. 


" No flocks that range the valley free 


AU my jewels in like sort bear thou with thee. 


To slaughter I condemn ; 


For these are fitting for thy wife, and not for 


Taught by that power that pities me, 


me. 


I learn to pity them ; 




" But from the mountain's grassy side 


" I will spend my days in prayer, 
Love and all her laws defie ; 


A guiltless feast I bring; 


• In a nunnery will I shroud me. 


A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied. 


Far from other company : 


And water from the spring. 


But ere my prayers have end, be sure of this. 


" Then, pUacrim, turn; thy cares foreco ; 


To pray for thee and for thy love I will not 


/ J. <J J 1 V (J 7 

All earth-born cares are wrong : 


miss. 


Man wants but little here below. 




Nor wants that little long." 


" Thus fiirewell, most gentle captain, 




And farewell my heart's content ! 


Soft as the dew from heaven descends, 


Count not Spanish ladies wanton. 


His gentle accents fell ; 


Though to thee my love was bent : 


The modest stranger lowly bends, 


Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee ! " 


And foUows to the cell. 


" The like fall ever to thy share, most fair 




lady." 


Far in a wilderness obscure 


Anontmocs. 


The lonely mansion lay ; 




A refuge to the neighboring poor, 




And strangers led astray. 



THE HERMIT. 217 


No stores beneath its humble thatch 


" For shame, fond youth ! thy sorrows hush, 


Required a master's care : 


And spurn the sex," he said ; 


The wicket, opening with a latch, 


But, while he spoke, a rising blush 


Eeceived the hannless pair. 


His lovelorn guest betrayed. 


And now, when busy crowds retire 


Surprised, he sees new beauties rise. 


To take their evening rest, 


Swift mantling to the view : 


The hermit trimmed his little fire, 


Like colors o'er the morning skies, 


And cheered his pensive guest ; 


As bright, as transient too. 


And spread his vegetable store. 


The bashful look, the rising breast, 


And gayly prest and smiled ; 


Alternate spread alarms : 


And, skilled in legendary lore, 


The lovely stranger stands eonfest 


The lingering hours beguiled. 


A maid in all her charms. 


Around, in sympathetic mirth, 


" And, ah ! forgive a stranger rude. 


Its tricks the kitten tries ; 


A wretch forlorn," she cried; 


Tlie cricket chirrups on the hearth ; 


" Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude 


The crackling fagot flies. 


Where heaven and you reside. 


But nothing could a charm impart 


" But let a maid thy pity share. 


To soothe the stranger's woe : 


Whom love has taught to stray ; 


For grief was heavy at his heart. 


Who seeks for rest, but finds despair 


And tears began to flow. 


Companion of her way. 


Eis rising cares the hermit spied. 


"My father lived beside the Tyne, 


With answering care opprest: 


A wealthy lord was he ; 


"And whence, unhappy youth," he cried. 


And all his wealth was marked as mine, 


" The sorrows of thy breast ? 


He had but only me. 


" From better habitations spurned. 


" To win me from his tender arms. 


Pveluctant dost thou rove ? 


Unnumbered suitors came ; 


Or grieve for friendship tmreturned, 


Who praised me for imputed charms. 


Or unregarded love? 


And felt, or feigned, a flame. 


" Alas ! the joys that fortune brings 


" Each hour a mercenary crowd 


Are trifling, and decay ; 


With richest profiers strove : 


And those who prize the paltry things, 


Among the rest young Edwin bowed. 


More trifling still than they. 


But never talked of love. 


" And what is friendship but a name, 


" In humble, simplest habit clad. 


A charm that lulls to sleep ; 


No wealth or power had he ; 


A. shade that follows wealth or fame, 


Wisdom and worth were all he had, 


And leaves the wretch to weep ? 


But these were all to me. 


" And love is still an emptier sound. 


" And when beside me in the dale 


The modern fair one's jest; 


He carolled lays of love, • 


On earth unseen, or only found 


His breath lent fragrance to the gale. 


To warm the turtle's nest. 


And music to the grove. 



218 



POEMS OP LOVE. 



" The blossom opening to the day, 

The dews of heaven refined, 
Could nought of purity display 

To emulate his mind. 

" Tlie dew, the blossoms of the tree, 
"With charms inconstant shine ; 

Their charms were his, hut, woe to me ! 
Their constancy was mine. 

•' For still I tried each ficHe art. 

Importunate and vain ; 
And while his passion touched my heart, 

I triumphed in his pain : 

"Till, quite dejected with my scorn. 

He left me to my pride ; 
And sought a solitude forlorn. 

In secret, where he died. 

" But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, 

And well my life shall pay ; 
I'll seek the solitude he sought, 

And stretch me where he lay. 

" And there forlorn, despairing, hid, 

I'll lay me down and die ; 
'Twas so for me that Edwin did, 

And so for him will I." 

"Forbid it, heaven! "the hermit cried. 
And clasped her to his breast ; 

Tlie wondering fair one turned to chide,— 
'Twas Edwin's self that prest. 

" Turn, Angelina, ever dear. 

My charmer, turn to see 
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here. 

Restored to love and thee. 

" Thus let me hold thee to my heart. 

And every care resign ; 
And shall we never, never part, 

My life — my all that's mine ? 

" No, never from this hour to part. 

We'll live and love so true ; 
Tlie sigh that rends thy constant heart 

Shall break thy Edwin's too." 

Oliver GoLDSMiTn. 



SWEET WILLIAM'S FAEEWELL TO 
BLACK-EYED SUSAN. 

All in the Downs the fleet was moored, 
The streamers waving in the wind. 

When black-eyed Susan came aboard. 
Oh ! where shall I my true-love find ? 

TeU me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true, 

If my sweet William sails among your crew. 

William, who high upon the yard 

Rocked with the billows to and fro, 
Soon as her well-known voice he heard. 

He sighed and cast his eyes below : 
The cord slides swiftly through his glowing 

hands. 
And, quick as lightnmg, on the deck he 
stands. 

So the sweet lark, high poised in air. 
Shuts close his pinions to his breast 

If chance his mate's shrill call he hear, 
And drops at once into her nest. 

The noblest captain in the British fleet 

Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet. 

Susan, Susan, lovely dear. 
My vows shall ever true remain ; 

Let me kiss off that fallmg tear ; 
We only part to meet again. 

Change, as ye list, ye winds ; my heart shall 
be 

The faithful compass that stiU points to thee. 

Believe not what the landmen say. 

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind: 

They '11 tell thee, sailors, when away. 
In every port a mistress find : 

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, 

For thou art present whereso'er I go. 

If to fair India's coast we sail. 
Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, 

Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale. 
Thy skin is ivory so white. 

Thus every beauteous object that I view. 

Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. 



THE SEAMAN'S HAPPY RETURN. 



219 



Though battle call me from thy arms, 
Let not my pretty Susan mourn ; 

Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms, 
AVilliam shall to his dear return. 

Love turns aside the balls that round me fly. 

Lest precious tears shoidd drop from Susan's 
eye. 

The boatswain gave the dreadful word. 
The sails their swelling bosom spread ; 

No longer must she stay aboard ; 
They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head. 

Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land : 

Adieu ! she cries ; and waved her lily hand. 

John Gat. 



THE SEAMAN'S HAPPY RETURN. 

WnEN Sol did cast no light, being darkened 
over, 

And the dark time of night did the skies 
cover, 

Running a river by, there were ships sail- 
ing, 

A maid most fair I spied, crying and wailing. 

Unto this maid I stept, asking what grieved 
her ; 

She answered me and wept, fates had de- 
ceived her : 

My love is prest, quoth she, to cross the 
ocean — 

Proud waves to make the ship ever in motion. 

We loved seven years and more, both being 
sure. 

But I am left on shore, grief to endure. 

lie promised back to turn, if life was spared 
hira; 

AVith grief I daily mourn death hath de- 
barred him. 

Straight a brisk lad she spied, made her ad- 
mire, 

A present she received pleased her desire. 

Is my love safe, quoth she, wiU be come near 
me? 

The young man answer made. Virgin, pray 
hear me. 



Under one banner bright, for England's glory. 
Your love and I did fight — mark well my 

story ; 
By an unhappy shot we two were parted ; 
His death's wound then he got, though 

valiant-hearted. 

All this I witness can, for I stood by him. 
For courage, I must say, none did outvie 

him; 
He still would foremost be, striving for 

honor ; 
But fortune is a cheat, — vengeance upon her 1 

But ere he was quite dead, or his heart 

broken. 
To me these words he said. Pray give this 

token 
To my love, for there is than she no fairer ; 
Tell her she must be kind and love the 

bearer. 

Intombed he now doth lye in stately manner, 
'Cause he fought valiantly for love and hon- 
or. 
That right he had in you, to me he gave it ; 
Now since it is my due, pray let mo have it. 

She, raging, flung away like one distracted. 
Not knowing what to say, nor what she 

acted. 
So last she cursed her fate, and showed her 

anger, 
Saying, Friend, you come too late, I '11 have 

no stranger. 

To your own house return, I am best pleased 

Here for my love to mourn, since he 's de- 
ceased. 

In sable weeds I '11 go, let who will jeer me ; 

Since death has served me so, none shall 
come near me. 

The chaste Penelope mourned for Ulysses ; 
I have more grief than she, robbed of my 

blisses. 
I '11 ne'er love man again, therefore pray hear 

me; 
I '11 slight you with disdain if you come near 

me. 



220 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



I know he loved me well, for when we 
parted, 

None did in grief excel, — both were true- 
hearted. 

Those promises we made ne'er shall he 
hroken ; 

Those words that then he said ne'er shaU be 
spoken. 



He hearing what she said, made his love 
stronger ; 

Off his disguise he laid, and staid no longer. 

When her dear love she knew, in wanton 
fashion 

Into his arms she flew, — such is love's pas- 
sion! 

He asked her how she liked his counter- 
feiting, 

Whether slie was well pleased with such like 
greeting ? 

You are well versed, quoth she, in several 
speeches, 

Could you coin money so, you might get 
riches. 

O happy gale of wind that waft thee over! 
May heaven preserve that ship that brought 

my lover ! 
Come kiss me now, my sweet, true love's no 

slander ; 
Thou shalt my Hero be, I thy Leander. 

Dido of Carthage queen loved stout ^neas. 
But my true love is found more true than he 

was. 
Venus ne'er fonder was of younger Adonis, 
Than I will be of thee, since thy love her 

own is. 

Then hand in hand they walk with mirth 

and pleasure. 
They laugh, they kiss, they talk — love knows 

no measure. 
Now both do sit and sing — but she sings 

clearest ; 
Like nightingale in spring. Welcome my 

dearest ! 

Anonymous, i 



THE EVE or ST. AGNES. 



St. Agnes' Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was 1 
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold ; 
The hare limped trembling through the frozen 

grass, 
And silent was the flock iu wooUy fold : 
Numb were the headman's fingers while he 

told 
His rosary, and while his frosted breath, 
Like pious incense from a censer old. 
Seemed taking flight for heaven without a 

death. 
Past the sweet virgin's picture, while his 

prayer he saith. 



His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man ; 
Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his 

knees. 
And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan. 
Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees ; 
The sculptured dead, on each side seem to 

freeze, 
Emprisoned in black, purgatorial rails ; 
Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries. 
He passed by ; and his weak spirit fails 
To think how they may ache in icy hoods 

and mails. 



Northward he turneth through a little door. 
And scarce three steps, ere music's golden 

tongue 
Flattered to tears this aged man and poor ; 
But no — already had his death-bell rung; 
The joys of all his life were said and sung ; 
His was harsh jienance on St. Agnes' Eve ; 
Another way he went, and soon among 
Kough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve. 
And all night kejit awake, for sinners' sake 

to grieve. 



That ancient beadsman heard the prelude soft; 
And so it chanced, for many a door was wide, 
From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft. 
The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide ; 



THE EVE OF ST. AGNES." 



221 



The level chambers, ready with their pride, 
Were glowing to receive a thousand guests ; 
The carved angels, ever eager-eyed. 
Stared, where upon their heads the cornice 

rests. 
With hair blown back, and wings put cross- 
wise on their breasts. 



At length burst in the argent revelry, 
AVith plume, tiara, and all rich array, 
Numerous as shadows haunting fairily 
The brain, new-stufled, in youth, with 

triumphs gay 
Of old romance. These let us wish away ; 
And turn, sole-thougbted, to one lady there. 
Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry 

day. 
On love, and winged St. Agnes' saintly care, 
As she had heard old dames full many times 

declare. 

VI. 

They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve, 
Young virgins might have visions of delight, 
And soft adorings from their loves receive 
Upon the honeyed middle of the night, 
If ceremonies due they did aright ; 
As, supperless to bed they must retire. 
And couch supine their beauties, lOy white ; 
Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require 
Of heaven with upward eyes for all that 
they desire. 



Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline ; 
The music, yearning like a god in pain. 
She scarcely heard ; her maiden eyes divine. 
Fixed on the floor, saw many a sweeping 

train 
Pass by — she heeded not at all ; in vain 
Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier. 
And back retired ; not cooled by high dis- 
dain, 
But she saw not ; her heart was otherwhere ; 
She sighed for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest 
of the year. 



She danced along with vague, regardless eyes, 
Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and 
short ; 



The hallowed hour was near at hand ; she 

sighs 
Amid the timbrels, and the thronged resort 
Of whisperers in anger, or in sport ; 
'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn. 
Hoodwinked with fairy fancy ; all amort 
Save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn. 
And all the bliss to be before to-morrow 



So, purposing each moment to retire. 

She lingered still. Meantime, across the 

moors. 
Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire 
For Madeline. Beside the portal doors. 
Buttressed from moonlight, stands he, and 

implores 
All saints to give him sight of Madeline ; 
But for one moment in the tedious hours. 
That he might gaze and worship all unseen ; 
Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss — in sooth 

such things have been. 



lie ventures in ; let no buzzed whisper tell ; 
All eyes be mufiled, or a hundred swords 
Win storm his heart, love's feverous citadel ; 
For him, those chambers held barbarian 

hordes, 
Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords, 
Whose very dogs would execrations howl 
Against his lineage ; not one breast affords 
Him any mercy, in that mansion foul. 
Save one old beldame, weak in body and in 

soul. 



Ah, happy chance ! the aged creature came, 
ShufBing along with ivory-headed wand. 
To where he stood, hid from the torch's 

flame, 
Behind a broad hall-pUlar, far beyond 
The sound of merriment and chorus bland. 
He startled her ; but soon she knew his face. 
And grasped his fingers in her palsied hand. 
Saying, " Mercy, Porphyro ! hie thee from 

this place ; 
They are all here to-night, the whole blood- 
thirsty race ! 



222 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



" Get hence ! get hence ! there 's dwarfish 

Ilildebrand ; 
He Lad a fever late, and in the fit 
He cursed thee and thine, both Louse and 

land ; 
Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a 

whit 
More tame for his gray hairs— Alas me ! flit! 
Flit like a ghost away ! " — "Ah, gossip dear, 
AYe 're safe enough ; here in this arm-chair 

sit, 
And tell me Low " — " Good saints, not here, 

not liere ; 
Follow mo, child, or else these stones will be 

thy bier." 



He followed through a lowly arched way. 
Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume ; 
And as she muttered " Well-a — weU-a-day ! " 
He found him in a little moonlight room, 
Pale, latticed, chill, and silent as a tomb. 
" Now toll me where is Madeline," said he, 
" Oh tell me, Angela, by the holy loom 
ATliioh none but secret sisterhood may see. 
When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving 
piously." 



" St. Agnes ! Ah ! it is St. Agnes' Eve- 
Yet men will murder upon holy days ; 
Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve. 
And be liege-lord of all the elves and foys, 
To venture so. It fiUs me with amaze 
To see thee Porphyro ! — St. Agnes' Eve ! 
God's help ! my lady fair the conjurer plays 
This very night ; good angels her deceive I 
But let me laugh awhile, I 've mickle time 
to grieve." 



Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon. 
While Porphyro upon her face doth look. 
Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone 
Who keepeth closed a wondrous riddle-book, 
As spectacled she ^its in chimney nook. 
But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she 
told 



His lady's purpose ; and he scarce could 

brook 
Tears, at the thought of those enchantments 

cold. 
And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old. 



Sudden a thought came like a full-blown 

rose. 
Flushing his brow, and in Lis pained heart 
Made purple riot ; then doth he propose 
A stratagem, that makes the beldame start : 
" A cruel man and impious thou art ! 
Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep and dream 
Alone with her good angels, far apart 
From wicked men like thee. Go, go! I deem 
Thou canst not surely be the same that thou 

didst seem." 



" I will not harm her, by all saints I swear !" 
Quoth Porphyro ; "Oh may I ne'er find grace 
When my weak voice sLall whisper its last 

prayer. 
If one of her soft ringlets I displace, 
Or look with ruffian passion in her face ; 
Good Angela, believe me by these tears ; 
Or I will, even in a moment's space. 
Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's cars. 
And beard them, though they be more fanged 

than wolves and bears." 



"Ah ! why wilt thou aftright a feeble soul? 
A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, church-yard 

thing. 
Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight 

toll; 
WTiose prayers for thee, each morn and 

evening. 
Were never missed." Thus plaining, doth 

she bring 
A gentler speech from burning Porphyro ; 
So woful, and of such deep sorrowing. 
That Angela gives promise she will do 
Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or 

woe. 



THE EVE OF ST. AGNES. 



223 



Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy. 
Even to Madeline's cbamher, and there hide 
Ilim in a closet, of such privacy 
Tliat he might see her beauty unespied, 
And win perhaps that night a peerless bride; 
"While legioned fairies paced the coverlet, 
And pale enchantment held her sleepy-eyed. 
Never on such a night have lovers met, 
Since Merlin paid his demon all the mon- 
strous debt. 



" It shall be as thou wishest," said the dame ; 
"All Gates and dainties shall be stored there 
Quickly on this feast-night ; by the tambour 

frame 
Her own lute thou wilt see ; no time to spare. 
For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare 
On such a catering trust my dizzy head. 
Wait here, ray child, with patienee kneel in 

prayer 
The while. Ah! thou must needs the lady 

wed, 
Or may I never leave my grave among the 

dead." 



So saying she hobbled oft' with busy fear. 
Tlie lover's endless minutes slowly pass'd ; 
T)ie dame return'd, and whisper'd in his ear 
To follow her; with aged eyes aghast 
From fright of dim espial. Safe at last, 
Through many a dusky gallery, they gain 
Tlie maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd and 

chaste ; 
Where Porphyro took covert, pleased amain. 
His poor guide hurried back with agues in 

her brain. 



Iler faltering hand upon the balustrade, 
Old Angela was feeling for the stair, 
Wlien Madeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid, 
Rose, like a missioned spirit, unaware; 
With silver taper's light, and pious care. 
She turned, and down the aged gossip led 
To a safe level matting. Now prepare. 
Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed ! 
She comes, she comes again, like ring-dove 
frayed and fled. 



Out went the taper as she hurried in ; 
Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died ; 
She closed the door, she panted, all akin 
To spirits of the air, and visions wide ; 
No uttered syllable, or, woo betide ! 
But to her heart, her heart was voluble. 
Paining with eloquence her balmy side ; 
As though a tongueless nightingale should 

swell 
Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled in 

her dell. 



A casement high and triple-arched there was. 
All garlanded with carven imageries 
Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot- 
grass, 
And diamonded with panes of quaint device, 
Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes. 
As are the tiger-moth's deep-damasked wings; 
And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries, 
And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, 
A shielded scutcheon blushed with blood of 
queens and kings. 

sxv. 
Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, 
And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair 

breast. 
As down she knelt for heaven's grace and 

boon; 
Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, 
And on her silver cross soft amethyst, 
And on her hair a glory, like a saint ; 
She seemed a splendid angel, newly drest. 
Save wings, for heaven. Porphyro grew faint ; 
She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal 

taint. 



Anon his heart revives ; her vespers done. 
Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees ; 
Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one ; 
Loosens her fragrant bodice ; by degrees 
Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees ; 
Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed, 
Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees, 
In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, 
But dares not look behind, or all the charm 
is fled. 



224: 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Soon, trembling in her soft aud chilly nest, 
In sort of wakeful swoon, perplexed she lay, 
Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppressed 
Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away ; 
Flown like a thought, until the morrow-day ; 
Blissfully havened both from joy and pain ; 
Clasped like a missal where swart Paynims 

pray ; 
Blinded alike from simshine and from rain, 
As though a rose should shut, and be a bud 



Stolen to this paradise, and so entranced, 
Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress, 
And listened to her breathing, if it chanced 
To wake into a slumberous tenderness ; 
Which when he heard, that minute did he 

bless. 
And breathed himself; then from the closet 

crept, 
Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness. 
And over the hushed carpet, silent, stept, 
And 'tween the curtains peeped, where, lo ! — 

liow fast she slept. 



Then by the bed-side, where the faded moon 
Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set 
A table, and, half anguished, threw thereon 
A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet: — 
Oh for some drowsy Morphcan amulet ! 
The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion, 
The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet. 
Affray his ears, though but in dying tone : — 
The hall-door shuts again, and aU the noise 
is gone. 



And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep, 
In blanched linen, smooth, and lavcndered ; 
While he from forth the closet brought a 

heap 
Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and 

gourd ; 
With jellies soother than the creamy curd, 
And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon ; 
Manna and dates, in argosy transferred 
From Fez ; and spiced dainties, every one. 
From sUken Samarcand to cedaj-ed Lebanon. 



These delicates he heaped with glowing hand 
On golden dishes and in baskets bright 
Of wreathed silver. Sumptuous they stand 
In the retired quiet of the night. 
Filling the chiUy room with perfume light. — 
" And now, my love, my seraph fair awake ! 
Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite ; 
Open thine «yes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, 
Or I sliall drowse beside thee, so my soul 
doth ache." 



Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm 
Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream 
By the dusk curtains; — 'twas a midnight 

charm 
Impossible to melt as iced stream : 
The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam ; 
Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies ; 
It seemed he never, never could redeem 
From such a steadfast spell his lady's eyes ; 
So mused awhile, entoUed in woofed phanta- 
sies. 



Awakening up, he took her hollow lute, — 
Tumultuous, — and, in chords that tenderest 

be, 
He played an ancient ditty, long since mute. 
In Provence called "La belle dame sans 

mercy ; " 
Close to her ear touching the melody ; — 
Wherewith disturbed, she uttered asoft moan ; 
He ceased— she panted quick — and suddenly 
Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone ; 
Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth- 
sculptured stone. 



Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, 

Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep. 

There was a painful change, that nigh ex- 
pelled 

Tlie blisses of her dream so pure and deep ; 

At which fair Madeline began to weep. 

And moan forth witless words with many a 
sigh ; 

Wliile still her gaze on Porphyro would keep; 



THE EVE OF ST. AGNES. 



Who knelt, •n'itli joined bands and piteous 

eye, 
Fearing to move or speak, she looked so dream- 

ingly. 



" Ah, Poi-phyro ! " said she, " but even now 
Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear. 
Made tunable with every sweetest vow ; 
And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear ; 
How changed thou art! how pallid, chill, 

and drear ! 
Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, 
Those looks immortal, those complainings 

dear ! 
Oh leave me not in this eternal woe. 
For if thou diest, my love, I know not where 

to go." 

XXXYI. 

Beyond a mortal man impassioned far 

At these voluptuous accents, he arose, 
Ethereal, flushed, and like a throbbing star 
Seen 'mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose ; 
Into her dream he melted, as the rose 
Blendeth its odor with the violet, — 
Solution sweet ; meantime the frost-wind 

blows 
Like love's alarum pattering the shai-p sleet 
Against the window-panes ; St. Agnes' moon 

hath set. 



'Tis dark; quick pattereth the iJaw-blown 

sleet ; 
" This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline ! " 
'Tis dark ; the iced gusts still rave and beat : 
" No dream, alas ! alas ! and woe is mine ! 
Porphyro will leave me here to fade and 

pine. — 
Cruel ! what traitor could thee hither bring? 
I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, 
Though thou forsakest a deceived thing ; — ■ 
A dove forlorn and lost, with sick, raipruned 



XXXTIII. 

"My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride! 
Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? 
Thy beauty's shield, heart-shaped and vermeil 
dyed ? 

16 



Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest 
After so many hours of toil and quest, 
A famished pilgrim, — saved by miracle. 
Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest. 
Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well 
To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel. 

XXXIX. 

" Hark ! 'tis an elfin storm from fairy land. 
Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed : 
Arise — arise ! the morning is at hand ; — 
The bloated wassailers will never heed. 
Let us away, my love, with happy speed ; 
There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, — 
Drowned all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead. 
Awake 1 arise ! my love, and fearless be. 
For o'er the southern moors I have a home 
for thee." 



She hurried at his words, beset with fears. 
For there were sleeping dragons all around. 
At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears- 
Down the wide stairs a darkling way they 

found. 
In all the house was heard no human sound. 
A chain-drooped lamp vras flickering by each 

door ; 
The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and 

hound. 
Fluttered in the besieging wind's uproar ; 
And the long carpets rose along the gusty 

floor. 



They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall ! 
Like phantoms to the iron porch they glide. 
Where lay the porter, in uneasy sprawl, 
With a huge empty flagon by his side ; 
The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his 

hide. 
But his sagacious eye an inmate owns ; 
By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide ; 
The chains lie silent on the footworn stones ; 
The key turns, and the door upon its hinges 

gi'oans. 



And they are gone ! ay, ages long ago 
These lovers fled away into the storm. 







226 POEMS OF LOVE. 


That night the baron dreamt of many a woe, 


I 've heard you say on many a day, and sure 


And all his warrior-guests, with shade and 


you said the truth. 


form 


Andalla rides without a peer among all 


Of witch, and demon, and large coiBn-worm, 


Granada's youth : 


Were long be-nightmared. Angela the old 


Without a peer he rideth, and yon milk-white 


Died palsy-twitched, with meagre face de- 


horse doth go 


form ; 


Beneath his stately master, with a stately 


The beadsman, after thousand aves told. 


step and slow : — 


For aye unsought-for slept among his ashes 


Then rise — Oh ! rise, Xarifa, lay the golden 


cold. 


cushion down ; 


John Ki:ats. 


Unseen here through the lattice, you may 




gaze with all the town ! " 


THE BRIDAL OF ANDALLA. 






The Zegri lady rose not, nor laid her cushion 


"Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden 


down. 


cushion down ; 


Nor came she to the window to gaze with all 


Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with 


the town ; 


all the town ! 


But though her eyes dwelt on her knee, in 


From gay guitar and violin the silver notes 


vain her fingers strove. 


are flowing. 


And though her needle pressed the silk, no 


And the lovely lute doth speak between the 


flower Xarifa wove ; 


trimapets' lordly blowing, 


One bonny rose-bud she had traced before 


And banners bright from lattice light are 


the noise drew nigh — 


waving every where, 


That bonny bud a tear eftaced, slow drooping 


And the tall, tall plume of our cousin's bride- 


from her eye — 


groom floats proudly in the air. 


" No — no ! " she sighs — " bid me not rise, nor 


Rise up, rise up, Xarifa ! lay the golden 


lay my cushion down. 


cushion down ; 


To gaze upon Andalla with all the gazing 


Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with 


town ! " 


all the town ! 




" Arise, arise, Xarifa ! I see AndaUa's face — 


" Why rise ye not, Xarifa — nor lay your 


He bends him to the people with a calm and 


cushion down — 


princely grace ; 


Why gaze ye not, Xarifa— with all the gazing 


Through all the land of Xeres and banks of 


town? 


Guadalquiver 


Hear, hear the trumpet how it swells, and 


Rode forth bridegroom so brave as he, so 


how the people cry ; 


brave and lovely never. 


Ho stops at Zara's palace-gate — why sit ye 


Yon tall plume waving o'er his brow, of pur- 


still— 0, why?" 


ple mixed with white. 


— " At Zara's gate stops Zara's mate ; in him 


I guess 't was wreathed by Zara, whom he 


shall I discover 


will wed to-night. 


The dark-eyed youth pledged me his truth 


Rise up, rise up, Xarifa ! lay the golden 


with tears, and was my lover ? 


cushion down; 


I will not rise, with weary eyes, nor lay my 


Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with 


cushion down, 


all the town ! 


To gaze on false Andalla with all the gazing 




town ! " 


"What aileth thee, Xarifa — what makes 


ANONTMors. (Spanish.) 


thine eyes look down ? 


Translation of John Gibbon Lockhakt. 


Why stay ye from the window far, nor gaze 


__^ 


with all the town ? 





THE DAY-DREAM. 



227 



THE DAT-DREAM. 

THE 8LEEPINO PALACE. 

The varying year witli blade and sheaf 

Clothes and re-clothes the happy plains ; 
Here rests the sap within the leaf; 

Here stays the blood along the veins. 
Faint shadows, vapors lightly curled, 

Faint murmurs from the meadows come, 
Like hints and echoes of the world 

To spirits folded in the womb. 

Soft lustre bathes the range of urns 

On every slanting terrace-lawn. 
The fountain to his place returns, 

Deep in the garden lake withdrawn. 
Here droops the banner on the tower, 

On the hall-hearths the festal fires, 
The peacock in his laurel bower, 

The parrot in his gilded wires. 

Roof-haunting martins warm their eggs; 

In these, in those the life is stayed. 
The mantles from the golden pegs 

Droop sleepily. No sound is made — 
Not even of a gnat that sings. 

More like a picture seemeth all. 
Than those old portraits of old kings 

That watch the sleepers from the wall. 

Here sits the butler with a flask 

Between his knees, half-drained ; and there 
The wrinkled steward at his task ; 

The maid-of-honor blooming fair. 
The page has caught her hand in his ; 

Her lips are severed as to speak ; 
His own are pouted to a kiss ; 

The blush is fixed upon her cheek. 

Till all the hundred summers pass. 

The beams, that through the oriel shine, 
Make prisms in every carven glass, 

And beaker brimmed with noble wine. 
Each baron at the banquet sleeps ; 

Grave faces gathered in a ring, 
[lis state the king reposing keeps : 

He must have been a jolly king. 

All round a hedge upshoots, and shows 

At distance like a little wood ; 
Thorns, ivies, woodbine, mistletoes. 

And grapes with bunches red as blood ; 



All creeping plants, a wall of green 

Close-matted, burr and brake and briar, 

And glimpsing over these, just seen, 
High up, the topmost palace-spire. 

When will the hundred summers die. 

And thought and time be born again, 
And newer knowledge, drawing nigh. 

Bring truth that sways the soul of men ? 
Here all things in their place remain, 

As all were ordered, ages since. 
Come care and pleasure, hope and pain, 

And bring the fated fairy prince ! 

THE SLEEPrSG BEAUTY. 

Year after year unto her feet. 

She lying on her couch alone, 
Across the purple coverlet. 

The maiden's jet-black hair has grown ; 
On either side her tranced form 

Forth streaming from a braid of pearl ; 
The slumb'rous light is rich and warm, 

And moves not on the rounded curl. 

The silk star-broidered coverlid 

Unto her limbs itself doth mould, 
Languidly ever ; and, amid 

Her full black ringlets, downward rolled, 
Glows forth each softly-shadowed arm. 

With bracelets of the diamond bright. 
Her constant beauty doth inform 

Stillness with love, and day with light. 

She sleeps ; her breathings are not heard 

In palace chambers far apart. 
The fragrant tresses are not stirred 

That lie upon her charmed heart. 
She sleeps ; on either hand upswells 

The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest; 
She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells 

A perfect form in perfect rest. 

THE arrival 

All precious things, discovered late, 

To those that seek them issue forth ; 
For love in sequel works with fate. 

And draws the veil from hidden worth. 
He travels far from other skies — 

His mantle glitters on the rocks — 
A fairy prince, with joyful eyes. 

And lishter-footed than the fox. 



228 



POEMS OP LOVE. 



Tbo bodies and tho bones of tbose 

Tbat strove in otber days to pass, 
Are withered in tbe tliorny close, 

Or scattered blanching in the grass, 
lie gazes on tbe silent dead : 

"Tbey perished in their daring deeds." 
This proverb flashes through his head : 

" The many fail ; tbe one succeeds." 

lie comes, scarce knowing what he seeks. 

He breaks the hedge ; he enters there ; 
The color flies into his cheeks ; 

He trusts to light on something fair ; 
For all bis life the charm did talk 

About bis path, and hover near 
With words of promise in his walk, 

And whispered voices in his ear. 

More close and close his footsteps wind ; 

The magic music in bis heart 
Beats quick and quicker, till he find 

The quiet chamber far apart. 
Ilis spirit flutters like a lark. 

He stoops — to kiss her — on bis knee : 
"Love, if thy tresses be so dark. 

How dark those bidden eyes must be ! " 

THE KEVIVAL. 

A TOUCH, a kiss ! the charm was snapt. 

There rose a noise of striking clocks ; 
And feet tbat ran, and doors that clapt, 

And barking dogs, and crowing cocks ; 
A fuller light illumined all ; 

A breeze through all the garden swept ; 
A sudden hubbub shook the hall ; 

And sixty feet the fountain leapt. 

Tbe hedge broke in, the banner blew. 

The butler drank, the steward scrawled, 
The fire shot up, tbe martin flew, 

The parrot screamed, tbe peacock squalled; 
The maid aud page renewed their strife ; 

Tbe palace banged, and buzzed and clackt; 
And all the long-pent stream of life 

Dashed downward in a cataract. 

And last of all the king awoke. 
And in his chair himself upreared. 

And yawned, and rubbed bis face, and spoke ; 
" By holy rood, a royal beard ! 



How say you ? we have slept, my lords ; 

My beard has grown into my lap." 
The barons swore, with many words, 

'T was but an after-dinner's nap. 

"Pardy!" returned the king, "but still 

My joints are something stiff or so. 
My lord, and shall we pass the bill 

I menfioned half an hour ago? " 
The chancellor, sedate and vain. 

In courteous words returned reply ; 
But dallied with his golden chain, 

And, smiling, put the question by. 

THE DEPAETDRE. 

And on her lover's arm she leant. 

And round her waist she felt it fold ; 
And far across the bills they went 

In that new world which is the old. 
Across tho hills, and far away 

Beyond their utmost purple rim, 
And deep into tbe dying day. 

The happy princess followed him. 

" I 'd sleep another hundred years, 

love, for such another kiss ! " 
" Oh wake for ever, love," she bears, 

"O love, 'twas such as this and this." 
And o'er them many a sliding star. 

And many a merry wind was borne. 
And, streamed through many a golden bar, 

Tbe twilight melted into morn. 

" O eyes long laid in happy sleep ! " 

" O happy sleep, that lightly fled ! " 
" O happy kiss, tbat woke thy sleep ! " 

"0 love, thy kiss would wake tbe deadl" 
And o'er them many a flowing range 

Of vapor buoyed the crescent bark ; 
And, rapt through many a rosy change, 

The twilight died into tho dark. 

"A hundred summers ! can it be? 

And whither goest thou, tell me where ! " 
" Oh seek my father's court with me, 

For there are greater wonders there." 
And o'er the hills, and far away 

Beyond their utmost purple rim, 
Beyond the night, across the day. 

Through all the world she followed him. 
Alfred Tenntson 



LOVE. 229 




And that he crossed the mountain-woods. 


LOVE. 


Nor rested day nor night ; 


All thoughts, all passions, all deliglits. 


That sometimes from the savage den. 


Whatever stu-s this mortal frame. 


And sometimes from the darksome shade, 


All are but ministers of love. 


And sometimes starting up at once 


And feed his sacred flame. 


In green and sunny glade, — 


Oft in my waking dreams do I 


There came and looked him in the face 


Live o'er again that happy hour, 


An angel beautiful and bright; 


When midway on the mount I lay. 


And that he knew it was a fiend. 


Beside the ruined tower. 


This miserable knight ! 


The moonshine stealing o'er the scene, 


And that, unknowing what he did, 


Had blended with the lights of eve ; 


lie leaped amid a murderous band. 


And she was there, my hope, my joy. 


And saved from outrage worse than death. 


My own dear Genevieve ! 


The lady of the land ; 


She leaned against the armed man, 


And how she wept and clasped his knees ; 


The statue of the armed knight ; 


And how slio tended him in vain — 


She stood and listened to my lay. 


And ever strove to expiate 


Amid the lingering hght. 


The scorn that crazed his brain ; — 


Few sorrows hath she of her own. 


And that she nursed him in a cave ; 


My hope! my joy! my Genevieve I 


And how liis madness went away, 


She loves me best whene'er I sing 


When on the yellow forest-leaves 


The songs that make her grieve. 


A dying man he lay ; — 


I played a soft and doleful air; 


His dying words — but when I reached 


I sang an old and moving story — 


That tenderest strain of aU the ditty. 


An old, rude song, that suited well 


My faltering voice and pausing harp 


That min wild and hoary. 


Disturbed her soul with pity! 


She listened with a flitting blush. 


All impulses of soul and sense 


With downcast eyes and modest grace; 


Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve ; 


For well she knew I coidd not choose 


The music and the doleful tale, 


But gaze upon her face. 


The rich and balmy eve ; 


I told her of the knight that wore 


And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, 


Upon his shield a burning brand ; 


An undistinguishable throng. 


And that for ten long years he wooed 


And gentle wishes long subdued. 


Tlie lady of the land. 


Subdued and cherished long! 


I told her how he pined — and ah ! 


She wept with pity and delight — 


The deep, the low, the pleading tone 


She blushed with love, and virgin shame; 


With which I sang another's love, 


And like the murmur of a dream. 


Interpreted my own. 


I heard her breathe my name. 


She listened with a flitting blush. 


ller bosom heaved; she stepped aside — 


With downcast eyes and modest grace ; 


As conscious of my look she stept — 


And she forgave me that I gazed 


Then suddenly, with timorous eye. 


Too fondly on her face ! 


She fled to me and wept. 


But when I told the cruel scorn 


She half inclosed me with her arms ; 


That crazed that bold and lovely knight. 


She pressed me with a meek embrace ; 







230 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



And bending back her bead, looked up, 
And gazed npon my face. 

'T was partly love, and partly fear. 
And pai-tly 'twas a bashfid art. 
That I might rather feel, than see, 
The swelling of her heart. 

I calmed her fears, and she was calm, 
And told her love with virgin pride ; 
And so I won my Genevieve, 

My bright and beauteous bride. 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 



ZAEA'S EAR-RINGS. 

Mt ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! they 'vo di-opped 

into the well, 
And what to say to Muf a, I cannot, cannot 

tell— 
'T was thus, Granada's fountain by, spoke 

Albuharez' daughter : — ■ 
The well is deep — fai- down they lie, beneath 

the cold blue water ; 
To me did Mu?a give them, when he spake 

his sad farewell. 
And what to say when he comes back, alas ! 

I cannot tell. 

My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! — they were 

pearls in silver set. 
That, when my Moor was far away, I ne'er 

should him forget ; 
That I ne'er to other tongues should list, nor 

smile on other's tale. 
But remember he my lips had kissed, pure as 

those ear-rings pale. 
When he comes back, and hears that I have 

dropped them in the well. 
Oh ! what will Mufa think of rae ? — I cannot, 

cannot tell ! 

My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! — he '11 say they 
should have been, 

Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and 
glittering sheen. 

Of jasper and of onyx, and of diamond shin- 
ing clear. 

Changing to the changing light, with radiance 
insincere ; 



That changeful mind unchanging gems are 

not befitting well. 
Thus will he think — and what to say, alas ! 

I cannot tcU. 

He 'II think, when I to market went I loitered 

by the way ; 
He'll tliink a willing ear I lent to all the lads 

might say ; 
He '11 think some other lover's hand, among 

my tresses noosed. 
From the ears where he had placed them my 

rings of pearl unloosed ; 
He '11 think when I was sporting so beside 

his marble well 
My pearls fell in — and what to say, alas ! I 

cannot tell. 

He 'U say, I am a woman, and we are all the 

same ; 
He 'U say, I loved, when he was here to 

wliisper of his flame — 
But when he went to Tunis, my \'irgin troth 

had broken. 
And thought no more of Muf a, and cared not 

for his token. 
My car-rings ! my car-rings : oh ! luckless, 

luckless well, — 
For what to say to Mufa — alas ! I cannot tell. 

1 '11 tell the truth to Muf a — and I hojie he 

will believe — 
That I thought of him at morning and thought 

of him at eve ; 
That, musing on my lover, when down the 

sun was gone, 
His ear-rings in my h.and I held, by the foim- 

tain all alone ; 
And that mj' mind was o'er the sea, when 

from my hand they fell, 
And that deep his love lies in my heart, as 

they lie in the well. 

Anonymovs. (Spanish.) 
Translation of John Gieson Lockhabt. 



SEREANA. 

I ne'ke on the border 
Saw girl lair as Rosa, 

The charming milk-maiden 
Of sweet Fiuojosa. 



THE SPINNING- 


WHEEL SONG. 231 


Once making a journey 


" 'Tis the sound, mother dear, of the simimer 


To Santa Maria 


wind dying." 


Of Calataveflo, 


Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, 


From weary desire 


Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the 


Of sleep, down a valley 


foot 's stirring ; 


I strayed, where young Eosa 


Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, 


I saw, the milk-maiden 


Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden 


Of lone Finojosa. 


singing. 


In a pleasant green meadow, 




'Midst roses and grasses, 


" What 's that noise that I hear at the window, 


Her herd she was tending. 


I wonder? " 


With other fair lasses ; 


" 'T is the little birds chii-ping the holly-bush 


So lovely her aspect, 


under." 


I could not suppose her 


" What makes you be shoving and moving 


A simple milk-maiden 


your stool on. 


Of rude Finojosa. 


And singing all wrong that old song of ' The 


I think not primroses 


Coolun?'" 


Have half her smile's sweetness. 


There's a form at the casement — the form of 


Or mild, modest beauty ; 


her true-love — 


I speak with discreetness. 


And he whispers, with face bent, " I 'm wait- 


Oh, had I beforehand 


ing for you, love ; 


But known of this Eosa, 


Get up on the stool, through the lattice step 


The lovely milk-maideu 


lightly, 


Of fair Finojosa ! 


We'll rove in the grove while the moon's 




shining brightly." 


Her very great beauty 


Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, 


Had not so subdued, 


Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the 


Because it had left me, 


foot 's stirring ; 


To do as I would. 


Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing. 


I have said more, fair one. 


Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden 


By learning 't was Eosa, 


singing. 


The charming milk-maiden 




Of sweet Finojosa. 




Lope db Mendoza. (Spanish.) 


The maid shakes her head, on her lip lays 


Translation of J. H. Wiffen. 


her fingers, 




Steals up from her seat — longs to go, and yet 
lingers ; 




THE SPINNING-WHEEL SONG. 


A frightened glance turns to her drowsy 




grandmother. 


Mellow the moonlight to shine is beginning ; 


Puts one foot on the stool, spins the wheel 


Close by the window young Eileen is spin- 


with the other. 


ning; 


Lazily, easily, swings now the wheel round ; 


Bent o'er the fire, her blind grandmother, sit- 


Slowly and lowly is heard now the reel's 


ting. 


sound; 


Is croaning, and moaning, and drowsily knit- 


Noiseless and fight to the lattice above her 


ting— 


The maid steps — then leaps to the arms of 


"Eileen, achora, I hear some one tapping." 


her lover. 


" 'T is the ivy, dear mother, against the glass 


Slower — and slower — and slower the wheel 


flapping." 


swings ; 


" Eileen, I surely hear somebody sighing." 


Lower — and lower — and lower the reel rings ; 



232 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Ere tlie reel and the wheel stop their ringing 

and moving, 
Tlirough the grove the young lovers by moon- 

Hglit are roving. 

John Frascis "Waller. 



WATCH SONa. 

The sun is gone down, 

And the moon upward springeth ; 
Tlie night creepeth onward ; 

Tlie nightingale singeth. 
To himself said a watchman, 

"Is any knight waiting 
In pain for his lady. 

To give her his greeting? 

Now, then, for their meeting ! " 

His words heard a knight. 
In the garden while roaming: 

"Ah, watchman! " he said, 
" Is the daylight fast coming? 

And may I not see her. 
And wilt not thou aid me? " 

" Go, wait in thy covert, 
Lest the cock crow reveillfi. 
And the dawn should betray thee." 

Then in went that watchman. 

And called for the fair ; 
And gently he roused her: 

" Rise, lady ! prepare ! 
New tidings I bring thee. 

And strange to thine ear; 
Come, rouse thee up quickly — 

Thy knight tarries near ; 

Rise, lady ! appear ! " 

" Ah, watchman ! though purely 

The moon shines above. 
Yet trust not securely 

That feigned tale of love. 
Far, fiir from my presence 

My own knight is straying ; 
And, sadly repining, 

I mourn his long staying, 

And weep his delaying." 

" Nay, lady ! yet trust me. 

No falsehood is there." 
Then up sprang that lady 

And braided her hair, 



And donned her white garment. 

Her purest of white ; 
And her heart with joy trembling, 
She rushed to the sight 
Of her own faithful knight. 

Anonymous. (German.) 
Translation of Edgar Taylor. 



THE OLD STORY. 

He came across the meadow-pass. 

That summer eve of eves — 
The sunlight streamed along the grass 

And glanced amid the leaves ; 
And from the shrubbery below. 

And from the garden trees. 
He heard the thrushes' music flow 

And humming of the bees ; 
The garden gate was swung apart — 

The space was brief between ; 
But there, for throbbing of his heart. 

He paused perforce to lean. 

He leaned upon the garden-gate ; 

He looked, and scarce he breathed ; 
Within the little porch she sate. 

With woodbine overwreathed ; 
Her eyes upon her work were bent. 

Unconscious who was nigh : 
But oft the needle slowly went, 

And oft did idle lie: 
And ever to her lips arose 

Sweet fragments sweetly sung. 
But ever, ere the notes eoidd close. 

She hushed them on her tongue. 

Her fancies as they come and go. 

Her pure face speaks the while ; 
For now it is a flitting glow. 

And now a breaking smile ; 
And now it is a graver shade. 

When holier thoughts are there — 
An angel's pinion might be stayed 

To see a sight so fair ; 
But stUl they hid her looks of light, 

Those downcast eyelids pale — 
Two lovely clouds, so silken white, 

Two lovelier stars that veil. 

The sun at length his burning edge 

Had rested on the hill. 
And, save one thrush from out the hedge, 

Both bower and grove were still. 



JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. 233 


The sun had almost bade farewell ; 


And if they trembled as the flowers 


But one reluctant ray 


That droop across the stream. 


Still loved within that porch to dwell, 


And muse the while the starry hours 


As charmed tliere to stay — 


Wait o'er them like a dream ; 


It stole aslant the pear-tree hough, 


And if, when came the parting time. 


And through the woodbine fringe, 


They faltered still and clung ; 


And kissed the maiden's neck and brow, 


What is it all ? — an ancient rhyme 


And bathed her in its tinge. 


Ten thousand times besung — 




That part of Paradise which man 


"0 beauty of my heart! " he said, 


Without the portal knows, — 


'' darling, darling mine ! 


Wliich hath been since the world began, 


Was ever light of evening shed 


And shall be till its close. 


On loveliness like thine ? 


AsosYuons. 


Why should I ever leave this spot, 




But gaze until I die ? " 




A moment from that bursting thought 


JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. 


She felt his footstep nigh. 




One sudden, lifted glance — but one — 


" Why weep ye by the tide, ladye — 


A tremor and a start — 


Why weep ye by the tide ? 


So gently was their greeting done 


I '11 wed ye to my youngest sou. 


That who would guess their heart ? 


And ye slndl be his bride ; 




And ye shall be his bride, ladye 


Long, long the sun had sunken down. 


Sae comely to be seen." — 


And all his golden hail 


But ay she loot the tears down fa' 


Had died away to lines of brown. 


For Jock of Hazeldean. 


In duskier hues that fail. 


" Now let this wilful grief be done, 


The grasshopper was c!iir])ing shrill — 


And dry that cheek so pale ; 
Young Frank is chief of Errington, 

And lord of Langley dale : 
Ilis step is first in peacefid ha'. 

His sword in battle keen." — 


No other living sound 
Accompanied the tiny rill 


That gurgled under ground — 
No other living sound, unless 


Some spirit bent to hear 


But ay she loot the tears down fa' 


Low words of human tenderness 


For Jock of Hazeldean. 


And mingling whispers near. 






" A chain of gold ye shall not lack, 


The stars, like pallid gems at first. 


Nor braid to bind your hair. 


Deep in the hquid sky. 


Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk. 


Now forth upon the darkness burst. 


Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; 


Sole kings and lights on high ; 


And you the foremost of them a' 


For splendor, myriad-fold, supreme, 


Shall ride, our forest queen." — 
But ay she loot the tears down fa' 


No rival moonlight strove; 


Nor lovelier e'er was Hesper's beam, 


For Jock of Hazeldean. 


Nor more majestic Jove. 




But what if hearts there beat that night 


The kirk was decked at morning tide; 


That recked not of the skies, 


The tapers glimmered fair ; 


Or only felt their imaged light 


The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, 


In one another's eyes ? 


And knight and dame are there ; 


And if two worlds of hidden thought 


They sought her both by bower and ha' ; 
The ladye was not seen. — 


And longing passion met. 


She 's o'er the border, and awa' 


Which, passing human language, sought 


Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. 


■ And found an utterance yet ; 


Sir Walter Scott. 



234 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



LOOHINVAK. 

On, young Locbinvar is come out of the 
west ; 

Tljrougli all the wide border bis steed was 
the best ; 

Ajid save bis good broad-sword he weapons 
bad none ; 

He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. 

So faithful in love, and so dauntless iu war, 

There never was knight like the young Loch- 
invar. 

He staid not for brake, and he stopped not 

for stone ; 
lie swam the Eske river where ford there 

was none ; 
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 
The bride had consented, the gallant came 

late : 
For a laggard in love, and a dastard iu war. 
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Locbin- 
var. 

So boldlj' he entered the Netherby hall, 

'Mong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and broth- 
ers, and all ; 

Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on 
his sword, 

(For the poor craven bridegroom said never 
a word,) 

" Oh come ye in peace here, or come ye in 
war, 

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Locbin- 
var?" 



" I long wooed your daughter, my suit you 

denied — 
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its 

tide— 
And now I am come, with this lost love of 

mine, 
Fo lead but one measure, drink one cup of 

wine ; 
TlR're are maidens in Scotland more lovely 

by far, 
That would gladly ' bo bride to the young 

Locbinvar." 



The bride kissed the goblet — the knight took 

it up ; 
He quaifed off the wine, and he threw down 

the cup. 
She looked down to blush, and she looked up 

to sigh. 
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in hei 

eye. 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could 

bar, — 
" Now tread we a measure ! " said young 

Locbinvar. 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 

WhUe her mother did fret and her father did 
fume. 

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bon- 
net and plume ; 

And the bride-maidens whispered, " 'T were 
better by far 

To have matched our fair cousin with young 
Locbinvar." 

One touch to her hand, and one word in her 

ear, 
When they reached the hall door and the 

charger stood near ; 
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swimg, 
So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 
" She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, 

and scaur ; 
They '11 have fleet steeds that follow," quoth 

young Locbinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong GrsBmes of the 

Netherby clan ; 
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode 

and they ran : 
There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie 

Lee, 
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they 

see. 

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war. 

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young 

Locbinvar 3 

Sm Wamek Scott. 



LOVE IN THE VALLET. 



235 



LOVE m THE VALLEY. 

Under yonder beech-tree standing on the 
gi'een sward, 

Couched with her arms behind her little head, 

Her knees folded up, and her tresses on her 
bosom, 

Lies my young love sleeping in the shade. 

Had I the heart to slide one arm beneath her! 

Press her dreaming lips as her waist I folded 
slow, 

Waking on the instant she could not but em- 
brace me — 

Ah ! would she hold me, and never let me go ? 

Shy as the squirrel, and wayward as the 
swallow ; 

Swift as the swallow when,athwart the west- 
ern flood, 

Circleting the surface,he meets his mirrored 
winglets — 

Is that dear one in her maiden bud. 

Shy as the squirrel whose nest is in the pine 
tops; 

Gentle — ah ! that she were jealous — as the 
dove ! 

Full of all the wildness of the woodland crea- 
tures, 

Happy in herself is the maiden that I love ! 

What can have taught her distrust of all I tell 
her ? 

Can she truly doubt me when looking on my 
brows ? 

Nature never teaches distrust of tender love- 
tales — 

What can have taught her distrust of all my 
vows? 

No, she does not doubt me ! on a dewy eve- 
tide, 

Whispering together beneath the listening 
moon, 

I prayed till her cheek flushed, implored till 
she faltered — 

Fluttered to my bosom— ah ! to fly away so 
soon! 

When her mother tends her before the laugh- 
ing mirror, 
Tying up her laces, looping up her hair, 



Often she thinks — were this wild thing 
wedded, 

I should have more love, and much less care. 

When her mother tends her before the bash- 
ful mirror. 

Loosening her laces, combing down her curls, 

Often she thinks — were this wild thing 
wedded, 

I should lose but one for so many boys and 
girls. 

Clambering roses peep into her chamber ; 

Jasmine and woodbine breathe sweet, sweet; 

White-necked swallows, twittering of sum- 
mer. 

Fill her with balm and nested peace from 
head to feet. 

Ah ! wiU the rose-bough see her lying lonely, 

When the petals fall and fierce bloom is on 
the leaves ? 

Will the ifutumn garners see her still uu- 
gathered, 

When the fickle swallows forsake the weep- 
ing eaves ? 

Comes a sudden question — should a strange 

hand pluck her ! 
Oh ! what an anguish smites me at the thought ! 
Should some idle lordling bribe her mind with 

jewels ! — 
Can such beauty ever thus be bought ? 
Sometimes the huntsmen, prancing down the 

valley, 
Eye the village lasses, full of sprightly mirth ; 
They see, as I see, mine is the fairest ! 
Would she were older and could read my 

worth I 

Are there not sweet maidens, if she still deny 

me? 
Show the bridal heavens but one bright star? 
Wlierefore thus then do I chase a shadow. 
Clattering one note like a brown eve-jar ? 
So I rhyme and reason till she darts before 

me — 
Through the milky meadows from flower to 

flower she flies. 
Sunning her sweet palms to shade her dazzled 

eyelids 
From the golden love that looks too eager iu 

her eyes. 



23(5 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



When at dawn she wakens, and lior fair face 

gazes 
Out on the weather through the window 

panes, 
licautoons slio looks! like a white water-lily 
Bursting out of hud on the rippled river 

plains. 
Wlien from hed she rises, clotlicd from neck 

to ankle 
In hor long night gown, sweet as houglis of 

May, 
l>eauteous she looks! like a tall garden lily. 
Pure from the night and perfect for tlie duy I 

Happy, happy time, when the gray star twin- 
kles 

Over the fields all fresh with hlooniy dew ; 

Wlieu the cold-chcekcd dawn grows ruddy 
up the twilight. 

And the gold sun wakes and weds her in the 
hlue. 

Tlieu \\hen my darling tempts the early 
broozcs, 

Slie the only star that dies not with the dark ! 

Powerless to speak all tlie ardor of my pas- 
sion, 

I entch hor little hand as wo listen to the 
lark. 

Shall the birds in vain then valentine their 

sweethearts? 
Season after season tell a fruitless tale ? 
"Will not the virgin listen to their voices? 
Take the honeyed meaning, wear the bridal 

veil? 
Fears she frosts of winter, fears she the bare 

branches? 
Waits she the garlands of spring for her 

dower ? 
Is she a nightingale that will not bo nested 
Till the April woodland has built her bridal 

bower? 

Then come, merry April, with all thy birds 
and beauties ! 

With thy crescent brows and thy flowery, 
showery glee ; 

With thy budding leafage and fresh green 
pastures ; 

And may thy lustrous crescent grow a hon- 
eymoon for me ! 



Come, merry month of llio cuckoo and the 

violet ! 
Come, weeping loveliness in all thy blue 

deliglit! 
Lo! the nest is ready, let me not languish 

longer ! 
Bring her to my arms on the first !May night. 
Gkobge Meredith. 



LADY CLARE. 

Lord Ronald courted Lady Clare, 
I trow they did not part in scorn; 

Lord Ron.ald, her cousin, courted her. 
And they will wed the morrow morn. 

" lie does not love me for my birth. 
Nor for my lands so broad and foir ; 

He loves mo for my own true worth. 
And that is well," said Lady Clare. 

In there came old Alice the nurse. 
Said, " Who was tliis that went from thee ? " 

"It was my cousin," said Lady Clare, 
"To-morrow ho weds with me." 

" Oh God bo thanked I " said Alice the nurse, 
" That all comes round so just and fair : 

Lord Ronald is heir of all your laiuls. 
And you are not the Lady Clare." 

"Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my 
nurse ? " 

Said Lady Clare, "that yo speak so wild?" 
"As God's above," said Alice tlie nurse, 

" I speak the truth : you are my child. 

"The old earl's daughter died at my breast; 

I speak the truth as I live by bread ! 
I buried her like my own sweet child. 

And put my child in her stead." 

" Falsely, falsely have ye done, 
O mother," she said, "if this be true, 

To keep the best man under the sun 
So many years from his due." 

" Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, 
"But keep the secret for your life. 

And all you have will bo Lord Ronald's, 
When you are man and wife." 



THE LETTERS. 



2S7 



" If I "m a beggar bora," sbo said, 
" I will spuak out, for I daro not lie. 

Pull otf, pull otf the brooch of gold. 
And tiiug tbo diamond necklace by." 



" Nay now, my cbild," said Alice the nurse, 
" But keep the secret all ye can." 

She said, " Not so ; but I will know 
If there be any faith in man." 

" Nay now, what faith ? " said Alice the nurse, 
" Tlie man will cleave unto his right." 

" And lie shall have it," the lady replied, 
"Though I .should die to-niglit." 

" Yet give one kiss to your mother dear ! 

Alas, my child, I sinned for thee." 
" O mother, mother, mother ! " she said, 

" So strange it seems to me. 

" Yet here 's a kiss for my mother dear. 

My mother dear, if this be so ; 
And lay your liand upon my head, 

And bless me mother, ere I go." 

She clad herself in russet gown, 

She was no longer Lady Clare ; 
She went by dale, and she went by down, 

With a single rose in her hair. 

A lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought 

Leapt up from where she lay, 
Dropt her head in the maiden's hand, 

And followed her all the way. 

Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower : 
" O Lady Clare, you shame your worth ! 

Why come you drest like a village maid, 
That arc the flower of the earth ? " 

" If I come drest like a village maid, 

I am but as my fortunes are : 
I am a beggar born," she said, 

" And not the lady Clare." 

" Play mo no tricks," said Lord Ronald, 
" For I am yours in word and deed ; 

Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, 
" Your riddle is hard to read." 



Oh and jiroudly stood she up I 
Her heart within her did not fail ; 

She looked info Lord Ronald's eyes, 
And told him ;dl her nurse's tale. 

lie laughed a laugh of merry scorn ; 

He turned and kissed her where she stood : 
" If you are not the heiress born. 

And I," said lie, " tlio next in blood — 

"If you are not the heiress born. 
And I," said he, " the lawful heir. 

Wo two will wed to-morrow morn. 
And you shall still be Lady Cl.are." 

Alfred Tennybon. 



THE LETTERS. 



Still on the tower stood tlie vane ; 

A black yew gloomed the stagnant air ; 
I peered athwart the chancel pane 

And saw the altar cold and bare. 
A clog of lead was round my feet, 

A band of pain across my brow ; 
" (^old altar, licavcn and earth shall meet 

Before you hear my marriage vow." 



I turned an<l liummed a bitter song 

That mocked the wholesome human heart 
And then we met in wrath and wrong. 

We met, but only meant to part. 
Full cold my greeting was and dry ; 

She faintly smiled, slic hardly moved ; 
1 saw, with half-unconscious eye, 

Slie wore the colors I approved. 



She took the little ivory chest- 

With half a sigh she turned tlie key ; 
Then raised her head with lips comprest. 

And gave my letters back to me. 
And gave tlie trinkets and the rings. 

My gifts, when gifts of mine could please ; 
As looks a father on the things 

Of his dead son, I looked on these. 



238 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



She tokl ino all her friends Lad said; 

1 rn^ed against the public liar. 
She talked as if her love were dead; 

But in my words were seeds of firo. 
" No more of love ; your sox is known : 

I never will he twice deceived. 
Iloiiceforth I trust the man alone — 

The woman cannot bo believed. 



" Through slander, meanest spawn of hell 

(And woman's slander is the worst), 
And you, whom once I loved so well — 

Through you my life will bo accurst." 
I spoko with heart, and heat and force, 

I shook her breast with vague alarms — 
Like torrents from a mountain source 

Wo rushed into each other's arms. 



We parted. Sweetly gleamed the stars. 

And sweet the vapor-braided blue; 
Low breezes fimnod the belfry liars, 

As homeward by tho church I drew. 
The very graves appeared to sniilo. 

So fresh they rose in shadowed swells ; 
" Dark porch," I said, " and silent aisle. 

There comes a sound of marriage bells." 
Alfukd Tennyson. 



SONNETS. 

That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect. 
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; 
The ornament of beauty is suspect, 
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. 
So tliou be good, slander doth but approve 
Thy worth the greater, being wooed of time; 
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love. 
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime. 
Thou hast passed by tho ambush of young 

days, 
Either not assailed, or victor being charged ; 
Yot this thy praiso caunot bo so thy praise. 
To tie up envy, evermore enlarged. 

If some suspect of ill masked not thy show, 
Then, thou alone kingdoms of hearts 
shouldst owe. 



So are you to my thoughts, as food to life, 
Or as sweet-seasoned showers are to tho 

ground ; 
And for tlie peace of you I hold such strife 
As 'twist a miser and his wealth is found; 
Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon 
Doubting tho filching age will steal his treas- 
ure ; 
Now counting best to be with you alone, 
Then bettered that the world may see my 

pleasure ; 
Sometime all full with feasting on your sight, 
And by and by clean starved for a look ; 
Possessing or pursuing no delight, 
Save what is had or must from you be took. 
Thus do I pine and suft'er day by day ; 
Or gluttoiiing on all, or all away. 



Farewell! tliou art too dear for my possess- 
ing, 

And like enougli thou know'st thy estimate; 

Tho charter of thy worth gives thee releasing ; 

My bonds in thee are all determinate. 

For how do I hold thee but by thy granting ? 

And for that riches where is my desernng? 

The cause of this fair gift in mo is wanting. 

And so my patent back again is swerWng. 

Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not 
knowing. 

Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking ; 

So thy great gift^ upon misprision growing. 

Comes homo again, on better judgment mak- 
ing. 
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth 
flatter 

In sleep a king ; but waking no such matter. 



Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness; 
Some say thy grace is youtli, and gentle sport ; 
Both grace and faults are loved of more and 

less; 
Thou mak'st faidts graces that to thee resort. 
As on the finger of a throned queen 
Tho basest jewel will be v.-ell esteemed, 
So are those errors that in thee are seen, 
To truths translated, and for true things 

deemed. 



SONNETS. 



289 



now many lambs might the stern wolf betray, 
If like a lamb he could his looks translate! 
How many gazers might'st thou lead away, 
If thou wouldst use the strength of all tliy 
state ! 
But do not so ; I love thee in such sort 
As tliou being mine, mine is thy good re- 
port. 



How like a winter hath my absence been 
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! 
■What freezings have I felt, what dark da^s 

seen, 
What old December's bareness everywhere! 
And yet this time removed was summer's 

time; 
rhe teeming autumn, big with rich increase, 
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, 
Like widowed wombs after their lords' de- 
cease; 
Yet this abundant issue seemed to nie 
But liope of orphans, and unfathered fruit ; 
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, 
And, thou away, the very birds are mute ; 
Or, if they sing, 't is with so dull a cheer, 
That leaves look pale, dreading the win- 
ter 's near. 



FnoM you have I been absent in the spring. 
When proud-pied April dressed in all his 

trim, 
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, 
Tliat heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with 

him. 
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell 
Of diftorcnt flowers in odor and in hue, 
Could make me any summer's story tell. 
Or from their proud lap pluck them where 

they grew ; 
Ncir did I wonder at the lily's white. 
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ; 
They are but sweet, but figures of delight, 
Drawn after you — you pattern of all those. 
Y'et seemed it winter still, and, you away. 
As with your shadow I with these did play. 



The forward violet thus did I chide : — 
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy 

sweet that smells. 
If not from my love's breath? the purple 

pride 
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion 

dwells. 
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed. 
The lily I condemned for thy hand, 
And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair ; 
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, 
One blushing shame, another white despair ; 
A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of both, 
And to this robbery had annexed thy breath ; 
But for his theft, in pride of all his growth 
A vengeful canker cat him up to death. 
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, 
But sweet in color it had stolen from thee. 



When in the chronicle of wasted time 
I see descriptions of the fairest wiglits, 
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme. 
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights ; 
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best. 
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
I see their antique pen would have expressed 
Even such a beauty as you master now. 
So all their praises are but prophecies 
Of this our time, all you prefiguring; 
And for they looked but with divining eyes. 
They had not skill enough your worth to sing ; 

For we, which now behold these present 
days, 

Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to 
praise. 



KoT mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul 
Of the wide world, dreaming on things to 

come, 
Can yet the lease of my true love control, 
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. 
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured, 
And the sad augurs mock their own presage ; 
Incertaintics now crown themselves assured. 
And peace proclaims olives of endless age. 
Now, with the drops of this most bidmy time 



240 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



My love looks fresh, iinil death to uie sub- 
scribe?, 
8ince, spite of him, I '11 live in this' poor rhyme, 
While ho insults o'er dull aud speechless 
tribes : 
And thou in this shalt lind tin' monument, 
^^'hen tyrants' crests, aud tombs of brass 
are spent. 



Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
Admit impediments ; lovo is not love, 
Which alters when it alteration finds, 
Or bends with the remover to remove. 
Oh no 1 it is an ever-fixed mark. 
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; 
It is the star to every wandering bark, 
Whoso worth 's unknown, although his height 

be taken. 
Love 's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and 

cheeks 
Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 
Lovo alters not with his brief hours and 

weeks 
l>ut bears it out even to the edge of doom. 
If this be error, and upon me proved, 
I never writ, nor no man ever loved. 



On ! never say that I was false of heart. 
Though absence seemed my flame to qualify. 
-Vs easy might I from myself depart^ 
As from my soul, which in tJiy breast doth 

lie. " 
That is ray home of love ; if I have ranged. 
Like him that travels, I return again — 
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged ; 
So that myself bring water for my stain. 
Never believe, though in my natm-e reigned 
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood. 
That it could so preposterously be stained. 
To leave for nothing all thy sura of good ; 
For nothing this wide universe I call. 
Save thou, my rose ; in it thou art my all. 

SUAKKSPEAEK. 



SONNETS. 

Come sleep, O sleep ! the certain knot of 
peace. 

The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woo; 

The i)oor man's wealth, the prisoner's re- 
lease, 

The mdifioront judge between the high and 
low ! 

With shield of proof, shield mo from out the 
preaso 

Of those fierce darts despair doth at mo 
throw. 

Oh make in me those ciWl w.ars to cease ; 

I will good tribute pay if thou do so. 

Take thou of rae smooth pillows, sweetest 
bed, 

A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light, 

A rosy garland and a woai'y head ; 

And if these things, as being thine by right, 

Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me, 

Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's imago see. 



Ix nuirtial sports I had ray cunning tried, 
And yet to break more staves did me ad- 
dress ; 
While with the people's shouts I must confess, 
Youth, luck, and praise e'en filled my veins 

with ])ride ; 
When Cupid having me, Ms slave, descried 
lu Mars's livery, prancing in the press, 
"What now, Sir Fool? "said he, "I would 

no less ; 
Look here I say." — I looked and Stella spied, 
Wiio, hard by, made a window send forth 

light; " 
My heart then quaked; then dazzled were 

mine eyes ; 
One hand forgot to rule, the other to fight ; 
Nor trumpet's sound I hoard, nor fi-ieiidly 

cries, 
ily foe came on and Ix^at the au* for luo. 
Till that her blush taught mo my shiuue to 

see. 



SONNETS. 



241 



iiAi'i'Y Tliames that didst my Stella liear ; 

1 saw niysolf willi many a smilirif^ line 
Upon tliy clieerful face, joy's livery wear, 
Willie those fair planets on thy streams did 

shine; 
The hoat for joy could not to dance forbear; 
Wliilo wanton winds, with beauties bo divino 
Itavished, staid not till in her golden hair 
Tliey did themselves, oh sweetest i)rison ! 

twine; 
And fain those Eol's youth there would their 

stay 
Have made, hut forced -hy nature still to fly. 
First did with puffing kiss those locks disjilay. 
She so dishevelled, blushed : — from window I, 
With sight thereof, cried out, oh fair disgrace I 
Let honor'a self to theo grant highest place. 



With how sad steps, O Moon thou climb'st 

the skies — 
How silently, and with how wan a face! 
Wliat ! may it ho, that even in heavenly 

place 
That liusy archer his sharp arrows tries? 
Sure, if that long-with-lovo-ao(juainted eyes 
Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case ; 
I read it in thy looks, thy languished grace ; 
To me that feel the like thy state descries. 
Then even of fellowship, O Moon, tell me — 
Is constant love deemed there but want of 

wit? 
Are beauties there as proud as hero they ho? 
Do they above love to be loved, and yet 
Those lovers scorn whom that love doth 

possess ? 
Do they call virtue there ungratefulness ? 

8iB Philip Hiunev. 



SONNET. 

I KNOW tliat all beneath the moon decays; 
And what by mortals in this world is brouglit, 
In time's great periods shall return to nought; 
'J'hat fairest states have fatal nights and days. 
I know that all the muses' heavenly lays. 
With toil of sjirito which arc so dearly bought, 
17 



As idle sounds, of few or none are sought; 
That there is nothing lighter than vain praise. 
I know frail Ijeauly 's like tlie iiurjile flower 
To wliicli one morn oft birth and death af- 
fords, 
That love a jarring is of mind's accords. 
Whore sense and will bring under reason's 

[lower : 
Know what 1 list, tliis all cannot me move, 
liut that, alas I I botii must write and love. 
William JJuuumond. 



SONNET. 

Ik it ho true that any beauteous thing 
liaises the pure and just desire of man 
From earth to (iod, the eternal fount of all. 
Such I believe my love; for as in her 
So fair, in whom I all besides forget, 
I view the gentle work of her creator, 
I have no caro for any other thing. 
Whilst thus I love. Nor is it marvellous. 
Since tlio efleot is not of my own power. 
If the soul doth, by nature tcmfited forth, 
Enamored through the eyes. 
Repose u\<im the eyes which it rcsembleth, 
And through them riseth to the Primal Love, 
As to its end, and honors in admiring; 
For who adores the Maker needs must love 
His work. 

Michael Ahoelo. (ItallUD.) 
Tninslritlon of .J. K. Tayi/>k. 



TO VITTORIA OOLONNA. 

Yes I hope may with my strong desire keep 

pace. 
And I bo undoluded, nnbetraycd; 
For if of our affections none find grace 
In sight of heaven, then wherefore hath God 

made 
The world which wo inhabit? Jktter jdea 
Love cannot have, than that in loving theo 
Olory to that Eternal Peace is paid. 
Who such divinity to thee imparts 



242 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



As hallows and makes piire all gentle 

hearts. 
His hope is treacherous only whose love dies 
With beauty, which is varying every hour : 
But in chaste hearts, uninfluenced by the 

power 
Of outward change, there blooms a deathless 

flower. 
That breathes on earth the air of paradise. 
Michael Angelo. (Italian.) 
Translation of William 'WoKDSWoBin. 



SOKNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE. 

If thou must love me, let it be for nought 
Except for love's sake only. Do not say 
"I love her for her smile, her look, her 

way 
Of speaking gently,— for a trick of thought 
Tliat falls in -well with mine, and certes 

brought 
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day." 
For these things in themselves, beloved, may 
Be changed, or change for thee, — and love so 

wrought. 
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for 
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks 

dry,— 
A creature might forget to weep, who bore 
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby. 
But love me for love's sake, that evermore 
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity. 



I NEVER gave a lock of hair away 
To a man dearest, except this to thee. 
Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully 
I ring out to the full brown length, and say, 
"Tal^eit! " My day of youth went yesterday; 
My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee. 
Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree. 
As girls do, any more. It only may 
Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of 

tears. 
Taught drooping from the head that hangs 

aside 



Through sorrow's trick. I thought the fn- 

ner.al shears 
Woidd take this first, but love is justified, — 
Take it thou, — finding pure, from all those 

years. 
The kiss my mother left there when she died. 



Say over again, and yet once over again, 
That thou dost love me. Though the word 

repeated 
Should seem "a cuckoo-song," as thou dost 

treat it. 
Remember, never to the hUl or plain. 
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain. 
Comes the fresh spring in all her green com- 
pleted. 
Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted 
By a doubtful spii-it-voice, in that doubt's 

pain 
Cry: "Speak once more — thou lovest!" 

Who can fear 
Too many stars, though each in heaven shall 

roll- 
Too many flowers, though each shall crown 

the year ? 
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me — 

toll 
The silver iterance ! — only minding, dear, 
To love me also in silence, with thy soul. 



If I leave aU for thee, wilt thou exchange 
And be all to me ? Shall I never miss 
Home-talk and blessing, and the common kiss 
That comes to each in turn, nor count it 

strange. 
When I took up, to drop on a new range 
Of walls and floors — another home than 

this? 
Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is 
FiDed by dead eyes too tender to know 

change? 
That 's hardest. If to conquer love has tried. 
To conquer grief tries more, as all things 

prove ; 
For grief indeed is love and grief beside. 
Alas, I have grieved so, I am hard to love. 



PHILLIDA AND CORYDON. 



243 



Yet love me — -wilt thou ? Open thine heart 

wide, 
And fold within the wet wings of thy dove. 



FinsT time he kissed me, he but only kissed 
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write ; 
And, ever since, it grew more clean and 

white, 
Slow to world-greetings, quick with its 

"Olist!" 
TVhen the angels speak. A ring of amethyst 
I could not wear here, plainer to my sight, 
Than that first kiss. The second passed in 

height 
The first, and sought the forehead, and half 

missed. 
Half falling on the hair. Oh, beyond meed 1 
That was the chrism of love, which love's 

own crown, 
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede. 
The third upon my lips was folded down 
In perfect, purjjle state ; since when, indeed, 
I have been proud, and said, " My love, my 

own ! " 



How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways : 
I love thee to the depth, and breadth, and 

height 
My soul can reach, when feeling, out of sight, 
For the ends of being and ideal grace. 
I love thee to the level of every day's 
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. 
I love thee freely, as men strive for right ; 
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. 
I love thee with the passion put to use 
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's 

faith. 
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 
With my lost saints. I love thee with the 

breath, 
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God 

choose, 
I shall but love thee better after death. 

Elizabeth Babbett Bbownino. 



PHILLIDA AND CORYDON. 

In the merrie moneth of Maye, 
In a morne by break of daye. 
With a troupe of damsells playing. 
Forth I yode forsootli a-niaying; 

Where anon by a wood side. 
Where as May was in his pride, 
I espied all alone 
PhUlida and Corydon. 

Much adoe there was, God wot ; 
He wold love, and she wold not. 
She sayd never man was trewe ; 
He sayes none was false to you. 

He sayde hee had lovde her longe ; 
She sayes love should have no wronge. 
Corydon wold kisse her then ; 
She sayes maids must kisse no men, 

Tyll they doe for good and all. 
When she made the shepperde call 
All the heavens to wytnes truthe. 
Never loved a truer youthe. 

Then with many a prettie othe, 
Yea, and naye, and faithe and trothe — 
Such as seelie shepperdes use 
When they will not love abuse — 

Love, that had bene long deluded, 
Was with kisses sweete concluded ; 
And PhiUida with garlands gaye 
W^as made the ladye of the Maye. 

Nicholas Beeton. 



LOVE IS A SICKNESS. 

Love is a sickness full of woes, 

AH remedies refusing ; 
A plant that most with cutting grows, 
Most barren with best using. 
Why so? 
More we enjoy it, more it dies ; 
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries 
Heigh-ho ! 



244 POEMS OF LOVE. 


Love is a torment of tlie mind, 


And from her arched brows such a grace 


A tempest everlasting ; 


Sheds itself through tho face. 


And Jove liatli made it of a kind, 


As alone there triumphs to the life, 


Not -vrell, nor full, nor fasting. 


All the gain, all tho good, of the elements' 


Why so ? 


strife. 


More we enjoy it, more it dies ; 




If not enjoyed, it sighing cries 


Have you seen but a bright lily grow, 


Heigh-ho! 


Before rude hands have touched it ? 


Samuei, Danhl. 


Have you marked but the fall of the snow, 




Before tho soil hath smutched it ? 


• 


Have you folt the wool of the beaver ? 




Or swan's down ever 1 


THE WHITE ROSE. 


Or have smelt o' the bud of the brier ? 




Or the nard i' the fire ? 


BENT BY A TOKKISH LOVEB TO HIS LANCAS- 


Or have tasted tho bag of the bee ? 


TRIAN MISTRESS. 


Oh, so white I oh, so soft ! oh, so sweet is she ! 




Ben Josson. 


If this fair rose oflend thy sight, 
Placed in thy bosom bare. 






'T will blush to find itself less white. 




And turn Lancastrian there. 


AN EARNEST SUIT 




TO HIS tJUKIND MISTRESS NOT TO FOKSAKE HIM. 


But if thy ruby Up it spy. 


And wilt thou leave me thus ? 


As kiss it thou mayest deign, 




With envy pale 'twill lose its dye. 


Say nay ! say nay ! for shame ! 
To save thee from tho blame 


And Yorkish turn again. 




ASOHTMOUS. 


Of all my grief and granie. 




And wilt thou leave me thus ? 


^ 


Say nay ! say nay ! 




- 


And wilt thou leave me thus, 


TRIUMPH OF CHAEIS. 


That hath loved thee so long. 




In wealth and woe among ? 


See the chariot at hand here of Love ! 


And is thy heart so strong 


Wherein my lady rideth ! 


As for to leave me thus ? 


Each that di-aws is a swan, or a dove. 
And well the car Love guideth. 


Say nay ! say nay ! 


As she goes, all hearts do duty 


And wilt thou leave me thus, 


Unto her beauty. 


That hath given thee my heart. 


And, enamored, do wish, so they might 
But enjoy such a sight. 


Never for to depart, 
Neither for pain nor smart ? 


That they still were to run by her side 


And wilt thou leave me thus ? 


Through swords, through seas, whither she 
would ride. 


Say nay ! say nay ! 




And wilt thou leave me thus, 


Do but look on her eyes ! they do light 


And have no more pity 


All that Love's world compriseth ; 


Of him that loveth thee ? 


Do but look on her hair ! it is bright 


Alas ! thy cruelty ! 


As Love's star when it riseth ! 


And wilt thou leave me thus ? 


Do but mark — her forehead 's smoother 


Say nay ! say nay ! 


Than words that soothe her ! 


Sm Thomas Wtat. 



SONGS. 



245 



DISCOURSE WITH CUPID. 

Noblest Charis, you that are 
Both my fortune and my star ! 
And do govern more my blood, 
Than the various moon the flood 1 
Hear what late discourse of you 
Love and I have had ; and true. 
'Mongst my muses finding me, 
Where he chanced your name to see 
Set, and to this softer strain : 
" Sure," said he, " if I have brain, 
This here sung can be no other 
By description, but my mother ! 
So hath Homer praised her hair ; 
So Anacreon drawn the air 
Of her face, and made to rise. 
Just about her sparkling eyes, 
Both her brows, bent like my bow. 
By her looks I do her know, 
"Which you call my shafts. And see ! 
Such my mother's blushes be, 
As the bath your verse discloses 
In her cheeks of milk and roses ; 
Such as oft I wanton in. 
And above her even chin. 
Have you placed the bank of kisses 
"Where, you say, men gather blisses, 
Ripened with a breath more sweet. 
Than when flowers and west winds meet. 
Nay, her white and polished neck, 
"With the lace that doth it deck, 
Is my mother's ! hearts of slain 
Lovers, made into a chain ! 
And between each rising breast 
Lies the valley called my nest, 
"Where I sit and proyne my wings 
After flight ; and put new strings 
To my shafts 1 Her very name, 
With my mother's is the same." 
" I confess all," I replied, 
" And the glass hangs by her side. 
And the girdle 'bout her waist. 
All is "Venus ; save unchaste. 
But, alas 1 thou seest the least 
Of her good, who is the best 
Of her sex ; but couldst thou. Love, 
Call to mind the forms that strove 
For the apple, and those three 
Make in one, the same were she. 



For this beauty still doth hide 
Something more tlaan thou hast spied. 
Outward grace weak Love beguiles : 
She is Venus when she smiles. 
But she 's Juno when she walks. 
And Minerva when she talks." 

Bek Jonson. 



TO CELIA. 

Deink to me only with thine eyes. 

And I will pledge with mine ; 
Or leave a kiss but in the cup. 

And I '11 not look for wine. 
The thirst that from the soul doth rise 

Doth ask a drink divine ; 
But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 

I would not change for thine. 

I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath. 

Not so much honoring thee, 
As giving it a hope that there 

It could not withered be. 
But thou thereon did'st only breathe, 

And sent'st it back to me ; 
Since when, it grows, and smells, I swear. 

Not of itself, but thee. 

Thilosteatds. (Greek,; 
Translation of Ben Jonson. 



CDPID AND OAMPASPE. 

CcpiD and my Campaspe played 

At cards for kisses — Cupid paid ; 

He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows. 

His mother's doves, and team of sparrows — 

Loses them too ; then down he throws 

The coral of his lip, the rose 

Growing on 's cheek (but none knows how) ; 

With these the crystal of his brow, 

And then the dimple of his chin ; 

All these did my Campaspe win. 

At last he set her both his eyes ; 

She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 

Love ! has she done this to thee ? 

What shall, alas ! become of me ? 

John Ltlt 



210 



POEMS OP LOVE. 



HEAR, YE LADIES. 

IIkar, yo Indies that despise 
W'hid tlio mi}j;lity Lovo li.itli done; 
llonr oxninplcs, and be wise: 
Fair Oalisto was a nun ; 
Loila sail i up on tlio stream, 
'l"o docoivo tlio liopos of man, 
Lovo aocoiintinii but a droaui, 
Doted on a silver swau ; 
DauaO in a brazen tower, 
Whore no lovo was, loved a sliowcT. 

Hear, yo ladies that are eoy, 

M'hat the niii;hty Lovo can do; 

Hear the liereenoss of the boy ; 

The ehaste moon he makes to woo. 

Vesta kindlinj:; holy tires, 

Circled roinid about with sjiies. 

Never dreaming loose desires, 

Doting at the altar dies. 

lliou, in a short hour, higher 

He can once more build and once more 

lire. 

Beauuomt and Kletoiier. 



SHALL I TELL. 

8nAii, 1 toll yo\i whom 1 love? 

Hearken then a while to me; 
And if such a woman move 

As I now shall versify. 
Be assured 't is she, or none, 
That I love, and love alone. 

Nature did her so much right 
As she scorns the help of art. 

In as many virtues dight 
As e'er yet embraced a heart. 

So much good so truly tried, 

Some for less were deified. 

M'it she hath, without desiro 

To make known how mnch she hath ; 

And her anger flames no higher 
Than may titly sweeten wrath. 

Full of pity as may bo, 

Though perhaps not so to me. 



Reason masters every sense. 
And her virtues grace her birth ; 
Lovely as all excellence, 

Modest in her most of mirth. 
Likelihood enough to prove 
Only worth coidd kindle love. 

Such she is ; and if you know 
Such a one as I have sung ; 
Be she brown, or fair, or so 

That she bo but somewhat young ; 
]>o assured 't is she, or none. 
That I love, and lovo alone. 



BEAUTY CLEAR AND FAIR. 

Bkaiity clear and fair, 
Where the air 

Kather like a perfume dwells ; 
Where the violet and the rose 
Their blue veins in blush disclo.se. 

And come to honor nothing else ; 

Where to live near. 

And planted there. 

Is to live, and still live new ; 
AVhero to gain a favor is 
iloro than light, perpetual bliss,— 

Make me live by serving you 1 

Dear, again back recoil 

To this light 

A stranger to himself and all; 
Both the wonder and the story 
Shall bo yours, and eko the glory ; 

I am your servant, and yonr thrall. 

BSAnUONT AMD FURCUKK 



SPEAK, LOVE! 

Dearest, do not delay me, 

Since, thou knowest, I nmst be gone ; 
Wind and tide, "t is thought, do stay mo; 
But 'tis wind that must bo blown 
From that breath, whoso native smell 
Indian odors far excel. 



SONGS. 



247 



Oil, then sjieiik, thou fairest fuirl 

Kill not him thiit vowH to Hurve thee; 
But |ierfuiMe thin neiglil)oriiif; iiir, 

Klno (lull Kileiifie, sure, will xtiirvu me; 
'T is a word tliut 's quiekly spoken, 
Which, being restrained, u heart is broken. 
Beaumont and Fletcubu. 



TAKE, (>U\ TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY. 

Takh, oh ! take tlioao lips away 
That so sweetly were forsworn, 

And those eyes, the break of day, 
Lif^hts that do mislead the morn ! 

But my kisses bring again. 

Seals of love, though sealed in vain. 



Hide, oh ! hide those hills of snow 
Whieh thy frozen bosom bears, 

Ou whose tojis the jiinks tliat grow 
Are of those that Ajiril wears. 

Hut first set my poor heart free, 

Bound in those icy chains by thee. 

SnAKEBPEARE JiDll JoiIN FLBTOrTEB. 



YOU MEANER BEAUTIES. 

Yon meaner beauties of the night. 
That poorly satisfy our eyes 

More by your number than your light — 
You common people of the skies — 
What arc you when the moon shall rise? 



You curious chanters of the wood, 
Tliat warble forth dame nature's lays, 

Thinking your passions understood 

By your weak accents — what's your praise 
When J'hilomcl her voice shall raise ? 



You violets that first appear. 
By your pure purj^le mantles known. 

Like tlie proud virgins of the year. 
As if the spring were all your own — 
What are you when the rose is blown 



So when my mistress shall be seen 
In form and Ijcauty of lier mind ; 

By virtue first, then choice, a queen — 
Tell me, if she were not designed 
'I'll' eclipse and glory of her kind ? 

BlU llKNCY WOTTOH. 



THE LOVER TO THE GLOW-WORMS. 

Ye living lamps, by whose dear light 
The nightingale does sit so lute, 

And, studying all the summer night, 
Her matchless songs does meditate ! 

Ye country comets, tljat jiortenil 
No war, nor prince's funeral. 

Shining unto no other end 
Than to presage the grass's fall ! 

Ye glow-worms, whoso ofiicious flame 
To wandering mowers shows the way, 

That in the night have lost their aim. 
And after foolish fires do stray! 

Your courteous lights in vain you waste, 

Since Juliana hero is come ; 
For she my mind hath so displaced. 

That I shall never find my home. 

Andkew Makvkll. 



MRS. ELIZ. WHEELER, 

UNDER THE NAME OP THE LOST SnEPnEBDESS. 

Among the myrtles as I walkt, 

Love and my sighs thus intertalkt ; 

Tell me, said I, in deej) distress. 

Where I may find my sliepherdess. 

Thou fool, said Love, know'st thou not this? 

In every thing that 's sweet, she is. 

In yond' carnation go and seek. 

Where thou slialt find her lip and cheek ; 

In that enamelled jiansy Iiy, 

There thou shalt have her curious eye ; 

In bloom of peach and rose's bud. 

There waves the streamer of her blood. 

'T is true, said I ; and thereupon, 

I went to pluck them, one by one, 



248 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



To make of parts an union ; 

But on a sudden all were gone. 

At which I stopt ; said Love, these be 

The true resemblances of thee ; 

For as these flowers, thy joys must die. 

And in the turning of an eye ; 

And all thy hopes of her must wither, 

Lilie those short sweets ere knit together. 

KOBERT HeRKICK. 



PANGLORY'S 'WOOING SONG. 

Love is the blossom where tliere blows 
Every thing that lives or grows. 
Love doth make the heavens to move, 
And the sun doth burn in love. 
Love the strong and weak doth yoke. 
And makes the ivy climb the oak ; 
Under whose shadows lions wild, 
Softened by love, grow tame and mild. 
Love no med'cine can appease ; 
He burns the fishes in the seas ; 
Not all the skill his wounds can stench ; 
Not all the sea his fire can quench. 
Love did make the bloody spear 
Once a heavy coat to wear; 
While in bis leaves there shrouded lay 
Sweet birds, for love that sing and play ; 
And of all love's joyful flame, 
I the bud and blossom am. 

Only bend thy knee to me. 
Thy wooing shall thy winning be. 
See, see the flowers that below 
Now as fresh as morning blow ; 
And of all, the virgin rose, 
That as bright Aurora shows — 
How they all unleaved die, 
Losing their virginity ; 
Like unto a summer-shade. 
But now born, and now they fade. 
Every thing doth pass away ; 
There is danger in delay. 
Come, come gather then the rose, 
Gather it, or it you lose. 
All the sand of Tagus' shore 
Into my bosom casts his ore ; 
All the valleys' swimming corn 
To my house is yearly borne ; 



Every grape of every vine 
Is gladly bruised to make me wine ; 
While ten thousand kings, as proud 
To carry up my train, have bowed; 
And a world of ladies send me, 
In my chambers to attend me. 
All the stars in heaven that shine. 
And ten thousand more are mine. 
Only bend thy knee to me, 
Thy wooing shall thy winning be. 
Giles Fletcbee 



OASTAEA. 

Like the violet, which alone 

Prospers in some happy sliade. 

My Castara lives unknown. 

To no ruder eye betrayed ; 

For she 's to herself untrue 
Who delights i' the public view. 

Such is her beauty as no arts 
Have enriched with borrowed grace. 
Her high birth no pride imparts. 
For she blushes in her place. 

Folly boasts a glorious blood, — 

She is noblest being good. 

Cautious, she knew never yet 

What a wanton courtship meant ; 

Nor speaks loud to boast her wit, 

In her silence, eloquent. 

Of herself survey slie takes, 

But 'tween men no ditlerence makes 

She obeys with speedy will 

Her grave parents' wise commands ; 

And so innocent, that ill 

She nor acts, nor understands. 
AYomen's feet run still astray 
If to ill they know the way. 

She sails by that rock, the court, 
WTiere oft virtue splits her mast ; 
And retiredness thinks the port. 
Where her fame may anchor cast. 
Virtue safely cannot sit 
Where vice is enthroned for wit. 



SONGS. 24',i 


She holds that day's pleasure best 




■\Vhero sin waits not on delight; 


THE NIGHT PIECE. 


Without mask, or ball, or feast. 




Sweetly spends a winter's night. 


TO JTJI.IA. 


O'er that darkness whence is thrust 




Prayer and sleep, oft governs lust. 


Heb eyes the glow-worme lend thee. 




The shooting-starres attend thee ; 




And the elves also, 


She her throne makes reason climb. 


Whose little eyes glow 


While wild passions captive lie ; 


Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. 


And each article of time. 




Her pure thoughts to heaven fly ; 


No Will-o'-th '- wispe mislight thee. 


All her vows religious be, 


Nor snake nor slow-worm bite thee ; 


And she vows her love to me. 


But on thy way, 


WlLI-IAM HABraOTOH. 


Not making stay. 




Since ghost there 's none t' aflfright thee ! 


♦ — 


Let not the darke thee cumber ; 




What though the moon docs slumber? 


CANZONET. 


The stars of the night 




Will lend thee their light, 


The golden sun that brings the day, 


Like tapers cleare, without number. 


And lends men light to see withal, 




In vain doth cast his beams away. 


Then, Julia, let me woo thee, 


When they are blind on whom they fall ; 


Thus, thus to come unto me; 


There is no furce in all his light 


And when I shall meet 


To give tlie mole a perfect sight. 


Thy silvery feet. 




My soule I 'le pour into thee ! 




BOBEBT HEBBIOB. 


But thou, my sun, more bright than he 




That shines at noon In summer tide. 




Ilast given me light and power to see, 




With perfect skill my sight to guide ; 


TO LDCASTA, 


Till now I lived as blind as mole 




That hides her head m earthly hole. 


ON GOIXO TO TUK WARS. 




Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde, 


I heard the praise of beauty's grace. 


That from the nunnerie 


Yet deemed it nought but poet's skill; 


Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde, 


I gazed on many a lovely face. 


To warre and armes I flee. 


Yet found I none to bend my will ; 




Which made me think that beauty bright 


True, a new mistresse now I chase — 


Was nothing else but red and white. 


The first foe in the field ; 




And with a stronger faith imbrace 


But now thy beams have cleared my sight. 


A sword, a horse, a shield. 


I blusli to think I was so blind ; 




Thy naming eyes afford me light. 


Yet this inconstancy is such. 


Tliat beauty's blaze each where I find ; 


As you, too, should adore ; 


And yet those dames that shine so bright 


I could not love thee, deare, so nmcli, 


Are but the shadows of thy light. 


Loved I not honor more. 


TnOMiB Watsok. 


KiCIIASD LOVELAOt 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



DISDAIN RETDENED. 

He that loves a rosy cheek, 

Or a coral lip admires, 
Or from star-liko eyes doth seek 

Fuel to maintain his fires — 
As old Time makes these decay, 
So his flames must waste away. 

But a smooth and steadfast mind. 
Gentle thoughts and calm desires, 

Heai'ts with equal love combined, 
Kindle never-dying fires. 

Where these are not, I despise 

Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes. 

No tears, Celia, now shall win 
My resolved lie.art to return ; 

I have searched tliy soul within. 

And find nought but pride and scorn; 

I have learned thy arts, and now 

Can disdain as much as thou. 

Some power, in my revenge, convey 

That love to her I east away ! 

Thomas Carbw. 



TO ^VLTHEA— FROM PRISON. 

WnEH Love, with unconfined wings, 

Hovers within my gates. 
And my divine Althea brings 

To whisper at my grates ; 
■\Then I lie tangled in her hair 

And fettered to her eye — 
The birds that wanton in the air 

Know no such liberty. 

When flowing cups run swiftly round 

Vitli no allaying Thames, 
Our careless heads with roses bound, 

Our hearts with loyal flames; 
When thirsty grief in wine we steep, 

When healths and draughts go free- 
Fishes, that tipple in the deep, 

Know no such liberty. 



When, like committed linnets I 

With shriller throat shall sing 
The sweetness, mercy, majesty, 

And glories of my king; 
When I sliall voice aloud how good 

He is, how great should be — 
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, 

Know no such liberty. 

Stone walls do not a prison make, 

Nor iron bars a cage ; 
Minds innocent and quiet take 

That for an hermitage. 
If I h.ave freedom in my love, 

And in my soul am free- 
Angels alone, that soar above. 

Enjoy such liberty. 

KlOaARD LOTKLAOE. 



TO LUOASTA. 

If to be absent were to be 
Away from thee ; 
Or that, when I am gone. 
You or I were alone ; 
Then, ray Lucasta, might I crave 
Pity from blustering wind or swallowing 
wave. 

But I '11 not sigh one blast or gale 
To swell my sail, 
Or pay a tear to 'suage 
The fo.aming blue-god's rage ; 
For, whether lie will let me pass 
Or no, I 'm still as happy as I was. 

Though seas and lands be 'twixt us both, 
Onr faith and troth. 
Like separated souls, 
All time and space controls : 
Above the highest sphere we meet. 
Unseen, unknown ; and greet as angels greet. 

So, then, we do anticipate 
Our after-fate. 
And are alive i' th' skies. 
If thus our lips and eyes 
Can speak like spirits unconfined 
In heaven — their earthly bodies left behind. 

BlCHARD LOTSI.ACE. 



SONGS. 251 


SUPERSTITION. 


A SONG. 


I OAEE not, though it be 


To thy lover, 


V,y tho in-cciser sort thought popeiy ; 


Dear, discover 


AVe poets can a license show 


That sweet blush of thine, that shamoth 


For every tiling wo do. 


(When those roses 


Hear, then, my little saint 1 I'll pray to theo. 


It disclo-scs) 




All the flowers that nature nameth. 


If now thy happy mind, 

Amidst its various joys, can leisure find 


In free air 


To attend to any thing so low 
As what 1 say or do. 
Regard, and he what thou wast ever — kind. 


Flow thy hair, 
That no more summer's best dresses 
Bo bclioldon 
For their golden 


Let not the blest above 


Locks, to Phccbus' flaming tresses. 


Engross thee quite, but sometimes hither 


deliver 


rove ; 
Fain would I thy sweet image see, 
And sit and talk with thee ; 
Nor is it curiosity, but love. 


Lovo liis quiver ! 
From thy eyes he shoots his arrows, 
Where Apollo 
Cannot follow, 




Feathered witli his mother's sparrows. 


Ah! what delight 'twould bo. 




Wouldst thou sometimes, by stealth, converse 


envy not 


witli mo ! 


(That wo die not) 


How should I thy sweet commune prize. 


Those dear lips, whose door encloses 


And other joys despise ; 


All tho Graces 


Come, then, I ne'er was yet denied by thee. 


In their places, 




Brother pearls, and sister roses. 


I would not long detain 




Tliy soul li-om bliss, nor keep theo here in 


From these treasures 


pain ; 


Of ripe pleasures 


Nor should thy fellow-saints e'er know 


One bright smile to clear the weather ; 


Of thy escape below ; 


Earth and heaven 


Before thou 'rt missed, thou shouldst return 


Thus mado even. 


again. 


Both will bo good friends together. 


Sure lieaven must needs thy love, 


The air does woo thee ; 


As well as otlier qualities, improve ; 


Winds cling to theo ; 


Come, tlien, and recreate my sight 


Might a word once lly from oat thee, 


With rays of thy pure light ; 


Storm and thunder 


'Twill cheer ray eyes more than tho lamps 


Would sit under. 


above. 


And keep silence round about thee. 


But if fate's so severe 


But if nature's 


As to confine thee to thy blissful sphere. 


Common creatures 


(And by thy absence I shall know 


So dear glories dare not borrow ; 


Whether thy state be so,) 


Yet thy beauty 


Live bappy, and be mindful of me there. 


Owes a duty 


John Nop.r.is. 


To my loving, lingering sorrow. 



262 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



When, to end me, 

Death shall send me 
All his torrors to atVritrht me ; 

Thine eves' graces 

Oild their faces, 
And those terrors shall delight me. 

■\Vhen my dying 

Life is Hying, 
Those sweet airs that often slew mo. 

Shall revive me, 

Or reprieve me, 
And to many deaths renew me. 

KlOllAKO CaASlUW. 



All, now SWEET IT IS TO LOVE. 

All, how sweet it is to love ! 
All, how gay is young desire 1 
And what pleasing pains we prove 
When wo first approach love's fire ! 
Pains of love bo sweeter far 
Than all other pleasures are. 

Sighs, which are from lovers hlown, 
Do hut gently heave the heart ; 
E'en the tears they shed alone. 
Cure, like trickling halm, their smart. 

Lovers, when they lose their breath, 

nioed away in easy death. 

Love and time with reverence use; 

Treat them like a parting friend, 

Nor the golden gifts refuse 

Which in youth sincere they send ; 
For each year their price is more, 
And they less simple than before. 

Love, like spring-tides, full and high. 
Swells in every youthful vein ; 
But each tide docs less supply. 
Till they quite shrink in again ; 
If a flow in age appear, 
'Tis but rain, and runs not clcivr. 

Jons Deypes. 



SONG. 

Ask me no more where Jove bestows, 
When June is past^ the fading rose ; 
For, in your beauty's orient deep, 
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. 

Ask me no more whither do stray 
The golden atoms of the day ; 
For, in pure love, heaven did prepare 
Those powders to enrich your hair. 

Ask me no more whither doth haste 
The nightingale when May is past ; 
For in your sweet, dividing throat 
She winters, and keeps warm her note. 

Ask me no more where those stars light 
That downwards fall in dead of night ; 
For in yoin- eyes they sit, and there 
Fixed become, as in their sphere. 

Ask me no more if east or west 
The phaniix builds her spicy nest ; 
For nnto you at last she flies, 
And in your fragrant bosom dies. 

Thomas Caxxw. 



PHILOMELA'S ODE 

THAT SUB SUNG IN HER AKBOR. 

Sitting by a river's side 
Where a silent stream did glide, 
J[nse I did of many things 
That the mind in quiet brings. 
I 'gan think how some men deem 
Gold their god ; and some esteem 
Honor is the chief content 
That to man in life is lent; 
And some others de contend 
Quiet none like to a friend. 
Others hold there is no wealth 
Gompared to a perfect health ; 
Some man's mind in quiet stands 
When he 's lord of many lands. 
But I did sigh, and said all this 
Was but a shade of perfect bliss ; 



SONGS. 2r,;i 


And in my thonglits I (lid approvu 




Nouylit so sweet as is tnio lovo. 


THR TOMB. 


Lovo 'twixt lovers passeth tlioso, 


When mouth kissetli and heart 'grecs — 


WnEN, cruel fair one, I am slain 


With folded arms and lips meeting, 


By tliy disdain. 


Eacli sold another sweetly greeting ; 


And, as a trophy of thy scorn. 


For by the hreatli the soul lleeteth, 


To some old tomb am borne. 


And soul with soul in kissing meetetli. 


Thy fetters m\ist their powers bequeath 


If lovo be so sweet a thing, 


To those of death ; 


That sueli happy bliss doth bring, 


Nor can thy flame immortal burn. 


Happy is love's sugared thrall ; 


Like monumental fires within an urn: 


But unhappy maidens all 


Thus freed from thy proud empire, I shall 


Who esteem your virgin blisses 


prove 


Sweeter than ii wife's sweet kisses. 


There is more liberty in death than lovo. 


No such quiet to the mind 




As true lovo with kisses kind ; 


And when forsaken lovers come 


But if a kiss prove unchaste, 


To see my tomb, 


Then is true lovo quite disgraced. 


Take heed thou mix not with the crowd, 


Though love be sweet, learn this of me, 


And, (as a victor) proud 


No sweet lovo but honesty. 


To view the spoils thy beauty made, 


EOBEBT GeEENE. 


Press near my shade ; 




Lest tliy too cruel breatli or name 




Should fan my ashes back into a flamo, 
And thou, devoured by tliis revengeful fire, 






Ilis sacrifice, who died as thine, expire. 


COME AWAY, DEATU. 


But if cold earth or marble must 




Conceal my dust, 




Whilst, hid in some dark ruins, I 


Come away, come away, deatli. 


Dumb and forgotten lie. 


And in sad cypress let me be laid ! 


The pride of all thy victory 


Fly away, fly away, breatli : 


Will sleep with mo ; 
And they who should attest thy glory, 
Will or forget or not believe this story. 


I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 


My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 


Oh, prepare it ; 


Then to increase thy triumph, lot me rest, 


My part of death no one so true 


Since by thine eye slain, buried in tliy breast. 


Did share it. 
Not a flower, not a flower sweet. 


TnoMAD Stanley. 




On my black coflin let there be strown ; 




Not a friend, not a friend greet 


LOVE NOT ME. 


My poor corpse, where my bones shall be 


LovK not me for comely grace, 


thrown. 


For my pleasing eye or face. 


A thousand, thousand sighs to save, 


Nor for any outward part. 


I.ay me. Oh 1 where 


No, nor for my constant heart ; 


Sad true-love never find my grave. 


For those may fail or turn to ill. 


To weep there. 


So thou and I shall sever ; 


SlIAKESrSABE. 


Keep therefore a true woman's eye. 




And love me still, but know not why. 


—9 


So hast thou the same reason still 




To doat upon mo ever. 




ASOKYMOUB. 

. , 



251 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



THE EXEQUIES. 

Dkaw near 
Tou lovers, that complain, 
Of fortune or disdain, 
And to my ashes lend a tear ! 
Melt the hard m.arble with yom- groans, 
And soften the relentless stones, 
"Whose cold embraces the sad subject hide 
Of all love's cruelties, and beauty's pride ! 

No verse, 
No epicedium bring ; 
Kor peaceful requiem sing, 
To charm the terrors of my hearse I 
No profane numbers must flow near 
The sacred silence that dwells here. 
Vast griefs are dumb ; softly, oh softly 

monrn ! 
Lest you disturb the peace attends my urn. 

Yet strew 
Upon my dismal grave 
Such oti'erings as you have — 
Forsaken cypress, and sad yew ; 
For kinder flowers can take no birth 
Or growth from such unhappy earth. 
Weep only o'er my dust, and say, " Kere lies 
To love and fate an equal sacritice." 

TH0iIA8 StAXLKT. 



THE MLK-MAID'S SONG. 

THE SnEPnERD TO HIS LOVE. 

Come live with me, and be my love, 
And we will all the pleasures prove 
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, 
"Woods or steepy mountains yields. 

There will we sit upon the rocks, 
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks 
By shallow rivers to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigs-ds. 

There will I make thee beds of roses 
With a thousand fragrant posies ; 
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle, 
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle. 



A gown made of the finest wool, 
"WTiich from our pretty lambs we pull ; 
Fair-lined slippers for the cold, 
"With buckles of the purest gold ; 

A belt of straw, and ivy buds, 
"With coral clasps and amber studs ; 
And if these pleasures may thee move. 
Come live with me, and be my love. 

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing, 
For thy delight each May morning : 
If these delights thy mind may move. 
Then live with me, and be my love. 

Chsistopkes Mablowe. 



THE MILE-MAID'S MOTHER'S ANSWER. 
THE nymph's keplt. 

If that the world and love were yonug, 
And truth in every .shepherd's tongue, 
These pretty pleasures might me move 
To live with thee and be tliy love. 

But time drives flocks from field to fold, 
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold ; 
And Philomel becometh dimib. 
And all complain of cares to come. 

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields 
To wayward winter reckoning yields ; 
A honey tongue, a heart of gall, 
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fidl. 

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses. 
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies 
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten— 
In folly ripe, in reason rotten. 

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, 
Thy coral clasps and amber studs — 
All these in me no means can move 
To come to thee, and be thy love. 

But could youth last, and love still breed. 
Had joys no date, nor age no need. 
Then those delights my mind might move 
To live with thee, and be thy love. 

Sib Waltke Raisioh. 



MY DEAR AND ONLY LOVE. 266 




And let all longing lovers feed 


MY DEAR AND ONLY LOVE. 


Upon such looks as those. 




A marble wall then build about. 


PART FlnST. 


Besot without a door ; 


My dear and only love, I pray, 


But if thou let thy heart (ly out, 


Tliis noblo world of tho6 


I '11 never love thee more. 


Bo governed by no other sway 




But purest monarcliio. 


Let not tlieir oaths, like volleys shot. 


For if confusion have a part, 


Make any breach at all ; 


AVhich virtuous souls aI)horo, 


Nor smoothness of their language plot 


And liold a synod in thy heart, 


Wliich way to scale the wall ; 


I '11 never love thee more. 


Nor balls of wild-fire love consume 




The shrine which I adore ; 


Like Alexander I will reign, 


For if such smoke about thee fume, 


And I will reign alono. 


I '11 never love thee more. 


My thoughts shall evermore disdain 




A rival on my throne. 


I think thy virtues be too strong 


He either fears his fate too much, 


To suffer by surprise ; 


Or his deserts are small. 


Those victualled by my love so long, 


That puts it not unto the touch, 


The siege at length must rise. 


To win or lose it all. 


And leave thee ruled in that liealtli 


But I must rule and govern still 


And state thou wast before ; 


And always give the law. 


But if thou turn a commonwealth. 


And have each subject at my will. 


I '11 never love thee more. 


And .ill to stand in awe. 




But 'gainst my battery if I find 


Or if by fraud, or by consent, 


Thou shun'st the prize so sore 


Thy heart to ruine come, 


As that thou sot'st me up a blind. 


I '11 sound no trumpet as I wont. 


I '11 never love thee more. 


Nor march by tuck of drum ; 




But hold my arms, like ensigns, up. 


If in the empire of thy heart, 


Thy falsehood to deplore. 


Where I should solely bo, 


And bitterly will sigh luid weoi>. 


Another do pretend a part. 


And never love tlico more. 


And dares to vie with mo ; 




Or if committees thou erect. 


I '11 do with thee as Nero did 


And go on such a score, 


When Rome was set on fire, 


I '11 sing and laugh at thy neglect. 


Not only all relief forbid. 


And never love thee more. 


But to a hill retire, 




And scorn to shed a tear to see 


But if thou wik be constant then, 


Tliy spirit grown so poor ; 


And faithful of thy word. 


But smiling sing, until I die, 


I '11 make thee glorious by my pen, 


I'll never love thee more. 


And famous by my sword. 




I '11 serve tliee in such noblo ways 


Yet, for tlie love I bare thee once, 


Was never heard before ; 


Lest that thy name should die, 


I '11 crown and deck thee all with bays, 


A monument of marUe-stone 


And love thee evermore. 


The truth shall testifie ; 




That every i>ilgrim passing by 


PART SECOND. 


May pity .and deplore 


My dear and only love, take heed, 


My case, and read the reason why 


Lest tliou thyself expose, 


I can love tliee no more. 



256 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



The golden laws of love shall be 

Upon this pillar hung, — 
A simple heart, a single eye, 

A true and constant tongue ; 
Let no man for more love pretend 

Than he has hearts in store ; 
True love begun shall never end ; 

Love one and love no more. 

Then shaU thy heart be set by mine, 

But in far different case ; 
For mine was true, so was not thine, 

But lookt like Janus' face. 
For as the waves with every wind, 

So sail'st thou every shore. 
And leav'st my constant heart behind, — 

How can I love thee more ? 

My heart sliall witli the sun be fixed 

For constancy most strange. 
And thine shall with the moon be mixed, 

Delighting ay in change. 
Thy beauty shined at first more bright, 

And woe is me therefore, 
That ever I found thy love so light 

I could love thee no more ! 

The misty mountains, smoking lakes, 

The rocks' resounding echo. 
The whistling wind that murmur makes, 

Shall with me sing hey ho I 
The tossing seas, the tumbling boats, 

Tears dropping from each shore, 
Shall tune with me their turtle notes — 

I '11 never love thee more. 

As doth the turtle, chaste and true, 

Her fellow's death regrete, 
And daily mourns for his adieu. 

And ne'er renews her mate ; 
So, though thy faith was never fast. 

Which grieves me wondrous sore. 
Yet I shall live in love so chast. 

That I shall love no more. 

And when all gallants ride about 

These monuments to view. 
Whereon is written, in and out. 

Thou traitorous and untrue ; 
Then in a passion they shall pause. 

And thus say, sighing sore, 



" Alas ! he had too just a cause 
Never to love thee more." 

And when that tracing goddess Fame 

From east to west shall flee, 
She shall record it, to thy shame. 

How thou hast loved me ; 
And how in odds our love was such 

As few have been before ; 
Thou loved too many, and I too much. 

So I can love no more. 

James Graham, Mabquis op Montbobb. 



WELCOME, WELCOME. 

Welcome, welcome, do I sing, 
Far more welcome than the spring ; 
He that parteth from you never, 
Slmll enjoy a spring for ever. 

Love that to the voice is near, 

Breaking from your ivory pale, 
Need not walk abroad to hear 
The deUghtful nightingale. 

Welcome, welcom,e, then I sing. 
Far more welcome than the spring ; 
He iJiat part eth from you never, 
Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 

Love, that still looks on your eyes, 

Though the winter have begun 
To benumb our arteries. 
Shall not want the summer's sun. 
Welcome, welcome, then I sing. 
Far more welcome than the s^tring ; 
He that parteth from you never. 
Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 

Love, that still may see your cheeks, 

Where all rareness still reposes, 
Is a fool if e'er he seeks 
Other lilies, other roses. 

Welcome, welcome, then I sing, 
Far more welcome than the spring ; 
He that parteth from you never. 
Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 

Love, to whom your soft lip yields, 
And perceives your breath in kissing. 

All the odors of tlio fields 

Never, never shall be missing. 



LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR. 



25T 



Welcome, welcome, then I sing. 
Far more icelcome than the »pring ; 
He thatparteth from you never. 
Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 

Love, that question -wotild anew 

Wliat fair Eilen was of old, 
Let him rightly study you, 
And a brief of that behold. 
Welcome, welcome, then I sing, 
Far more welcome than the spring ; 
He that parteth from you never, 
Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 

■William Beowne. 



BLEST AS THE IMMORTAL GODS. 

Blest as the immortal gods is he, 
The youth who fondly sits by thee. 
And hears and sees thee all the while 
Softly speak, and sweetly smile. 

'T was this deprived my soul of rest, 
And raised such tunuilts in my breast : 
For while I gazed, in transport tost. 
My breath was gone, my voice was lost 

My bosom glowed ; the subtle flame 
Ran quick through all my vital frame : 
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung ; 
My ears with hollow murmurs rung. 

In dewy damps my limbs were chUled ; 
My blood with gentle horrors thrilled : 
My feeble pulse forgot to play — 
I fainted, sunk, and died away. 

Sappho. (Greak.) 
TranBkition of Ambkose Phillips. 



KULNASATZ, MY REIOTDEER. 

A LAPLAND SONG. 

KuLNASATZ, my reindeer, 
We have a long journey to go ; 
The moors are vast, 
And we must haste. 
Our strength, I fear, 
WiU foil, if we are slow ; 
And so 
Our songs will do. 
18 



Kaig&, the watery moor. 
Is pleasant unto me. 
Though long it be. 
Since it doth to my mistress lead, 
Whom I adore ; 
The Kilwa moor 
I ne'er again will tread. 

Thoughts filled my mind, 
Whilst I through KaigS passed 
Swift as the wind. 
And my desire 
Winged with impatient fire ; 
My reindeer, let us haste ! 

So shall we quickly end our pleasing pain — 

Behold my mistress there. 
With decent motion walking o'er the plain. 
Kulnasatz, my reindeer, 
Look yonder, where 

She washes in the lake ! 
See, while she swims. 
The water from her purer limbs 
New clearness take 1 



LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR. 

I AEisE from dreams of thee 
In the first sweet sleep of night, 
When the winds are breathing low, 
And the stars are shining bright. 
I arise from dreams of thee, 
And a spirit in my feet 
Has led me — who knows how ? 
To thy chamber windov^, sweet ! 

The wandering airs, they faint 
On the dark and silent stream — 
The champak odors fail 
Like sweet thoughts in a dream ; 
The nightingale's complaint, 
It dies upon her heart. 
As I must on thine. 
Beloved as thou art ! 

Oh, hft me from the grass ! 
Idle, I faint, I fail! 
Let thy love in kisses rain 
On my lips and eyelids pale. 



268 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



My «heet Is cold and white, alas! 
My heai't beats loud and fast ; 
Oil ! press it close to thine again, 
Where it will break at last. 

Febct Bysshe Shelley. 



MAID OF ATHENS, EEE WE PART. 

Z<07 iiov, aic ayairo. 

Maid of Athens, ere ve part. 
Give, oh, give me back my heart 1 
Or, since that has left my breast, 
Keep it now, and take the rest! 
Hear my vow before I go, 
Z<J7 /ioii, aa; ayanii. 

By those tresses imcon fined. 
Wooed by each .iEgean wind ; 
By those lids whose jetty fringe 
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge ; 
By those wild eyes like the roe, 
Z(i»7? fioi'j ffdc ayaTTtj. 

By that lip I long to taste ; 
By that zone-encircled waist; 
By all the tokcn-flowcrs that tell 
What words can never speak so well ; 
By love's alternate joy and woe, 
Zwj? fioi', o6( aya-n-u. 

Maid of Athens ! I am gone — 

Think of me, sweet, when alone. 

Though 1 fly to Istambol, 

Athens holds my heart and soul. 

Can I cease to love thee ? No! 

Zari /loli, aic ayajru. 

Lord Bybon. 



SONNET. 

The might of one fair face sublimes my love, 
For it liath weaned my heart from low de- 
sires; 
Nor death I heed, nor purgatoriid tires. 
Thy beauty, antepast of joys above. 
Instructs me m the bliss that saints approve ; 
For oh ! how good, how beautiful, must bo 
The God that made so good a thing as thee, 
So fair an image of the heavenly Dove. 



Forgive me if I cannot turn away 

From those sweet eyes that are my earthly 

heaven. 
For they are guiding stars, benignly given 
To tempt my footsteps to the upward way ; 
And if I dwell too fondly in thy sight, 
I live and love in God's peculiai- light. 

Michael A^'GELO. (Italian ) 
Translation of J. E. Taylor. 



LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY. 

TnE fountains mingle with the river, 

And the rivers with the ocean ; 
The winds of heaven mix for ever. 

With a sweet emotion ; 
Nothing in the world is single ; 

All things by a law divine 
In one another's being mingle — 

Why not I with thine ? 

See the mountains kiss high heaven. 

And the waves clasp one another ; 
No sister flower would be forgiven 

If it disdained its brother ; 
And the sunlight clasps the earth. 

And the moonbeams kiss the sea;- 
Wliat are all these kissings worth. 

If thou kiss not me ? 

Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



TO- 



OxE word is too often profaned 

For me to proi^me it, 
One feeling too falsely disdained 

For thee to disdain it. 
One hope is too like despair 

For prudence to smother. 
And pity from thee more dear 

Than that from another. 

I can give not what men call love ; 

But wilt thou accept not 
The worship the heart lifts above 

And the heavens reject not : 
The desire of the moth for the star. 

Of the night for the morrow, 
The devotion to something afar 

From the sphere of our sorrow ? 

Percy ByesHE Shelley. 



SONGS. 



269 



TEE GIEL OF CADIZ. 



Oh, never talk again to me 

Of northern elimos and British ladies ; 
It has not been your lot to see 

Like me, the lovely girl of Cadiz. 
Although her eyes be not of blue. 

Nor fair lier locks, like English lasses'. 
How far its own expressive hue 

The languid azure eye surpasses ! 



Prometheus-like, from heaven she stole 

Tlie fire that through those silken lashes 
In darkest glances seems to roll. 

From eyes that cannot hide their flashes ; 
And as along her bosom steal 

In lengthened flow her raven tresses. 
You 'd swear each clustering lock could feel, 

And curled to give her neck caresses. 



Our English maids are long to woo. 

And frigid even in possession ; 
And if then- charms be fair to view. 

Their lips are slow at love's confession ; 
But, born beneath a brighter sun, 

For love ordained the Spanish maid is. 
And who, — when fondly, fairly won, — 

Enchants you like the girl of Cadiz? 



The Spanish maid is no coquette. 

Nor joys to see a lover tremble ; 
And if she love, or if she hate. 

Alike she knows not to dissemble. 
Her heart can ne'er be bought or sold — 

Howe'er it beats, it beats sincerely ; 
And, though it will not bend to gold, 

'T will love you long, and love you dearly. 

v. 
The Spanish girl that meets your love 

Ne'er taunts you with a mock denial ; 
For every thought is bent to prove 

Her passion in the hour of trial. 
When thronging foemen menace Spain 

Siie dares the deed and shares the danger ; 
And should her lover press the plain. 

She hurls the spear, her love's avenger. 



And when, beneath the evening star, 

She mingles in the gay bolero ; 
Or sings to her attuned guitar 

Of Christian knight or Moorish hero ; 
Or counts her beads with fairy hand 

Beneath the twinkling rays of Hesper ; 
Or joins devotion's choral band 

To chant the sweet and hallowed vesper : 



In each her charms the heart must move 

Of all who venture to behold her. 
Then let not maids less fair reprove. 

Because her bosom is not colder ; 
Through many a clime 't is mine to roam 

Where many a soft and melting maid is, 
But none abroad, and few at home. 

May match the dark-eyed gir.1 of Cadiz. 

LOBD BtBON. 



SONG. 



The heath this night must be my bed, 
Tlio bracken curtain for my head. 
My lullaby the warder's tread. 

Far, far from love and thee, Mary ; 
To-morrow eve, more stilly laid. 
My couch may be my bloody plaid. 
My vesper song thy wail, sweet maid 1 

It will not waken me, Mary ! 

I may not, dare not, fancy now 

The grief that clouds thy lovely brow ; 

I dare not think upon thy vow. 

And all it promised me, Mary. 
No fond regret must Norman know ; 
W' hen bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe. 
His heart must be like bended bow, 

His foot like arrow free, Mary. 

A time will come with feeling fraught ! 
For, if I fall in battle fought. 
Thy hapless lover's dying thought 

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary ! 
And if returned from conquered foes. 
How blithely will the evening close^ 
How sweet the linnet sing repose 

To my young bride and me, Mary ! 

Sir Walter Scott. 



2liO 



POEMS OF L V K . 



STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 

TiiKUK bo nono of lioiUily's diuiglitcra 

With a iiiniiic liko thoo; 
Ami liko music on the waters 

Is thy swoot voice to me : 
When, as if its sound were causing 
'I'lio ohannod ocean's pausing, 
Tlio waves lie still and jrleaniiiifi. 
And the lulled winds seem dreamiiifi. 

And tlie midnight moon is weavinij 
Ilei' bright chain o'er the deep, 

Whoso breast is gently heaving, 
As an infant's asleep ; 

So the spirit bows boforo thee, 

To listen and adore thee 

Witli a fidl lint sol't emotion, 

liiko the swell of summer's ocean. 

Loud Byron. 



HERE 'S A IIEAUTI TO ANE I LO'E 
DEAR. 

Here '.V a health to aiie I lo'e dear. 

Here 's a health to ane I We dear ; 

Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers 

meet, 
Aiul soft as the pai'ting tear — Jessy ! 

Ai.Tno' thou maun never bo mine, 

Altho' even hope is denied, 
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing 

Tlian aught in the world beside — tTessy! 

I mourn thro' tlie gay, gaudy day, 
As, hopeless, I nuiso on tliy eluirnis; 

Bnt welcome the dream o' swoot slun\ber. 
For then lamlocked in tliy arms — .lessy! 

I guess by the dear angel smile, 

I guess by tho lovc-roUing eo ; 
Bnt why urge tho tender confession 
'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree — Jessy ! 
Here '« a health to ane I lo^e dear, 
Here 's a health to ane I lo'e dear ; 
Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lorers 

meet, 
And soft as the parting te<ir — Jessy I 

KoBERT Burns. 



CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES. 

f«' the yowes to the hnowes, 
Ca'' them where the heather grows, 
Ca^ them where the Inirnie rows, 
My honnie dearie. 

Hark the mavis' evening sang 
Sounding Chniden's woods nmang; 
Thou a faulding let ns gang, 
My bonnie dearie. 

Wo '11 gao down by Clouden side, 

Thro' tho hazels spreading wide, 

O'er tho waves that sweetly glide 

To the moon sae clearly. 

Yonder Olouden's silent tower.s, 
Where at moonsliine, midnight hours, 
O'er tho dewy bending flowers, 
Fairies dance sae cheery. 

(rhaist nor boglo shalt thou fear ; 
Thou 'rt to love and lieaven sac dear, 
Nocht of ill may come thee near, 
My bonnio dearie. 

Fair and lovely as thou art, 
Thou hast stown my very heart; 
I can die — bnt canna part, 
My bomiie dearie. 

While waters wimple to the sea, 
While day blinks in the lift sac hie, 
Till clay-caidd deatli sliall blin' my ee, 
Ye shall be my dearie. 

Ca' the yowes to the hiowes, 
Ca' them where the heather grows, 
Ca' tlusm where the hurnie rows. 
My honnie dearie. 

KoBERT Burns. 



FAREWELL TO NANCY. 

Ak fond kiss and then wo sever! 
Ae fin-eweel, alas 1 for over ! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I '11 pledge thee; 
WiU'ring sighs and groans I '11 wage theo. 
Who shall say that fortune grieves hhu, 
While tho star of hope she leaves bim? 
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me ; 
Dai'k despair around benights mc. 



THE LASS OF B ALLOCIIM YLE. 



261 



I '11 ne'er blame my partial fancy — 
Naetliinjc conkl resist my Xancy : 
I5nt to SCO her was to love her, 
Lo\o but lier, and love for ever. 
Had wo never loved sao kindly, 
Had we never loved sao blindly, 
Never met — or never jiarted, 
Wo bad ne'er Ijocn brokcii-licarted. 

Fare tbeo weel, tbou first and fairest! 
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest! 
Thine lio ilka joy and treasure, 
Peace, enjoyment, love, and jjleasiirc 1 
Ao fond kiss, and then we sever! 
Ae fareweel, alas ! for ever ! 
Ooep in heart-wrung tears I '11 pledge thee ; 
Warring sighs and groans I '11 wage thee. 

Robert Burns. 



OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN 
BLAW. 

Of a' the airts the wind can bluw, 

I dearly like the west ; 
For there the bonnie lassie lives'. 

The lassie I lo'e best. 
Tliere wild woods ki-ow, and rivers row. 

And monio a liill 's between ; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair ; 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air ; 
There 's not a bonnie flower tljat .springs 

By fountain, shaw, or green — 
There 's not a bonnie bird that sings. 

But minds me of my Jean. 

KODEKT OimNS. 



A RED, RED ROSE. 

On, my luvc's like a red, red rose. 
That 's newly sprung in June ; 

Oh, my luve 's like the melodie 
That 's sweetly played in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonnie la.ss. 
So deep in luve am I ; 



And I will luve thee still, my dear, 
Till a' the seas gang dry — 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 
And the ro(rks melt wi' the sim; 

I will luve tbeo still, my dear. 
While the sands of life shall nni. 

And faro tbeo weel, my only luve! 

And faro thee weel a while! 
And I will come again, my luve, 

Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 

KoBRBT Burns. 



THE LASS OF BALLOCIIMYLE. 

'T WAS even — the dewy fields were green, 

On every blade tho pearls did hang; 
The zephyr wantoned round the bean 

And bore its fragrant sweets along; 
In every glen the mavis sang. 

All nature listening seemed the while. 
Except where green-wood echoes rang 

Aniang tho braes o' Ballochmyle. 

With careless step I onward strayed ; 

My heart rejoiced in nature's joy ; 
When musing in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair I chanced to si)y. 
Iler look was like the morning's eye, 

Her air like nature's vernal smile ; 
Perfection whispered, passing by. 

Behold tho la.ss o' Ballochmyle! 

Fair is the morn in llowery May, 

And sweet is night in autumn mild. 
When roving thro' the garden gay. 

Or wandering in a lonely wild ; 
But woman, nature's darling child ! 

There all her charms she does compile; 
Ev'n there her other works are foiled 

By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 

Ob, b.'id she been a country maid. 

And I the hajijiy country swain, 
Tho' sheltered in the lowest shed 

That ever rose in Scotland's plain ! 
Thro' weary winter's wind and rain 

With joy, with rapture, I would toil; 
And nightly to my bosom strain 

The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 



rOEMS OF I.OVE. 



Then pride might dimb the sUptwry steep 

M'lioro tamo nml honors h>rty shine ; 
Ami thirst ot'pihl mijrht tonipt tlio deep. 

Or downwjinl seek the Indian iniiio. 
Give me ttie eot helow tlie pine, 

To teud the flocks or till the soil, 
And every day have joys divine 

Witli the bonuie lass o' IviUochniylo. 



ADDRESS TO A lADY. 

On, wort thou in the oanld bhist, 

On yonder leiv on yonder lea ; 
My plaidie to the ;mgry airt, 

1 "d shelter thee. 1 "d shelter thee: 
Or did niistiirtune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around tlKV blaw. 
Thy t>ield should be my bosom. 

To share it a', to shaiv it a'. 

Or were I in tlK> wildest waste, 

Sao blejik and bare, s;»e bleak and biire. 
The desert were a paradise 

If thou wert there, if thmi wert there. 
Or weiv 1 monareh o' the irlobe, 

Wi' thoo to reign, wi' tliee to reign; 
The brightest jewel in my eiMwu 

U'ad be my unevni, wad be my queen. 



AXNIE LAIRIE. 

MAXWEI.TOX braes aiv Kintiie- 
Wheiv early fa's the dew, 
And it 's there that .\.nnie Laurie- 
Gie'd nio her promise true ; 
Oie"d me her promise true, 
Whieh ne'er forgot will be ; 
And for bonuie Annie Lsuirio 
I 'd lay me donne and dee. 

Her l>row i* like the snaw dritY ; 
Her throiit is like the swan ; 
Her faee it is the fairest 
Tliat e'er the sun shone on — 
That e'er the sun shone on — 
And dark blue is her ee; 



And for bonuie Annie Lavme 
1 'd lay me donne and dee. 

Like dew on tlie gowan lying 

Is the fa' o' her fairy feet ; 

And like the winds in summer sighing, 

Iler voiee is low and sweet — 

Iler voiee is low and sweet — 

And she's a' the world to me; 

And for bonuie Annie Laurie 

1 'd lay me doune and dee. 

Akontsiocs. 



THOU HAST VOWED BY THY FAITH, 
MY JEANIE. 

Thou h.ist vowed by thy faith, my Jeanie, 

l?y that pretty white hand o" thine. 
And by all the lowing stai-s in heaven. 

That thou wad aye be mine ! 
And 1 have sworn by n\y faith, my Jeanie, 

And by that kind heart o' tlijne, 
l?y all the stars sown thiek o'er heaven, 

That thou shalt aye be mine ! 

Then foul fa' the bauds wad loose sio bands. 

And the heart wad psu't sic love ; 
Hut there 's nae hand can loiise the band. 

But the finger of Him above. 
Tho' the wee, wee cot maun be my bield. 

An' my clothing e'er so mean, 
I should lap up rich in the faulds of love, 

Heaven's armfu' o' my Jean. 

Her white arm wad be a pillow to mc. 

Far sot^er than the down ; 
And Love wad winnow o'er ns, his kind, 
kind wings. 

And sweetly we 'd sleep, an" soim'. 
Come hero to me, thou lass whom I love, 

Come here and kneel wi' me ; 
The morn is full of the presence of Gwl, 

And I eanua pray but thee. 

Tho morn- wind is sweet amang the new 
flowers. 

The wee birds sing saft on the tree ; 
Oiu- gudeman sits in the bonnie sunshine, 

And a blithe auld bodie is he. 



FAUl INKS. 



268 



Tlio lioiiU iimiiii 1)0 taV'ii wluin Ijo ooimoh 
liiiiiie, 
^Vi' tlio holy pwilmodio ; 
And I will s|)Oiik of tlico wliun [ |)niy, 
And Ukjh inimn Hpciik of inc. 

Allan Ounnin<iiiam. 



Oil, SAW YK THE LASS. 

On wiw y(i tlio litsH vvi' the Ijonny liliic con? 
llur Minilu in the Hwcotcst thut ever wiiH Hocn ; 
Ilcr clieek liko tho rose ih, but f'roaher, I ween ; 
She 'h tho lovolicst lasmo tliat trips) on the 

prccn. 
'i'lio liOMie of my love is lielow in tho valley, 
Where ttilil flowers welcome tho vvamleriiif; 

hee ; 
IJiit tho Hweetest of flowers in that spot that 

is Hcon 
Is tlio maid that 1 love vvi' the hoiiny hhio ceii. 

When ninht overshadows her eot in the i^leii, 
She'll steal out to meet her loved lloiinid 

a^'aiii ; 
And when the moon shines on the valley so 

green, 
I '11 welcome tho lass wi' tho honiiy hluo eon. 
Ah tho (lovo that lias wandered away from 

his nest, 
Kotums to tlio inato his fond lieart loves the 

hest, 
I'll fly I'roiii the world's false and vunishint,' 

Hcene, 
To my <!ear ono, tho lass wi' tho bonny blue 

een. 

Ukjiiaui* Kyan. 



BONNIE LESLIE. 

On saw yc honnio Leslie 

As she gaed o'er tho border? 

She's gaiie, liko Alexander, 
To spread her contiuosts further. 

To 800 her is to lovo licr, 
And love but her for ever ; 

For nature rnadc her what she is, 
And no'er made sieanither. 



Thou art a (pieen, fair Leslie — 
Thy subjects we, before tliuo; 

Tlion art divine, fair Leslie — 
'I'lio hearts o' men adore thee. 

Tho deil ho could na seaith thou, 
Or aught that wad helang thee; 

He'd look inlofby honnio f'a(^e, 
And say, "1 caima wrung Iheo." 

The powers aboou will tent Iheo ; 

Misfortune sba'na steer tlice; 
Thou 'rtliko themselves sue lovely, 

That ill they '11 ne'er let near thee. 

Kelurn again, fair LcsFie I 

Keturn to Calcdouie ! 
That wo may brag we Imo u luss 

There 'h nano again sao honnie. 

UOUICHT ItUllNH. 



FAIR INE8. 



Oit saw ye not fair lues? 

She's gone bito tin: west, 

To dazzle when the sun is down. 

And rob tho world of rest ; 

She took our dayUgbt with her, 

Tho sndles that we lovo best. 

With morning blushes on her cheek, 

And pearl» upon her breast. 



Oh turn again, fair Incs,, 

liefore the hill of night, 

For fear flic muoii should shine alone, 

And stars unrivalled bright; 

And blessed will the lover be 

That walks beneath their light, 

And breathes the love agoinnt thy cheek 

I dare not even write ! 

lif. 
Wonld I had been, fair Ines, 
Tliat gallant cavalier 
Who rode so gayly by thy iride, 
And whispered thee so near ! — 



204 POEMS OF LOVE. 


Were thoi'e no bonny diunos at homo, 
Ov no ti'no lovers hero, 


When, at eve, thou rovest 
By the star thou lovost, 


Tlijit ho slioiiUl cross tho sons to win 


Oh then remomber mo! 


The iloarost of tho dour i 


Think, when home returning. 




Bright we 'vo seen it b\irning, 


IV. 

I saw thoo, \o\e\y Inos, 
■Dosoond along tho shore, 
\\ith bauds ofnoblo gentlemon. 
And banners waved hol'ore; 
And gentle voiUh and ninidens gay, 


Oh thus romcmbor me ! 
Oft as sHmmor closes, 
When thine eye reposes 
On its lingering roses. 

Once so loved by thoo, 
Tliink of her who wove them. 


^\nd snowy pinnies they wore; — 

It wonld have been a beauteous dream, 

— It' it had boon no more! 


Her who made thee love them; 
Oh then remendier mo! 




When, around thee dying, 


v. 
Alas ! alas 1 lair Inos 1 
She wont away with song. 


Autunui leaves are Mug, 
Oh then remember mo! 
And, at night, when gazing 


AVith nuisie waiting on her stops. 


On the gay hoartli blazing. 


And shoutings of the throng; 


Oh still ren\enilier mo! 


I5ut some were sad, and tell no mirth, 


Then should music, stealing 


Hut only nnisie's wrong, 

In sounds that sang FarowoU, farewell ! 

To her you 've loved so long. 


-Ml tho soul of fooling. 
To thy heart appealing, 
Draw one tear from thee — 


VI. 

Farewell, farewell, fair Inos! 
That vessel never bore 
So fair a lady on its deek, 


Then let memory bring tlieo 


Strains 1 used to sing thoo ; 
Oh thou remember me ! 

Thomas Mookk. 


Nor daneed so light before — 






Alas for pleasure on tho sea, 
And sorrow on tho shore ! 


FLY TO THE DESERT. 


Tho smile that blest oi\e lover's heart 

Has broken nnuiy n\ore I 

Thomas Hoop. 


Fly to tho desert, fly with nie — 
Our Arab tents are rude for thoe ; 




But, oh ! the choice what heart oiui doubt, 

Of tents witli love, or thrones without? 


GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE! 


Go where glory waits thee ; 
But, wlnle fame elates thoo. 

Oh still remember uio 1 
■When the praise thou raeotest 


Our rocks are rough ; but smiling there 
The acacia waves her yellow hair — 
Lonely and sweet, nor loved tho less 
For flowering in a wilderness. 


To thine oar is sweetest, 

Oh then remember mo ! 
Other arms may press thoe, 


Our sjiuds are bare ; but down their slope 
Tho silvory-footod antelope 
As gracefully and gayly springs 


' Dearer friends caress thoo — 
A\\ the joys that bless thee 


As o'er the marble courts of kings. 


Sweeter far may bo ; 


Then come— thy Arab maid will be 


But when friends are nearest, 


The loved and lone acacia-tree — 


And when _ioys are dearest, 


The antelope, whose feet shall bless 


Oh then remen\ber me! 


With tlioir light sound thy loveliness. 



LOVELY MARY DONNELLY. 



266 



Oil I tlioro an.i look.s iinil tones Unit, <liirt 
All instant suiisliiiio tlir()U(,'li tlio lu'iirt — 
As if tlio soul that niinuto eiiiiBlit 
Some treasure it tlirou;;li lifo lind soiiglit; 

As if tlio vory lijis luid eyes 
Prodcrttincd to Iiavo all our siglis, 
Anil ncvof Iio forf,'ot iiKiiiu, 
Simrklwl and spoko hd'ori! iis t.licn I 

So caiiu; tliy every k'uuco and toim, 
Wlic'ii lirst on inotlioy lircatlie'd and slioue; 
Now as il' lii-ouj^lit from otlier Hpliures, 
Yet wolcDiiii; as it' loved f(jr years. 

Tlieii lly with luo, — if tliou liast known 
No other flame, nor falsely thrown 
A gein away, that thou hadst sworn 
Should ever in thy heart ho worn ; 

Ooine, if the love thou hast for mo 
Js [lure and fresh as mine for thoo — 
Fresh as the fountain under f^rouud, 
When lirst 't is hy l,li(i lapwing found. 

Hut if lor mo thou dost forsake 
Some other maid, and rudely break 
Her worshipped imago from its haHO, 
To give to mo the ruined plaee — 

Then, faro thee well ; I 'd ratlier make 
My liovvi'r upon some ley lake 
When thawing suns hcgiu to shine. 
Than trust to love so fiilso as thine 1 

TifOMAH MoOKK. 



LOVELY MAItY DONNKLI.Y. 

O, i.ovKi-Y Mary Donnelly, it 's you I lov(^ 

the host I 
If fifty girls were arouml you, I 'd hai'dly w-e 

the rest; 
15c what it may the time of day, the phu-e \ir. 

where it will, 
< Sweet looks of Mary Donnelly, they hloom 

hefore me still. 

Ihr eyes like mountain water that's flowing 

on a rock. 
How clear they arc, how dark they are ! and 

they give mo many a shock ; 



Ued rowans warm in sunshine, and wetted 

with a shower, 
Oould no'er express the cliarudug lip that 

has mo in its power. 

Iter noHO is straight and liaiidsonie, lier eye- 
brows lifted U|i, 

ilri- eliiu is very neat auil piTl, niid Hinoolli 
like a c^hina cup ; 

Her hair's the brag of Irelund, so weighty 
and so liiK — 

It's rolling down upiai her iiecli, luid gath- 
ered in a twiuo. 

The dance c/ last Whit Monday night exceed- 
ed all before — 

No ])retty girl for miles around was missing 
from the floor ; 

Hut Mary kejit the belt of love, and oh ! but 
she was gay; 

She danced a Jig, she sung a song, ami took 
my heart away I 

When she stood up for dancing, her stoiw 

were so complete, 
'I'Ik! music nearly killed itself, to listen to her 

feet; 
Tlii^ tiddler mourned his bliniljiess, he he;ird 

her so muidi pniised ; 
I'ut blessed himself be was n't ileid' when 

<inci; her voice she I'uiHcd. 

And evermore I 'm whistling or lilting what 

you sung; 
Your smilo is always in my heart, your name 

beside my tongue. 
Mut you've as many sweethearts as yaiiW 

(Mauit on both your hands, 
And for myself there's not a tJiund) or lillle 

linger stands. 

Oh, you 're the llowor <A' woniankinil, in coun- 
try or in town ; 

The higher f exalt you, the lower I 'm cast 
down. 

If some great lord should come this way and 
see y(au' Ix^auty bright, 

And you to bo his lady, I'd own it was but 
right. 



266 



1* E M S U F L, O A' K . 



Oh, iniglit we live together ia lofty palace 

IimII 
Whero joyful music rises, ;iiul wlicro scarlet 

curtains fall ; 
Oh, nii^'ht wo live together iu a cottage moan 

aiul suuill, 
With sods of f>Tas3 tlie only roof, ami nuul 

the ouly wall! 

O, lovely Mary Dounelly, your beauty 's my 

distress — 
It's far too beauteous to be mine, but I'll 

never wish it less ; 
The ]iroudest place would fit your face, and 

I am poor and low, 
But blessiugs bo about you, dear, wherever 

you may go ! 

"William Ali.inoiiam. 



AN IRISH MELODY. 

" An, sweet Kitty Neil ! rise up from your 
wheel — 
Your neat little foot will be weary from 
spiuuiiig ; 
CoMU', trip down with me to the sycamore 
tree; 
Half the iiarish is there, and the dmico is 
beginning. 
The sun is gone down ; but the full harvest 
moon 
Shines sweetly and cool on the dew-whit- 
ened valley ; 
■While all tlie air rings with the soft, lo%-ing 
things 
Each little bird sings iu the green shaded 
alley." 

Mi til a blush and a smile, Kitty rose up the 
while. 
Her eye in the glass, as slie bound her 
bair, glancing; 
"Tis bard to refuse when a young lover 
snes, 
f o she could n't but choose to — go oft" to 
the dancing. 
And now on the green the glad groujis are 
seen — 
Each gay-hearted lad with the lass of his 
choosing ; 



And Pat, without fail, leads out sweet Kitty 
Neil— 
Somehow, when lie asked, she ne'er tliougbt 
of refusing. 

Now Feli.\ JIagee puts his pipes to bis 
knee, 
And, with flourish so free, sets each coiijile 
in motion; 
With a cheer and a bound, the lads patter 
the ground — 
The maids move around just like swans on 
the ocean. 
Cheeks bright as the rose— feet light as the 
doe's — 
Now cozUy retiring, now boldly advanc- 
ing; 
Search the world all around from the sky to 
the ground. 

No such sight can ho found as an Irisli lass 
dancing! 

Sweet Kate! who conld view your bright 
eyes of deep bine, 
lieaniing bumidly through their dai-k lashes 
so mildly — 
Yoiir fair-turned arm, heaving breast, ronnd- 
ed form — 
Nor feel his heart warm, and his ])ulses 
throb wildly? 
Toor Pat feels his heart, as he gazes, de- 
|.art. 
Subdued by the smart of such painful yet 
sweet love ; 
The sight leaves his eye as he cries witli a 
sigh, 
"Dance light, for my heart it lies under 
your feet, love! " 

Denis Flobehce STOastht. 



SONG. 



Love nie if I live ! 

Love me if I die ! 
AVliat to mo is life or death, 

So that thou 1)0 nigh ? 

Onoo I loved thee rich, 
Now I love theo poor ; 

Ah! what is there I could not 
For thy sake endure ? 



T H E W E L C M E . 267 


Kiss mc for my love ! 


I have thoughts full of peace for his soul to 


Pay mo for my pain ! 


repose in. 


Come 1 and murnuir in my ear 


Were I but his own wife, to win and to 


How tliou lov'st again ! 


woo — 


llAKiiY Cornwall, 


Oh, sweet, if the uight of misfortune were 




closing. 




To rise like the morning star, darling, for 


WERE I JiUT 1II8 OWN WIFE. 


you! 




Mart Downing. 


Wei!E I Ijiit liis own wife, to guard and to 
guide liim, 






'T is little of sorrow should fall on my 




dear ; 


THE WELCOME. 


I 'd chant my low love verses, stealing beside 


I. 


him. 


Come in the evening, or come in the morning — 


So faint and so tender his heart would but 


Come when you 're looked for, or come with- 


hear ; 


out warning ; 


I 'd pull tlie wild blossoms from valley and 


Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you. 


highland ; 


And the oftener you come here the more I '11 


And there at his feet I would lay them all 


adore you ! 


down ; 


Light is my heart since the day we were 


I 'd sing him the songs of our poor stricken 


plighted ; 


island, 


Ked is my cheek that they told me was 


Till lii.t heart was on fire with a love like 


blighted ; 


my own. 


The green of the trees looks far greener 




than ever. 


There 's a rose by his dwelling — 1 'd tend the 


And the linnets are singing, " True lovers 


lone treasure, 


don't sever ! " 


That he might have flowers when the 




summer would come ; 


11. 


There 's a li.arp in his hall — I would wake its 


I '11 pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you 


sweet measure, 


choose them I 


For ho must have music to brighten his 


Or, after you 've kissed them, they '11 lie on 


homo. 


my bosom ; 


Were I but his own wife, to guide and to 


I '11 fetch from the mountain its breeze to in- 


guard him, 


spire you ; 


'Tis little of sorrow should fall on my 


I '11 fetch from my fancy a tale that won't 


dear ; 


tire you. 


For every kind glance my whole life would 


Oh ! your step 's like the rain to the summer- 


award him — 


vexed farmer. 


In sickness 1 'd soothe and iu sadness I 'd 


Or sabre and shield to a knight without 


cheer. 


armor ; 




I '11 sing you sweet songs till the stars rise 


My heart is a fount welling upward for 


above me, 


ever — 


Then, wandering, I 'U wish you in silence 


When I think of my true-love, by night 


to love me. 


or by day ; 


III. 


That heart keeps its faith like a fast-flowing 


We '11 look through the trees at the cliff and 


river 


the eyrie ; 


Which gushes for ever and sings on its 


We '11 tread round the rath on the track of 


way. 


the fairy ; 



268 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



We '11 look on the stars, and we '11 list to the 

river, 
Till you asli of your darling wliat gift you 

can give lier — 
Oh! she'll ^vhisper you — "Love, as nn- 

changeably beaming, 
^ind trust, when in secret, most tunefully 

streaming ; 
Till the starlight of heaven above us shall 

quiver, 
As our souls flow in one down eternity's 

river." 

IV. 

So come in the evening, or come in the morn- 
ing; 
Come when you 're looked for, or come with- 
out warning: 
Kisses and welcome you 'U find here before 

you. 
And the oftener you come here the more 
1 '11 adore you ! 
Light is my heart since the day we were 

plighted ; 
Red is my cheek that they told me was 

blighted ; 
The green of the trees looks far greener 
than ever. 



don't sever ! " 



TnoMAs Davis. 



COME rS'TO THE GARDEN, MAUD. 

Come into the garden, Maud — 

For the black bat, night, has flown! 

Come into the garden, Maud, 
I am here at the gate alone ; 

And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, 
And the musk of the roses blown. 

For a breeze of morning moves, 
And the planet of love is on high. 

Beginning to taint in the light that she loves. 
On a bed of d;itfodil sky, 

To faint ii\ the light of the sun that she loves, 
To fiunt in its light, and to die. 

All night have the roses heard 

The flute, violin, bassoon; 
All night has the casement jessamine stii-red 

To the dancers dancing in tnne — 



Till a silence fell with the waking bird. 
And a hush with the setting moon. 

I said to the lily. " There is but one 

With whom she has heart to be gay. 
When will the dancers leave her alone? 

She is weary of dance and play."' 
Now half to the setting moon are gone, 

And half to the rising day ; 
Low on the sand and loud on the stone 

The last wheel echoes away. 

I said to the rose, " The brief night goes 

In babble and revel and wine. 
young lord-lover, what sighs are those, 

For one that will never be thine ! 
But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose, 

'• For ever and ever, mine! " 

And the toul of the rose went into my blood, 
As tlie music clashed in the h.all ; 

And long by the garden hdie I stood. 
For I heard yonr rivulet fall 

From the lake to the meadow and on to the 
wood — 
Our wood, that is dearer than aU — 

From the meadow your walks have left so 
sweet 



He sets the, jewel-print of your feet 

In \iolets blue as your eyes — 
To the woody hollows in which we meet^ 

And the valleys of Paradise. 

The slender acacia would not shake 

One long milk-bloom on the tree ; 
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake. 

As the pimpernel dozed on the lea ; 
But the rose was awake .-ill night for your 
sake, 

Knowing your promise to me; 
The lilies and roses were all awake — 

They sighed for the dawn and thee. 

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls. 
Come hither ! the dances are done ; 

In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls, 
Queen lily and rose in one ; 

Shine out, little head, sunning over with 
curls, 
To the flowers, and bo their sun. 



SUMMER DAYS. 



209 



Tlicro lias fallen a splendid tear 

From the passion-flower at the gate. 
Slie is coming, my dove, my dear. 

She is coming, my life, my fate I 
The red rose cries, " She is near, she is near ; " 

And tlio white rose weeps, "She is late; " 
The hirkspnr listens, "I hear, I liear," 

And the lily wliisi)ors, "I wait." 

She is coming, my own, my sweet! 

Were it ever so airy a tread, 
My heart woidd hear her and heat, 

Were it earth in ati earthly hed ; 
My dust wiiiild hear her and heat. 

Had I lain for a century dead — 
Would start and tremhlo under her feet. 

And hlossom in purple and red. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



SUMMER DAYS. 

In summer, when the days were long. 
Wo walked togetlier in the wood : 
Our heart was light, our step was strong; 
Sweet lUitterings were there in our hlood, 
In summer, when the days were long. 

Wc strayed from morn till evening came; 
We gathered flowers, and wove us crowns ; 
We walked mid poppies red as flame. 
Or sat upon the yellow downs ; 
And always wished our life the same. 

In summer, -when the days were long. 
Wo leaped the liedgerow, crossed the brook ; 
And still her voice flowed forth in song. 
Or else she read some graceful book, 
[n summer, when the days were long. 

And then we .sat beneath the trees, 
With shadows lessening in the noon ; 
And, in the sunlight and the breeze. 
We feasted, many a gorgeous .June, 
While larks were singing o'er the leas. 

In summer, when the days were long, 
On dainty chicken, snow-white bread, 
We feasted, with no grace hut song ; 
We plucked wild strawb'ries, ripe and red. 
In summer, when the days were long. 



Wo loved, and yet we knew it not — 
For loving seemed like hreatliing then ; 
Wo found a heaven in every spot ; 
Saw angels, too, in all good men ; 
And dreamed of God in grove and grot. 

In summer, wlien the days are long, 
Alone I wander, muse alone; 
I see her not; hut that ohl song 
Under the fragrant wind is blown. 
In summer, when the days are long. 

Alone I wander in the wood ; 
But one fair spirit hears my sighs ; 
And half I see, so glad and good, 
The honest daylight of her eyes. 
That charmed me under earlier skies. 

In summer, when the days are long, 
I love her as we loved of old ; 
My heart is light, my stop is strong ; 
Fin- love brings back those hours of gold, 
In sununcr, when the days are long. 

ANONYMOUet 



RUTH. 



SnK stood breast high amid the corn. 
Clasped by the golden light of morn, 
Like the sweetheart of tlie sun. 
Who many a glowing kiss had won. 

On her cheek an autinnu flush 
Deeply ripened; — such a blush 
In the midst of brown was born. 
Like red poppies grown with com. 

Round her eyes her tresses fell — 
Whic^li were blackest none could tell ; 
But long lashes veiled a light 
That bail else been all too bright. 

And her hat, with shady brim. 
Made her tressy forehead dim ; — 
Thus she stood amid the stook.s, 
Praising God with sweetest looks. 

Sure, I said. Heaven did not mean 
Where I reap Ihou shouldst but glean ; 
Lay thy .sheaf adown and come. 
Share my harvest and my home. 

TiioMiB Hood 



270 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



AT THE CHUECH GATE. 

ALTHOuon I enter not, 
Yet round about the spot 

Ofttimcs I liover ; 
And near the sacred gate, 
With longing eyes I wait, 

Expectant of her. 

Tlie minster bell tolls out 
Above the city's rout. 

And noise and humming ; 
They Ve liushed the minster bell : 
The organ 'gins to swell ; 

She 's coming, she 's coming ! 

My lady comes at last. 
Timid and stepping fast, 

And hastening hither, 
With modest eyes downcast ; 
She comes — she 's here, she's past! 

May heaven go with her ! 

Kneel undisturbed, fair saint ! 
Pour out your praise or plaint 

Meekly and duly ; 
I will not enter there. 
To sully your pure prayer 

With thoughts unruly. 

But suffer me to pace 
Round the forbidden place. 

Lingering a minute. 
Like outcast spirits, who wait. 
And see, through heaven's gate. 

Angels within it. 

William Makepeace Thackeeat. 



SHE IS A MAID OF ARTLESS GRACE. 

Sue is a maid of artless grace. 
Gentle in form, and fair of face. 

Tell me, thou ancient mariner, 

Tliat sailest on the sea, 
If ship, or sail, or evening star. 

Be half so fair as she ! 

Tell me, thou gallant cavalier. 

Whose shining arms I see. 
If steed, or sword, or battle-field. 

Be half so fair as she ! 



Tell me, thou swain that guard'st thy 
flock 
Beneath the shadowy tree, 
If flock, or vale, or mountain-ridge, 
Be half so fair as she ! 

Gil Vicente. (Portugnesc.) 
Translation of H. W. Longfellow. 



SERENADE. 

I. 

An, sweet, thou little knowest how 

I wake and passionate watches keep ; 
And yet, while I address thee now, 

Mothinks thou smilest in thy sleep. 
'T is sweet enough to make me weep. 

That tender thought of love and thee. 
That while the world is hushed so deep, 

Thy soul 's perhaps awake to me ! 

n. 

Sleep on, sleep on, sweet bride of sleep! 

With golden visions for thy dower, 
While I this midnight vigil keep, 

And bless thee in thy silent bower; 
To me 'tis sweeter than the power 

Of sleep, and fairy dreams unfurled. 
That I alone, at tliis still hour. 

In patient love outwatch the world. 

Thomas Hood. 



SERENADE. 

Look out upon the stars, my love, 

And shame them with thine eyes. 
On which, than on the lights above, 

There hang more destinies. 
Night's beauty is the harmony 

Of blending shades and light: 
Tlien, lady, up,— look out, and be 

A sister to the night! — 

Sleep not ! — thine image wakes for aye 

Within my watching breast ; 
Sleep not!— from her soft sleep should fly, 

Who robs all hearts of rest. 
Nay, lady, from thy slumbers break. 

And make this darkness gay, 
With looks whose brightness well might make 

Of dai-ker nights a day. 

Edward Coate Pinicney. 



SONGS. 



271 



MY LOVE. 



Not as all other women are 
Is she that to my soul is dear ; 
Her glorious fancies come from far, 
Beneath the silver evening-star ; 
And yet her heart is ever near. 



Great feelings hath she of her own, 
Which lesser souls may never know ; 
God giveth them to her alone. 
And sweet they are as any tone 
Wherewith the wind may choose to blow. 



Yet in herself she dwelleth not, 
Although no home were half so fair ; 
No simplest duty is forgot ; 
Life hath no dim and lowly spot 
That doth not in her sunshine share. 



She doeth little kindnesses. 

Which most leave undone, or despise ; 

For naught that sets one heart at ease. 

And giveth happiness or peace, 

Is low-esteemed in her eyes. 



She hath no scorn of common things : 
And, though she seem of other birth, 
Round us her heart entwines and clings, 
And patiently she folds her wings 
To tread the humble paths of earth. 



Blessing she is ; God made her so ; 
And deeds of week-day holiness 
Fall from her noiseless as the snow ; 
Nor hath she ever chanced to know 
That aught were easier than to bless. 



She is most fair, and thereunto 
Her life doth rightly harmonize ; 
Feeling or thought that was not true 
Ne'er made less beautiful the blue 
Unclouded heaven of her eyes. 



She is a woman — one in whom 
The spring-time of her childish years 
Hath never lost its fresh perfume, 
Though knowing well that life hath room 
For many blights and many tears. 



I love her with a love as still 
As a broad river's peaceful might, 
Which, by high tower and lowly mdl. 
Goes wandering at its own will, 
And yet doth ever flow aright. 



And, on its full, deep breast serene, 

Like qniet isles my duties lie ; 

It flows around them and between, 

And makes them fresh and fair and green - 

Sweet homes wherein to live and die. 

James Eitsbell Lowkli. 



THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. 

It is the miller's daughter. 

And she is grown so dear, so dear, 
That I would be the jewel 

That trembles at her ear ; 
For, hid in ringlets day and night, 
I 'd touch her neck so warm and white. 

And I would be the girdle 
About her dainty, dainty waist. 

And her heart would beat against me 
In sorrow and in rest ; 

And I should know if it beat right, 

I 'd clasp it round so close and tight. 

And I would be the necklace, 
And all day long to fall and rise 

Upon her balmy bosom 
With her laughter or her sighs ; 

And I would lie so light, so light, 

I scarce should be unclasped at night. 

Alpeed Tennyson. 



STi POEMS OF LOVE. | 




'T is when ho sings on some lone shore 


THE BROOK-SIDE. 


Where Echo's vocal spirits throng. 




Whose airy voices, o'er and o'er, 


I WANDERED by the brook-side, 


On still and moonlight lake prolong 


I waiulorcd by the mill ; 


One dear, loved, thrilling name. 


I could not lioar tlio brook flow — 


AKONYMOnS. 


The noisy wheel was still ; 
There was no burr of grasshopper, 






No chirp of any bird, 




But the beating of my own heart 


TO — -; - 


Was all the sound I heard. 






Let other bards of angels sing. 


I sat beneath the elm-troo ; 


Bright suns without a spot; 


I watched the long, long shade, 


But thou art no such perfect thing : 


And, as it grew still longer. 


Rejoice that thou art not ! 


I did not feel afraid ; 




For I listened for a footfall. 


Heed not though none should call thee fair ; 


I listened for ii word — 


So, Mary, let it be. 


l>ut the boating of my own heart 


If naught in loveliness compare 


Was all the sound 1 hoard. 


With what thou art to me. 


lie came not, — no, ho camo not — 


True beauty dwells in deep retreats. 


The night came on alone — 


Whose veil is unremoved 


The little stars sat one by one, 


Till heart with heart in concord beats. 


Each on bis golden throne ; 


And the lover is beloved. 


The evening wind passed by my cheek. 


"William ■Wokdswoktu. 


The leaves above were stirred — 




But the beating of my own heart 
■\Vivs all the sound I heard. 






Fast silent tears wore Howing, 


BALLAD. 


"When something stood behind ; 




A band was on my shoulder — 


I. 


I know its touch was kind : 


It was not in the winter 


It drew me nearer — nearer, — 


Our loving lot was cast ; 


Wo did not speak one word. 


It was the time of roses, — 


For the beating of our own hearts 


Wo plucked them as we passed I 


Was all the sound we beard. 




ihlOHARD MONOKTON MiLNES. 


II. 




That churlish season never frowned 
On early lovers yet ! 


* 




Oh no — the world was newly crowned 


GUI TELL ME, LOVE, THE DEAREST 


With flowers when first wo met. 


HOUR. 






m. 


On ! tell me, love, the dearest hour 


'T was twilight, and I bade you go- 


The i)arted, anxious lover knows, — 


But still you held me fast ; 


W!ien passion, with eiiohantcr's power. 


It was the time of roses, — 


Across his faithful memory tlirows 


We plucked them as we passed ! 


Its softest, brightest flame. 


TnouAS Hood. 



SONGS. 



•>TJ 



THE PORTRAIT. 

Come, tbou best of painters, 
Princo of the Rhod'uvn art; 

Paint, tliou best of painters, 
Tbo mistress of my heart — 

Tbonfjli absent — from the picture 
^Vliicli I sliall now impart. 

First i>aint for iiic lior ringlets 
Of (lark and glossy line, 

Ami fi-agrant odors brcatliing — 
If this thine art can do. 

Paint Mio an ivory forehead 
Tliat crowns a perfect cheek, 

And rises under ringlets 
Dark-colored, soft, and sleek. 

Tbo space between the eyebrows 
Nor mingle nor dispart, 

15ut bli'nd tboin iinperceptiljly 
And true will bo tljy art. 

From under black-oyo fringes 
Let suimy flashes play — 

Cythera's swimming glances, 
Minerv.a's azure ray. 

With milk commingle roses 
To ]iaint a nose and cheeks — 

A lip like bland persuasion's — 
A liii tliat kissing seeks. 

Witliin tbo chin luxurious 

Let all tbo graces fair. 
Round neck of alabaster. 

Bo ever Hitting there. 

And now in robes invest her 

Of palest purple dyes, 
Betraying fair proportions 

To our delighted eyes. 

Cease, cease, I see before mo 
The picture of my choice ! 
And quickly wilt thou give me — 
The music of thy voice. 

Anaceeom. (Greek.) 
Trniisl;iti..n of William Hay. 
19 



A HEALTH. 

I Fir.r, this cup to one made up 

Of loveliness alone, 
A woman, of her gentle sex 

The seeming paragon ; 
To whom the better elements 

And kindly stars have given 
A form so fair, that, like tlio air, 

'T is less of earth than heaven. 

Iler every tone is music's own. 

Like those of morning birds, 
And something more tlian melody 

Dwells ever in her words ; 
The coinage of her heart are they, 

And from her lips each flows 
As one may see tlio burdened bee 

Forth issue from tlio rose. 

Affections are as thoughts to her, 

The measures of her hours ; 
Her feelings have the fragrancy, 

Tlio fresliness of young flowers ; 
And lovely passions, changing oft, 

So fill her, she appears 
The image of themselves by turns. — 

Tlio idol of past years ! 

Of her bright face one glance will trace 

A picture on the bi-ain, 
And of her voice in echoing hearts 

A sound must long remain ; 
15ut memory, such .as mine of lier, 

So very much endears, 
When death is nigh my latest sigh 

Will not be life's, but hers. 

I fill this cup to one made up 

Of loveliness alone, 
A woman, of her gentle sex 

Tlie seeming paragon — 
Her health! and would on earth tliere 
stood 

Some more of such a frame, 
Tliat life might be all poetry, 

And weariness a name. 

Edwabd Coate I'inknev. 



274 



POEMS OF LOVE. » 



LOVE SOJfG. 

SwKKT in her green dell the flower of beauty 

slumbers, 
Lulled by the I'aiut breezes sighing through 

hor hiiir ! 
Sleeps she, aud hoai's not the molimcholy 

numbers 
Uroathed to my snd lute amid the lonely air ! 

l>owu tVoiii the high olitls the rivulet is 

teeming 
To wind ro\md the willow banks that lure 

him from above ; 
Oh that, in tears, from my rocky prison 

streaming, 
I, too, eould glide' to the bower of my love! 

All, w here the woodbines, with sleepy arms, 

have wound her. 
Opes she her eyelids at the dream of my lay. 
Listening, like the dove, while the foimtains 

echo round her, 
To her lost mate's call in the forests far away ! 

(.\)me, then, my bird 1 for the peace thou 

ever bearest, 
Still heaven's messenger of comfort to me — 
Come ! this fond bosom, my faithfulest^ my 

fairest, 
Bleeds with its death-wound — but deeper 

yet for thee ! 

G£OKGS Daklev. 



SYLVIA. 

I 'vK taught thee love's sweet lesson o'er — 

A task that is not learned with tears : 
Was Sylvia e'er so blest before 
Li her wild, solitary years i 

Then what does he deserve, the youth 
Who made her con so dear a truth? 

Till now in silent v.nles to roam, 

Singing vain songs to heedless flowers. 
Or watch the dashing billows foam. 
Amid thy lonely myrtle bowers — 
To weave light crowns of various hue — 
Were all the joys thy bosom knew. 



The wild bird, though most musical. 

Could not to tliy sweet plaint reply ; 
The streajulet, and the watert\Ul, 

Coidd only weep when thou didst sigh 1 
Thou eouldst not change one dulcet word 
Either with billow, or with bird. 

For leaves and flowers, but these alone, 
AYinds have a soft, discoursing way ; 
Heaven's starry talk is all its own. — 
It dies in thunder far away. 
E'en when thou wouldst the moon bo- 
guile 
To speak, — she only deigns to smile ! 

Now, birds and winds, be churlish still ! 

Ye waters, keep your sullen roai'! 
Stars, be as dist;mt as ye will, — 
Sylvia need court ye now no more : 
In love there is society 
She never yet could tind with ye ! 

Geokqg Daklev, 



ROSALIE. 

On, pour upon my soul again 
That sad, unearthly strain. 

That seems from other worlds to plain ; 

Thus falling, falling from afar. 

As if some melancholy star 

Had mingled with her light her sighs, 
And dropped them from the skies. 

No — never came from aught below 

This melody of woe, 
That mjUces my hesirt to overflow. 
As from a thousand gushing springs 
Tnknown before ; that with it brings 
This nameless light — if light it be — 

That veils the world I see. 

For all I see around me wears 
The hue of other spheres ; 
And something blent of smiles and tears 
Comes from the very air I breathe. 
Oh, nothing, sure, the st;u-s beneath, 
Can mould a sadness like to this — 
So like angelic bliss. 



SONGS. 



110 



So, at that dretuny hour of day, 
When tlio last lingering ray ■ 

Stops on the highest cloud to play — 

So thought the gentle Rosalie 

As on her maiden revery 

First fell the strain of liim who stole 
In music to her soul. 

■Washington Allston. 



SONG. 



SiNQ the old song, amid the sounds dispers- 
ing 
Tliat burden treasured in your hearts too 
long ; 
Sing it with voice low-broathed, but 
never name her : 
She will not hear you, in her turrets nursing 
High thoughts, too high to mate with mor- 
tal song — 
Bend o'er lier, gentle heaven, but do 
not claim her ! 



In twilight caves, and secret lonelinesses. 
She shades the bloom of her unearthly- 
days ;— 
The forest winds alone approach to woo 
lier. 
Far off we catch the dark gleam of her 
tresses ; 
And wild birds haunt the wood-walks 
where she strays. 
Intelligible music warbling to her. 



That spirit charged to follow and defend her, 
lie also, doubtless, suffers this love-pain ; 
And she perhaps is sad, hearing his 
sighing. 
And yet tliat face is not so sad as tender ; 
Like some sweet singer's, when her sweet- 
est strain 
From tlic heaved heart is gradually 
dying! 

AUBEEY 1>E VkkH. 



THE AWAKENING OF ENDYMION. 

Lone upon a mountain, the pine-trees wailing 
round him. 
Lone upon a mountain the Grecian youth 
is laid ; 
Sleep, mystic sleep, for many a year lias 
bound him. 
Yet his beauty, like a statue's, pale and 
fair, is undccayed. 

M'hen will he awaken ? 

Wlien will ho awaken? a loud voice hiitli 
been crying, 
Night after night, and the cry has been in 
vain ; 
Winds, woods, and waves fcnmd echoes for 
replying. 
But the tones of the beloved one were 
never lieard again. 

When will he awaken ? 
Asked the midnight's silver rpieen. 

Never mortal eye has looked upon his sleeping; 
Parents, kindred, comrades, have mouriicil 
for him as dead ; 
By day the gathered clouds have had him in 
their keejiing. 
And at night the .solenni shadows round 
his rest are shed. 

When will be awaken 2 

Long has been the cry of faithful love's im- 
ploring ; 
Long has hope been watching with soft 
eyes fi,xed above ; 
When will the fates, the life of life restoring. 
Own themselves vanquished by inucli- 
cnduring love? 

When will he awaken ? 
Asks the midnight's weary queen. 

Beautiful the sleep that she has watched un- 
tiring, 
Lighted up with visions from yonder ra- 
diant sky. 
Full of an immortal's glorious inspiring. 
Softened by the woman's meek and loving 
sigh. 

When will he awaken? 



276 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



He lias been dreaming of old heroic stories, 
And the poet's passionate world has entered 
in his soul ; 
lie has grown conscious of life's ancestral 

glories, 
When sages and when kings first upheld the 
mind's control. 

When will he awaken ? 
Asks the midnight's stately queen. 

Lo, the appointed midnight ! the present hour 
is fated ! 
It is Endymion's planet that rises on the 
air; 
How long, how tenderly his goddess-love has 
waited, 
yfaited with a love too mighty for despair ! 
Soon ho will awaken. 

Soft amid the pines is a sound as if of sing- 
ing, 
Tones that seem the lute's from the breath- 
ing flowers depart ; 
Not a wind that wanders o'er Mount Latmos 
but is bringing 
Music that is murmured from nature's in- 
most heart. 

Soon ho will awaken 
To his and midnight's queen I 

Lovely is the green earth, — slie knows the 
hour is holy ; 
Starry are the heavens, lit with eternal 
joy ; 
Light like their own is dawning sweet and 
slowly 
O'er the fair and sculptured forehead of 
that yet dreamiug boy. 

Soon he will awaken ! 

Red as the red rose towards the morning 
turning, 
AVarms the youth's lip to tlie watcher's 
near his own ; 
Wliile the dai-k eyes open, bright, intense, 
and burning 
With a life more glorious than, ere they 
closed, was known. 

Yes, he has awakened 
For the midnight's happy queen ! 



What is this old history, but a lesson given. 
How true love still conquers by the deep 
strength of truth — 
How all the impulses, whose native homo is 
heaven. 
Sanctify the visions ot hope, and faith, and 
youth ? 

'T is for such they waken I 

When every worldly thought is utterly for- 
saken. 
Comes the starry midnight, felt by life's 
gifted few ; 
Then will the spirit from its earthly sleep 
awaken 
To a being more intense, more spiritual, 
and true. 

So doth the soul awaken, 
Like that youth to night's fair queen ! 

L.ETiTiA Elizabeth Lanpon. 



SONG. 



Day, in melting purple dying ; 
Blossoms, all around me sighing ; 
Fragrance, from tlie lilies straying ; 
Zephyr, with my ringlets playing ; 

Ye but waken my distress ; 

I am sick of loneliness ! 

Thou, to wliom I love to hearken. 
Come, ere night around me darken ; 
Though tliy softness but deceive me. 
Say thou 'rt true, and I 'II believe thee ; 
Veil, if ill, thy soul's intent. 
Let me think it innocent ! 

Save thy toiling, spare thy treasure ; 
All I ask is friendship's pleasure ; 
Let the shining oce lie darkling — 
Bring no gem in lustre sparkling ; 

Gifts and gold are naught to me ; 

I would only look on thee ! 

Tell to tliee the high-wrought feeling, 

Ecstasy but in revealing ; 

Pamt to thee the deep sensation, 

Rapture in participation ; 

Yet but torture, if comprest 
In a lone, unfriended breast. 



SONGS. 



277 



Absent still ! Ah ! come and bless me I 

Let those eyes again caress thee. 

Once in caution, I could fly thee ; 

Kow, I nothing could deny thee. 
In a look if death there be, 
Come, and I will gaze on thee ! 
Maeia Bkooks. 



ABSENCE. 

What shall I do with all the days and hours 
That must be counted ere I see thy face ? 

IIow shall I charm the interval that lowers 
Between this time and that sweet time of 
grace ? 

. Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense — • 

Weary with longing? Shall I flee away 

Into past days, and with some fond pretence 

Cheat myself to forget the present day ? 

Sliall love for thee lay on my soul the sin 
Of casting from me God's great gift of 
time? 
Shall I, these mists of memory locked with- 
in. 
Leave and forget life's purposes sublime ? 

Oh, how, or by what means, may I contrive 
To bring the hour that brings thee back 
more near ? 

How may I teach my drooping hope to live 
Until that blessed time, and thou art here ? 



I '11 tell thee ; for thy sake I will lay hold 
Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee. 

In worthy deeds, each moment that is told 
While thou, beloved one! art far from 
me. 

For thee I will arouse my thoughts to try 
AH heavenward flights, all high and holy 
strains ; 
For thy dear sake I wUl walk patiently 
Through these long hours, nor call their 
minutes pains. 



I wUl this dreary blank of absence make 
A noble task-time ; and wUl therein strive 

To follow excellence, and to o'ertake 
More good than I have won since yet I live. 

So may this doomed time build up in me 
A thousand graces, which sliall tlius bo 
thine ; 

So may my love and longing hallowed be, 
And thy dear thought an influence divine. 

FeANCES A.NNE Kemule. 



THE GKOOMSIIAN TO HIS MISTRESS 



Every wedding, says the proverb. 
Makes another, soon or late ; 

Never yet was any marriage 
Entered in the book of fate. 

But the names were also written 
Of the patient pair that wait. 



Blessings then upon the morning 
AVhen my friend, with fondest look. 

By the solemn rites' permission, 
To himself his mistress took. 

And the destinies recorded 
Other two within their book. 



While the priest fulfilled his ofiice. 
Still the ground the lovers eyed, 

And the parents and the kinsmen 
Aimed their glances at the bride ; 

But the groomsmen eyed the virgins 
Who were waiting at her side. 



Three there v/ere that stood beside her ; 

One was dark, and one was fair ; 
But nor fair nor dark the other, 

Save her Arab eyes and hair ; 
Neither dark nor fair I call her, 

Yet she was the fairoFt there. 



278 I'OEMS OF LOVE. 


T. 

AN'liilo her groomsmiiii — sli;iU I own it i 


THE CHRONICLE. 


Yos to thoo, and oiilv tlioe — 
Ga7,oil upon tliis ilark-oyod niaidoii 


A n.M.LAD. 


'\^'ho was tairost ot'llio tliroo, 


"MMic.Aiirr.v first possessed. 


'I'lins ho tliOMglit : " How Most tlio bridal 


If I ronionihor well, my hroast. 


Wlioro the ln'ido wci'O such as slio ! " 


Margarita tirst of all ; 




But when awhile the wanton maid 


VI. 


With my restless heart had jilayod, 


Thoit I mused upon tho ada^o, 


Martlui took tho Hying ball. 


Till luy wisdom was porploxod. 




And I woudorod, as tho ohnrohinan 


Martha soon did it resign 


Dwolt. upon liis holy toxt, 
■\Vhioh of all who hoard his lossou 
Should roipiiro tho sorvioo noxt. 


To tho beauteous Catharine. 

Beauteous Catharine gave place 
(Though loth and angry she to part 
With tho possession of my heart) 


VII. 


To Eliza's conipiering face. 


Wlioso will ho tho noxt oooasion 


Eliza till this hour miglit reign. 


For tho dowers, tho feast., tho wine? 


Had she not evil counsels ta'en ; 


Thine, porohanoo, my dearest lady ; 


Fundamental laws she broke. 


Or, who knows? — it may bo mine, 


And still now favorites sho chose, 


Wliat if't wore — t'oririvo tho taney^ 


Till up in arms my passions rose, 


What if't wore — both mine and tliinei 


And cast away her yoke. 


Thomas Wii.i,i\m Uaiisons. 






Mary then, and gentle Anno, 




Both to reign at once began ; 
Alternately they swayed ; 


■ 




And son\etimos Mary was the fair. 


SONG. 


And sometimes Amie the orown did wear, 




And sometimes both I obeyed. 


How dolioions is the winning 




Of a kiss at love's bcjrim\injr, 


Another ifary then arose, 


When two mutual liearts are sijihing 


And did rigorous laws impose ; 


For tho knot there's no untyini;! 


A mighty tyrant she ! 




Long, alas ! should I have boon 


Yet, rou\ember, 'midst your wooing, 


Under that iron-sceptred queen, 


Love hivs bliss, but love has ruoinp: ; 


Had not Kebocca set mo free. 


Other smiles may miike you tieklo, 
Tears for other oharnis may trioklo. 


When fair Kcheoea set n\o free, 
'T was then a golden time with me: 


Love he comes, and Love he tarries, 
.lust as fate our timey carries ; 
Longest stays when sorest chidden ; 
Laughs and tlios when pressed and bidden. 


But soon those pleasures tied ; 
For the gracious princess died 
In her youth and beauty's pride, 

And Judith reigned in her stoad. 




One month, three days, and li-alf an hour, 


Hind tho sea to slmnher stilly. 


Judith hold tho sovereign power : 


Kind its odor to tho lily. 


Wondrous beautiful her face ! 


Bind tho aspen ne'er to quiver. 


But so weak and small her wit. 


Tl\en bind lovo to last tV>rever ! 


That she to govern was unfit. 


TlK>MA8 CAMrilKM.. 


And so Sns^nma took her place. 



TlIK NITN. 



279 



But wlicn iHiibcllii cuiiie, 
Anneil with u I'csistlcaH flame, 

And the artillery of her eye, 
Whilst Hho i)romlly inardiod about, 
(ircater ci)iK|itostH to find out, 

She Ijoiit out iSusau by the bye. 

Hut in Jior jdaco I then obeyed 
l!hick-eyed Hem, hor viceroy-maid, 

'f o wliom ensued a racancy : 
Tliousand worse passions tlieu possessod 
'i\n: interrcf^riuiu of my breast; 

IJless mi: froMi such an anarchy I 

Gentle llenriotia then. 

And u third Mary next began ; 

Then Joan, and Jane, and Andria ; 
And then a pretty Tliotiuisine, 

And then anotlicr (Catharine, 
At](l then a lon^; t:t 0{n/,i'ra. 

But should I now to you relate 

The strength and riches of their fitato; 

'i'ho powder, patches, and the pins. 
The ribbons, jewels, and the rinf^.s. 
The lace, the paint, and warhke things. 

That make up all their magazines; 

If J should tell tlie politic arts 
'I'o lake and keep men's hearts ; 

'I'hc letters, embassies, and spies, 
The frowns, and smiles, and flatteries, 
The quarrels, tears, anil peijuries 

(N'uinbcrlcss, nameless mysteries I) 

And all the little lime-twigs laid 
By Machiavel the waiting-maid — 

1 more voluminous should grow 
(Chiefly if I like them should tell 
All change of weathers that befell) 

Than llolinshed or Htow. 

But I will briefer with them be, 
Since few of them were long with me. 

An higher and a nobler strain 
My jiresent emperess does claim, 
Heleonora, first of the name; 

Whom God grant long to reign ! 

AmUflAM CoWI.KY, 



THE NDN. 



Ir you bcfome a nnn, dear, 

A friar I will l>c; 
In any cell you I'un, dear, 

Pray look behind for me. 
The roses all tuni pale, too; 
Tlio doves all take the veil, too ; 

The blind will see the show : 
What! you beiHiine a nun, my dear ii 

1 Ml not believe it, no! 



If you become a nun, dear, 

Tlio bishop Lovo will bo; 
The (Injiids every one, dear. 

Will chant, " Wc trust in thee 1 " 
'I'he incense will go sighing, 
'I'he candles fall a dying. 

The water turn to wine : 
What! you go take the vows, my dear? 

V'ou may — bat they'll bo mine. 

LiCIUH IftTNT, 



CliABBED AGE AND YODTII. 

CitAiiiiKi) age and youth 

(larinot live together: 
Youth is fidl of pleasance, 

Age is full of care ; 
Youth like summer morn, 

Age like winter weather; 
Youth like summer bravo, 

Age like winter bare. 
Youth is fidl of sjiort., 
Age's breath is short; 

Youth is nimble, age is lame ; 
Youth is hot and bold. 
Age is weak and cold; 

Youth is wild, and age is tamo. 
Age, I do abhor thee. 
Youth, I do adore thee ; 

O, my love, my love in young ! 
Age, I do defy thcc; 
O, sweet shepherd ! Lie tlice, 

For mcthinks thou stay'st too long. 

HlfAKKHI'KAItf!. 



280 POEMS OF LOVE. 




'Cause her fortune seems too high, 


THE MAIDEN'S OIIOIOE. 


Shall I play the foul and die ? 
Those that bear a noble mind 


Genteei. ill I'orsoiiage, 


Where they want of rielies lind. 


Ooiuluct mill oqiiipago ; 


Think what with them they would do 


Noblo by hei'ittige; 


That without them dare to woo; 


i Generous mid iVoe ; 


And unless that mind I see, 


Brave, not roramitio ; 


What care I how great she be ? 


Learneil, not iiedantu' ; 


Great, or good, or kind, or fair, 


Frolio, not IViiulii' — 
This must ho bo. 


I will ne'er the more despair: 
If she love me, this believe — 


Honor niaintaininjr, 
Meanness disdaiuiiig, 
Still entortainiii!;;, 

Engaging and now ; 


I will die ere she shall grieve. 
If she slight mo when I woo, 
I can scorn and let her go ; 
For if she bo not for me, 
Wiiat care I for whom she be? 


Neat, but not finical ; 


Qkokqe WrruEB. 


Sngo, but not cynical ; 
Never tyrannical. 






But ever true. 

Anontmous. 


SONG. 
Why so pale and wan, fond lover? 




THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION. 


Pr'y thee, why so pale? — 
Will, when looking well can't move her. 


Shai.i. I, wasting in despair. 
Die because a woman 's fair ? 


Looking ill prevail ? 
Pr'y thee, why so pale? 


Or make pale my cheeks with care, 

'Cause another's rosy are? 

Be she fairer tlian the day, 

(>r the flowery meads in May — 
If she bo not so to me, 
What care I how fair she be ? 


Why so dull and mute, young sinner? 

Pr'y thee, why so mute ? 
Will, when speaking well can't win her. 

Saying nothing do't? 

Pr'y llieo, why so mute ? 


Shall my foolish heart be ]iiiied 
'Cause I see a woman kind ? 
Or a well-disposed nature 
Joined with a lovely feature? 
Be she meeker, kinder, than 


Quit, quit, for shame ! this will not move. 

This cannot take her — 
If of herself she will not lovo, 

Nothing can m.ake her : 

The devil take her ! 


The turtle dove or jielicau — 


Sib Jonx Suckling. 


If she be not so to me. 

What care I how kind she be? 






Shall a woman's virtues move 


FLY NOT YET. 


Mo to perish for her love ? 


Fly not yet— 't is just the hour 


Or, her well descr\iiigs known, 


When pleasure, like the midnight flower. 


Make me quite forget mine own? 


That scorns the eye of vulgar light. 


Be she with that goodness blest. 


Begins to bloom for sons of night, 


Wliidi may merit name of best, 


And maids who lovo the moon ! 


If she bo liot such to me, 


'T was but to bless these hours of shade 


What care I how good she bo ? 


That be.auty and the moon were made ; 



SONGS. 281 


'T in then tlioir soft attnictions glowing 




Set tho tides ami goblets flowing! 


THE CHEAT OF CUl'll); 


Oh! stay, — oh! stay, — 




Joy so seliloiii weaves a chain 


OR, THE UNGENTLE QUEST. 


Li!<o tliis to-niglit, that oh 1 't is pain 




To lirualv its linlvs so soon. 


One silent niglit of late. 




When every creature rested. 


Fly not yet ! the fount that playcil, 


Came one unto my gate. 


In times of old, tiii'ongh Amnion's sh.ide, 


And, knocking, nie molested. 


'I'licmgh icy cold by day it ran, 




Yet still, like sounds of mirtli, Ijegan 


Who 's tliere, said 1, beats there, 


To bnrn when night was near ; 


,* And troubles thus tlio sleepy ? 


And thus should womun's heart and looks 


Cast off, said he, all feai'. 


At noon lie cold as winter-brooks, 


And let not locks thus keep thee. 


Nor kindle till tho night, returning. 




Brings their genial hour for burning. 


For I a boy am, who 


Oh! stay,— oh! stay, — 


By moonless nights have swerved ; 


Wlien did morning ever break 


And all with showers wet through. 


And find such beaming eyes awake 


And o'en witli cold half starved. 


As those that sparkle here! 




TnouAS Moore. 


I, pitiful, arose. 




And soon a tiijK'r lighted ; 
And did myself disclose 




DECEITFULNESS OF LOVE. 


Unto tlie lad benighted. 


Go, sit liy the sutnincr sea, 


I saw he had a bow, 




Tliou whom scorn wasteth, 






And wings, too, which did shiver; 


And lot thy musing bo 


And, looking down below. 


Wliero the flood hasteth. 




I spicil be had a (piivor. 


Mark liow o'er ocean's breast 


Rolls tho hoar billow's crest ; 






I to my ebimnoy's slirino 


.Sui'li is his heart's unrest, 






Brought him, as Love professes. 
And chafed his hands with mine. 


Who of love tasteth. 


Griev'st thou that hearts should change ? 


And dried his dripping tresses. 


Lo ! where life roigneth. 




Or tho froo sight doth range. 


But when that lie felt warmed : 


What long romainet-h ? 


Let's try this bow of ours. 


Spring with her flowers doth die ; 


And string, if they be harmed. 


Fast fades tho gilded sky ; 


Said ho, with these late showers. 


And tlie full moon on high 




Ceaselessly waneth. 


Forthwith liis bow he bent. 




And wedded string and arrow. 


Smile, then, ye sage and wise ; 


And struck me, tliat it went 


And if love sever 


Quite through my heart and marrow. 


Bonds which thy soul doth prize. 




Such does it over ! 


Tlion, Laughing loud, he flew 


Deep as the rolling seas. 


Away, and thus said flying : 


Soft as the twilight breeze, 


Adieu, mine host, adieu 1 


But of more than those 


J '11 leave thy heart a-dying. 


Boast co\dd it never ! 


AN40I1E0K, (Greek.) 


Anontmous. 


TriinBlatlon of I;odket Heekick. 



282 



rUEMS 01' LOVE. 



IF I DESIRE WITH PLEASANT SONGS. 

If I ilosiro with pleasant songs 
To tlirow a merry hour away, 

Comes Lovo imto nie, and my wrongs 
In careful talo ho doth dis])hiy, 

And asks mo how I stand for suif,an,'.', 

■Wliilo I my lielpless hands am wrhiging. 

And then another thue, if I 
A noon in shady hower wouhl pass, 

Conies lie with stealthy gestures sly. 
And Hinging down upon the gniss, ' 

Quoth ho to mo : My master donr, 

Think of this noontide such a year ! 

And if elsowhile I lay my head 

On pillow, with intent to sleep. 
Lies Lovo heside me on the hod, 

And gives me ancient words to keep ; 
Says he: These looks, these tokens num- 
ber- 
May he, they'll help yon to asluniher. 

So every time when I would yield 
An hour to quiet, comes ho still ; 

And hunts up every sign concealed, 
And every ontward sign of ill ; 

And gives me his sad face's jileasures 

For iiierriraent's, or sleep's, or leisure's. 

Ta0MA9 BUKBIDOE. 



THE ANNOYER. 

LovK knoweth every form of air. 

And every shape of earth, 
And comes unbidden everywliero. 

Like thought's mysterious birth. 
The moonlit sea and the sunset sky 

Are written with Love's words, 
And you hear his voice unceasingly, 

Like song in the time of birds. 

lie poeps into the warrior's heart 

From the tip of a stooping plume. 
And the serried sjiears, and the many men 

May not deny him room. 
lie '11 come to his tent in the weary night, 

And be busy in his dream. 
And ho '11 float to his eye in the morning light, 

Like a fay on a silver beam. 



He hears the sound of the hunter's gun. 

And rides on the echo hack, 
And sighs in his ear like a stirring leaf. 

And flits ill his woodland track. 
Tho shade of the wood, and the sheen of the 
river. 

The cloud and tho open sky, — 
He will haunt them all with his subtle quiver. 

Like the light of your very eye. 

The fisher hangs over the leaning boat. 

And ponders tho silver sea. 
For Love is under the surface hid. 

And a spell of thought has he. 
Ho heaves the wave like a bosom sweet. 

And speaks in the ripple low. 
Till the bait is gone from tho crafty line. 

And tho hook hangs bare below. 

He blurs the print of the scholar's book. 

And intrudes in tlic maiden's prayer. 
And profanes the cell of the holy man 

In the -shaiic of a lady fair. 
In the darkest night, and tho bright daylight. 

In earth, and sea, and sky, 
Tu every homo of human thought 

Will Love bo lurking nigh. 

NiTUiNIKL PiEUER WlLLIS. 



TllF DULE'S I' THIS BONNET O' MINE. 

The dale 's i' this bonnet o' mine : 

My ribbins '11 never be roet ; 
Here, Mally, aw 'm like to bo fine. 

For Jamie '11 bo comin' to-naet ; 
Ho met mo i' th' lone t'other day 

(Aw wur gooin' for wayter to th' well). 
An' ho begged that aw' d wed him i' May, 

Bi th' mass, if he 'II let me, .aw will ! 

When he took my two bonds into his, 

Good Lord, heaw they trembled between ! 
An' aw durstn't look up in his lace, 

Becose on him scein' my o'en. 
My cheek went as red .as a rose ; 

There 's never a mortal con toll 
Heaw happy aiv felt— for, th.ae knows, 

One couldn't ha' axed him thoirsoT. 

But th' tale wur at th' end o' my tung : 
To let it eawt wouldn't bo root, 



SONGS. 



283 



Foi- aw tlioufjlit to seem forriiJ wur wrmif^ ; 

So aw towil Lim aw M tell liliii to-iieot. 
But, Mally, time knows very weol, 

Thougli it isn't a thing one should own, 
Iv awM th' i)ikein' o' th' world to mysel', 

Aw 'd outlier ha' Jamie or iioan. 

Neaw, Mally, aw 've towd thae my mind ; 

What wonld to do iv it wur thee? 
" Aw'd tak him just while he'se inclined. 

An' a t'arraiitly hargain he'll be; 
For Jamie 's as greadly a lad 

As ever stcpt eawt into th' sun. 
Go, jump at thy chance, an' get wed; 

An' mak th' best o' th' jab when it 's done 1 " 

Eh, dear ! but it 's time to be gwon : 

Aw shouldn't hke Jamie to wait; 
Aw conuut for shame be too soon. 

An' aw wouliln't for th' wuld be too late. 
Aw 'm o' ov a tremble to th' licol : 

Dost think 'at my bonnet '11 do? 
" Be off, lass — thae looks very woel; 

lie wants noan o' th' bonnet, thae foo I " 
EwwiN Wauoh. 



RORY O'MORE; 

OK, GOOD OMENS. 
I. 

Young Rory O'More courted Kathleen bawn ; 
llo was bold as the hawk, and she soft as the 

dawn; 
He wished in his heart pretty Kathleen to 

jdease, 
And he thought the best way to do that was 

to tease. 
" Now, Rory, be aisy," sweet Kathleen would 

cry, 
Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye — 
"With your tricks, I don't know, in throtli, 

what I'm about ; 
Faith you've teazed till I've put on my cloak 

inside out." 
"Och! jewel," says Rory, "that same is the 

way 
You 've tbrated my heart for this many a day ; 
And 't is plazed that I am, and why not, to 

be sure? 
For 'tis all for good luck," says bold Jtory 

O'More. 



"Indeed, then," says Kathleen, " do n't think 

of the like, 
For I half gave a promise to soothering 

Mike; 
The ground that I walk on lie loves, I'll be 

bound " — 
" Faith 1 " says Rory, "I'd rather love you 

than the ground." 
" Now, Rory, I'll cry if you don't let me go ; 
Sure I dream cv'ry night that I'm hating you 

so I " 
" Och ! " says Rory, "that same I 'in deligbted 

to hear. 
For dhrames always go l)y conthraries, my 

dear. 
Och 1 jewel, keep dhraming that same till 

you die. 
And bright morning will give dirty night the 

black lie I 
And 't is plazod that I am, and why not, to 

bo sure? 
Siru;e 't is all for good luck," says bold Uory 

O'More. 



" Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've tcazed 

mo enough ; 
Sure I've thrashed, for your sake, I)iiiny 

Grimes and Jim Duff; 
And I've made myself, drinking your lieallb, 

ijuite a baste. 
So I think, after that, I may talk to the 

priest." 
Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round 

her neck. 
So soft and so white, without freckle or 

speck ; 
And ho looked in lior eyes, that were beam- 
ing with liglit. 
And he kissed her sweet li|)S — ilon't you tldnk 

he was right? 
"Now Rory, leave off, sir — you '11 ling me 

no more — 
That 's ciglit times to-day you have kissed mo 

before." 
"Then here goes another," says ho, "tomako 

sure. 

For there's luck in odd numbers," says Rory 

O'More. 

Bavttbl Loved, 



2S4 i'UKMS OF LOVE. 




You 're more distant by for than that same I 


COMING THROUGH THE EYE. 


Och hone ! weirasthru ! 




I'm .alone in this world without you. 


Gin a body meet a body 




Oomia' tliro\igb tbo lye, 


Ocb hone! but why should I spake 


Gill a body kiss a body, 


Of your forehead and eyes. 


Need a body ci-y ? 


■\Vhon your nose it defies 


Every lassie has her larddie — 


Paddy lilake, tlie schoolmaster, to jiut it in 


Ne'er a ano hae I ; 


rbjiiie ; 


Yet .a' the lads they smile at nio 


Tho' there 's one Burke, ho says, that would 


Wliea comiu' through the rye. 


call it snublime. 


Amang the train there k a swain 


And then for your check, 


I dearly We myseV ; 


Troth 't «-ould take liim a week 


But whaur hii hamc, or what his name, 


Its beauties to tell, as he 'd rather ; 


I dinna care to tell. 


Then your lips I oh, macbree ! 




In their beautiful glow 


Gin a body meet a body 


They a pattern might be 


Oomin' frao the town, 


For the cherries to grow. 


(iin a body greet a body, 


'T was an ajiple that tempted our mother, we 


Need a body frown ? 


know, 


Every lassie lias lior laddie — 


For apples were scarce, I suppose, long ago ; 


Ne'er a ano hae I ; 


But at this time o' day. 


Yet a' the lads they smile at mo 


'Pon my conscience I '11 say. 


ATliea oomin' throngh the rye. 


Such cherries might tempt a man's father ! 


Amang the train there is a swain 


Oclihone! weirasthru! 


I dearly We myseV ; 


I 'm alone in this world without you. 


But whaur his hame, or what his name, 




T dinna care to tell. 


Och hone! by the man in the moon, 


ANONYMOrS. 


Y'ou taze me all w.iys 
That a woman can plaze. 




MOLLY CAREW. 


For you dance twice as high with that thief, 




Pat Magee, 


Ocn hone ! and what will I do ? 


As when you t.ike share of a jig, dear, witli 


Sure my love is all crost. 


me. 


Like a bud in tlie frost; 


Tbo' the piper I bate. 


And there 's no use at all in my going to bed. 


For fear the old cheat 


For 't is dhrames and not sleep that eomes 


Would n't play yon your favorite tune. 


into my brad; 


And when you 're at mass 


And 't is all about you, 


My devotion you crass, 


My sweet Molly Carow — 


For 't is thinking of you 


And indeed 't is a sin and a sliamo ! 


I am, ilolly Carew. 


You 're oomplator than nature 


While you wear, on purpose, abonnet so deep 


In every feature ; 


Tliat I can 't at your sweet pretty face get a 


The snow can 't compare 


peep. 


With your forehead so fair ; 


Ob, lave olf that bonnet, 


And I rather would see just one blink of your 


Or else I '11 lave on it 


eye 


The loss of my wandering sowl ! 


Than the prettiest star that shines out of the 


Och hone! weirasthru! 


sky; 


Och hone I like an owl. 


And by this and by that^ 


Day is night, dear, to me without 


For the matter o' that, 


yonl 



SONGS. 285 


Ocli hone! don't provoke nic to do it; 


See tlie birds go in ])airs, 


For there's gh'ls by the seoro 


And the rabljit.s and hiu'es — 


That loves nio — and more ; 


Why, even tho bears 


And you 'd look very quare if some morning 
you 'd meet 


Now in couples agree ; 
And tho mute little fisli. 


My wedding all marehing in pride down the 
street; 


Though tliey can 't siiako, they wish — 
Och hone ! widow machree. 


Trotli, yon 'd o])Cn your eyes, 
And you 'd die with surprise 
To think 't was n't you was come to it ! 
And faith, Katty Naile, 
And her cow, I go bail, 
Would .jump if I 'd say, 
" Katty Naile, name the day; " 
And tho' you 're i'air and fresh as a morning 
in May, 


m. 

Widow maclu'ce, and when winter comes in — 

Och hone! widow macln-ec — 
To bo poking tlio fire all idono is a sin, 
Och hone! widow machree. 
Sure tho shovel and tongs 
To each other belongs, 
And tlie kettle sings songs 


Wliile she 's sliort and dark like a cold win- 
ter's day. 
Yet if you do n't repent 
Before Easter, when Lent 


Full of family glee ; 
While alone witli your cup, 
Like a hermit you suj), 

Och hone! widow machrec. 


Is over, I '11 marry fw spite. 




Oeh hone! weirasthrul 
And when 1 die for you, 
My ghost will haunt you every niglit. 

Samuel Loteb. 


IV. 

And how do you know, witli tho comforts 
I 've towld — 
(Jell hone ! widow machree — 
But you 're keeping some poor fellow out in 




the cowld, 
Och hone ! widow machree 1 




WIDOW MACIIREE. 


With such sins on your head, 
Sure your peace would be fled ; 
Could you sleep in your bed 


Widow machrce, it 's no wonder you frown — 

Och hone I widow machrec ; 
Faith, it ruins your looks, that same dirty 
lilaek gown — 


Without tliinking to see 
Some ghost or some sprite, 
That would wake you each niglit. 

Crying, " Och hone I widow machree ! " 


Oelihone! widow machree. 


V. 

Then t.'ike my advice, darling widow ma- 
chrec — 
Och hone! widow machree — 
And with my advice, faith, I wish you 'd tako 
me, 
Och hone ! widow machree 1 
You'd h.ivo me to desire 


How altered your air, 

With that close cap you wear — 

'T is destroying your hair, 

Wliich should be flowing free : 
Bo no longer a ehurl 
Of its black silken curl^ 

Och hone! widow niacliree! 




Tlien to stir up the fire; 


II. 


And sure hope is no liar 


Widow maeliree, now the summer is come — 


In whispering to me. 


Och Lone! widow machrec! 
When C7cry thing smiles, should a beauty 
look glum? 


That tho ghosts would depart 
When you 'd me near your heart — 
Oeh bono ! widow machrce ! 


Och hone! widow inuchree! 


HAMnF.l. LOVEB. 



386 



POEMS or LOVE. 



STANZAS. 

On, talk not to me of a name great in story ; 
The days of our youth are the clays of our 

glory, 
And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and- 

twenty 
Are worth all your laurels, though ever so 

plenty. 

What are garlands and crowns to the brow 
that is wrinkled ? 

'T is but as a dead flower with May-dew be- 
sprinkled. 

Then away with all such from the head that 
is hoary ! 

What care I for the wreaths that can only 
give glory ? 

fame ! if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 
'T was less for the sake of thy liigh-sounding 

phrases 
Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one 

discover 
She thought that I was not unworthy to love 

her. 

There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found 

thee ; 
ller glance was the best of the rays that sur- 

roHnd thee ; 
When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright 

in my story, 

1 knew it was love, and I felt it was glory. 

Lord Btron. 



LOVE UNEEQUITED. 

Tnouon thou say'st thou lov'st me not, 

And altliough thou bidd'st nic blot 

From my heart, and from my brain, 

All this consciousness of thee, 

With its longing, its blest pain. 

And its deathless memory 

Of the hope — ah, wby in vain ? — 

That tliy great heart might beat for me;— 

Ask it not, — love fixed so high. 

Though unrequited, cannot die ; 

In my soul such love hath root, 

And the world shall have the fruit 

AsoNYMOUa. 



SONNET. 

Since there 's no help, come, let us kiss and 

part ! 
Nay, I have done ; you get no more of me ; 
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart. 
That tlius so cleai-ly I myself can free. 
Shako hands forever, cancel all our vows. 
And when we meet at any time again 
Be it not seen, on either of our brows. 
That we one jot of former love retain 
Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath, 
Wlien, his pulse failing, passion speechless 

lies. 
When faith is kneeling by his bed of death, 
And innocence is closing up his eyes ; 
Now, if thou -wouldst, when all have given 

him over. 
From death to life thou might'st him yet re- 
cover. 

Michael Drayton. 



JENNY KISSED ME. 

Jen'nt kissed me when we met. 

Jumping from the chair she sat in ; 
Time, you thief! who love to get 

Sweets into your list, put that in. 
Say I 'm weary, say I 'm sad ; 
Say that lie.alth and wealth have missed me ; 
Say I 'm growing old, but add — 

Jenny kissed me ! 

LEion Hunt. 



THE MAID'S LAMENT. 

I LOVED him not ; and yet, now he is gone, 

I feel I am alone. 
I checked him while he spoke ; yet, could he 
speak, 

Alas ! I would not check. 
For reasons not to love hira once I sought, 

And weai-ied all my thought 
To vex myself and him ; I now would give 

My love, could he but live 
Who lately lived for me, and, when he found 

'T was vain, in holy ground 
He hid his face amid the shades of death 1 

I waste for him my breath 



BALLAD. 



287 



Wlio wanted his lor me ; but mine returns, 

And tliis loneboswn burns 
With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep, 

And waking me to weep 
Tears tliat had melted his soft heart ; for years 

Wept he as bitter tears! 
" Merciful God ! " such was his latest prayer, 

" These may she never sliare ! " 
Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold 

Than daisies in the mould, 
Where children spell, athwart the churchyai'd 
gate, 

His name and life's brief date. 
Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er ye be, 

And oh ! pray, too, for me ! 

Waltee Savage Lasdok. 



MISCONCEPTIONS. 

I. 

Tms is a spray the bird clung to. 
Making it blossom with pleasure. 

Ere the liigh tree-top she sprung to, 
Fit for hor nest and her treasure. 
Oil, what a hope beyond measui-e 

Was the poor spray's, which the flying feet 
hung to, — 

So to bo singled out, built in, and sung to ! 

n. 
This is a heart the queen leant on. 

Thrilled in a minute erratic. 
Ere the true bosom she bent on, 
Meet for love's regal dalmatic. 
Oh, what a fancy ecstatic 
Was the poor heart's, ere the wanderer 

went on — 
Love to be saved for it, proftercd to, spent 
on! 

EOBEKT DeoWXING. 



ONE WAY OF LOVE. 



Aix Jane I bound the rose in sheaves ; 
Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves. 
And strew them where Pauline may pass. 
She will not turn aside ? Alas ! 
Let them lie. Suppose they die? 
The chance was they might take her eye. 



How man)' a month I strove to suit 
These stubborn fingers to the lute! 
To-day I venture all I know. 
She will not hear my music ? So ! 
Break the string — fold music's wing. 
Suppose Pauline liad bade me sing ! 



My whole life long I learned to love ; 

This hour my utmost art I prove 

And speak my passion. — Heaven or hell? 

She will not give me heaven ? 'T is well I 

Lose who may — I still can say. 

Those who win heaven, blest are they. 

Robert Beowniso. 



BALLAD. ' 

Sinn on, sad heart, for love's eclipse 

And beauty's fairest queen. 
Though 't is not for my peasant lips 

To soil her name between. 
A king might l.ay his sceptre down, 

But I am poor .and naught ; 
The brow should wear a golden crown 

That wears her in its thought. 

The diamonds glancing in her hair, 

Whoso sudden beams surprise, 
Might bid such humble hopes beware 

Tlie glancing of her eyes ; 
Yet, looking once, I looked too long; 

And if my love is sin, 
Death follows on the heels of wrong. 

And kills the crime within. 

Her dress seemed wove of lily leaves, 

It was so pure and fine — 
Oh lofty wears, and lowly weaves. 

But hodden gray is mine ; 
And homely hose must step apart, 

Where gartered princes stand ; 
But may he wear iny love at heart 

That wins her lily hand! 

Alas ! there 's far from russet frieze 

To silks and satin gowns ; 
But I doubt if God made like degrees 

In courtly hearts and clowns. 



28S 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



My ftvther wronged a maiden's mirth, 
And brouglit lier cheeks to blame ; 

And all that 's lordly of my birth 
Is ray reproach and shame ! 

'T is vain to weep, 't is vain to sigli, 

'T is vain this idle speech — 
For where her happy pearls do lie 

My tears may never reach ; 
Yet when I 'm gone, e'en lofty pride 

May say, of what has been, 
Ilis love was nobly born and died, 

Tho' all the rest was mean ! 

My speech is rude, — but speech is weak 

Such love as mine to tell ; 
Yet had I words, I dare not speak : 

So, lady, faro thee well ! 
I will not wish thy better state 

Was one of low degree, 
But I must weep that partial fate 

Made such a churl of me. 

Thomas Hood. 



THE DREAM. 



Our life is twofold : sleep hath its own world — 
A boundary between the things misnamed 
Death and existence : sleep hath its own world. 
And a wide realm of wild reality ; 
And dreams in their development have breath. 
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of 

.ioy; 
They leave a weight upon our waking 

thoughts ; 
They take a weight from oft' our waking toils ; 
They do divide our being ; they become 
A portion of ourselves as of our time, 
And look like heralds of eternity ; 
They pass like spirits of the past, — they speak 
Like sibyls of the future ; they have power — 
Tho tyranny of pleasure and of pain; 
They make us what wo were not — wha^ they 

will ; 
They shako us with the vision that 's gone by, 
The dread of vanished shadows — are they so ? 
Is not the past all shadow ? What are they ? 
Creations of the mind? — the mind can make 
Substance, and people planets of its own 



With beings brighter than have been, and 

give 
A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh. 
I would recall a vision, which I dreamed 
Perchance in sleep — for in itself a thought, 
A slumbering thought, is capable of years, 
And curdles a long life into one hour. 

n. 
I saw two beings in the hues of youth 
Standing upon a hill, a gentle bill. 
Green and of mild declivity ; the last. 
As 't were the cape, of a long ridge of such. 
Save that there was no sea to lave its base. 
But a most living landscape, and the wave 
Of woods and cornfields, and the abodes of 

men 
Scattered at intervals, and wreathing smoko 
Arising from such rustic roofs ; — the hiU 
Was crowned with a peculiar diadem 
Of trees, in circvdar array — so fixed. 
Not by the sport of nature, but of man. 
These two, a maiden and a youtli, were there 
Gazing — the one on all that was beneath; 
Fair as herself — but the boy gazed on her ; 
And both were young, and one was beauti- 
ful; 
And both were young— yet not alike in 

youth. 
As the sweet moon on tho horizon's verge. 
The maid was on the eve of womanhood ; 
The boy had fewer summers ; but his heart 
Ilad far outgrown his yeai-s, and to his eye 
There was but one beloved face on earth, 
And that was shining on him ; he had looked 
Upon it till it could not pass away ; 
lie had no breath, no being, but in hers; 
She was his voice ; he did not speak to her. 
But trembled on her words; she was his 

sight, 
For his eye followed hers, and saw with 

hers. 
Which colored all his objects ; — he bad ceased 
To live within himself; she was his life, 
The ocean to the river of his thoughts. 
Which terminated all ; upon a tone, 
A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and 

flow. 
And his cheek change tempestuously — his 

heart 
Unlmowing of its cause of agony. 



THE DUEAM. 



289 



But she in these fond feelings had no share : 
Ilor siglis were not for him ; to lier he was 
Even as a hrother — hut no more ; 't was 

much ; 
For brotherless she was, save in the name 
llor infant friendship had bestowed on him — 
Herself tlie solitary scion left 
(_)f a time-honored race. — It was a name 
"Wliich pleased liim, and yet pleased him not 

— and why? 
Time taught him a deep answer — when she 

loved 
Another. Even now she loved another ; 
And on the summit of that hill she stood 
Looking afar, if yet her lover's steed 
Kept pace with her expectancy, and flew. 

ni. 
j\ change came o'er the spirit of my dream : 
There was an ancient mansion ; and before 
Its walls there was a steed caparisoned. 
Within an antique oratory stood 
The boy of w'nom I spake ; — he was alone. 
And pale, and i)acing to and fro. Anon 
lie sate him down, and seizeil a pen and 

traced 
Words which I could not guess of; then he 

leaned 
His bowed head on his hands, and shook, as 

't were 
With a convulsion — then arose again : 
And with his teeth and quivering hands did 

tear 
What he had written ; but he shed no tears. 
And ho did calm himself, and fix his brow 
Into a kind of quiet. As he paused, 
The lady of his love reentered there ; 
She was serene and smiling then ; and yet 
She knew she was by him beloved; she 

knew — 
IIow quickly comes such knowledge ! that 

his heart 
Was darkened with her shadow, and she saw 
That he was wretched; but she saw not all. 
lie rose, and with a cold and gentle grasp 
He took her hand ; a moment o'er his face 
A tablet of unutterable thoughts 
Was traced; and then it faded as it came. 
He dropped the hand he held, and with slow 

steps 
Retired ; but not as bidding her adieu, 
20 



For they did part with mutual smiles. Ho 

passed 
From out the massy gate of that old hall ; 
And, mounting on his steed, he went liis way ; 
And ne'er repassed that hoary threshold 

more. 

IT. 

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream : 
The boy was sprung to manhood. In the 

wilds 
Of ticry climes he made himself a home. 
And his sold drank their sunbeams ; ho was 

girt 
With strange and dusky aspects ; he was not 
Himself like what he had been ; on the sea 
And on the shore he was a wanderer; 
There was a mass of many images 
Crowded like waves upon me, but he was 
A part of all ; and in the last he lay. 
Reposing from the noontide sultriness. 
Couched among fallen columns, in the shade 
Of ruined walls that had survived the names 
Of those who reared them ; by his sleeping 

side 
Stood camels grazing, and some goodly steeds 
Were fastened near a fountain ; and a man 
Clad in a flowing garb did watch the while, 
While many of his tribe slumbered around ; 
And they were canopied by the blue sky — 
So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful. 
That God alone was to be seen in heaven. 



A change came o'er the spirit of my dream : 
The lady of his love w.as wed with one 
Who did not love her bettor. In her home, 
A thousand leagues from his, — her native 

home — 
She dwelt, begirt with growing infancy. 
Daughters and sons of beauty. But behold ! 
Ulion her face there was the tint of grief. 
The settled shadow of an inward strife, 
And an unquiet drooping of the eye, 
As if its lids were charged with unshed tears. 
What could her grief be? — She had all she 

loved ; 
And he who had so loved her was not there 
To trouble with bad hopes or evil wish. 
Or ill-repressed affection, her pure thoughts. 
What could her grief be ? — she had loved him 

not, 



290 



rOEMS or LOVE. 



Nor f,nvc'ii liim cause to deom himself be- 

loveil ; 
Nor ooiild he be a part of that which preyed 
Upon her riiind — a spectre of the past. 

VT. 

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream : 
Tlie wanderer was returned — I saw him stand 
Before an altar, with a gentle bride ; 
Her face was fair ; but was not that which 

made 
The starlight of his boyhood. As he stood, 
Even at the altar, o'er his brow there came 
The self-same aspect, and the quirering shock 
That in the antique oratory shook 
His bosom in its solitude ; and then — 
As in that hour^a moment o'er his face 
The tablet of unutterable thoughts 
"Was traced — and then it faded as it came ; 
And he stood calm and quiet ; and he spoke 
The fitting vows, but heard not his own 

words ; 
And all things reeled around him ; he could 

see 
Not that which was, nor that which should 

have been — 
But the old mansion, and the accustomed 

hall. 
And the remembered chambers, and the 

place, 
The day, the hour, the sunshine, and the 

shade — 
All things pertaining to that place and hour. 
And her who was his destiny — came back 
And thrust themselves between him and the 

light ; 
What business had they there at such a time? 



A change came o'er the spirit of my dream : 
The lady of his love — oh ! she was changed. 
As by the sickness of the soul ; her mind 
Had wandered from its dwelling; and her 

eyes, 
They had not their own lustre, but the look 
Which is not of the earth ; she was become 
The queen of a fantastic realm ; her thoughts 
Were combinations of disjointed things, 
And forms impalpable, and unperceived 
Of others' eight, familiar were to hers. 



And this the world calls frenzy ; but the 

wise 
Have a far deeper madness, and the glance 
Of melancholy is a fearful gift ; 
What is it but the telescope of truth ? 
Which strips the distance of its fantasies, 
And brings life near to utter nakedness, 
Making the cold reality too real ! 



A change came o'er the spirit of my dream : 
The wanderer was alone, as heretofore ; 
The beings which surrounded him were gone 
Or were at war with him ; he was a mark 
For blight and desolation — compassed roirad 
With hatred and contention ; pain was mixed 
In all which was served up to him; until. 
Like to the Pontic monarch of old days, 
He fed on poisons ; and they had no power. 
But were a kind of nutriment. He lived 
Through that which had been death to many 

men; 
And made him friends of mountains. With 

the stars. 
And the quick spirit of tlie universe. 
Ho held his dialogues, and they did teach 
To hira the magic of their mysteries ; 
To him the book of night was opened wide. 
And voices from the deep abyss revealed 
A marvel and a secret — Be it so. 

IX. 

My dream was past; it had no further 

change. 
It was of a strange order, that the doom 
Of these two creatures should be thus traced 

out 
Almost like a reality — the one 
To end in madness — both in misery. 

Lord Bykon. 



ASK ME NO MORE. 

Ask me no more : the moon may draw the 
sea; 
The cloud may stoop from heaven and take 

the shape. 
With fold to fold, of moimtain or of cajie. 
But, oh too fond, when have I answered thee? 
Ask me no more. 



IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. 



291 



Ask me no more : what answer should I give ? 

I love not hollow cheek or faded eye ; 

Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die ! 
Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live ; 
Ask me no more. 

Ask me no more : thy fate and mine are 
sealed. 
I strove against the stream and all in vain. 
Let the great river take me to the main. 
N"o more, dear love, for at a touch I yield ; 
Ask me no more ! 

Alfred Tennyson. 



WHEN WE TWO PARTED. 

When we two parted 

In silence and tears. 
Half broken-hearted, 

To sever for years. 
Pale grew tliy cheek and cold. 

Colder tliy kiss ; 
Truly that hour foretold 

Sorrow to this. 

The dew of the morning 

Sunk chill on my brow — 
It felt like the warning 

Of what I feel now. 
Thy vows are all broken. 

And light is thy fame ; 
I hear thy name spoken. 

And share in its shame. 

They name thee before me, 

A knell to mine ear ; 
A shudder comes o'er me — 

Why wert thou so dear ? 
They know not I knew thee. 

Who knew thee too well. 
Long, long, shall I rue thee 

Too deeply to tell. 

In secret we met — 

In silence I grieve. 
That thy heart could forget, 

Thy spirit deceive. 



If I should meet thee 

After long years. 
How should I greet thee?- — 

In silence and tears. 
" Lord Byhon. 



IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. 

An August evening, on a b.alcony 
That overlooked a woodland and a lake, 
I sat in the still air, .and t.alkcd with one 
Whose face shone fairer than the crescent 

moon. 
Just over-head, a violin and Hute 
Played prelude to a dance. Their long- 
drawn chords 
Poured through the windows, gaping sum- 
mer-wide, 
A flood of notes that, flowing outward, swept 
To the Last ripple of the orchard trees. 

I had not known her long, but loved her 

more 
Than I could dream of then — oh, even no\v 
I dare not dwell upon my passion, — more 
Th.in life itself I loved her, and still love. 

The white enchantment of her dimpled h.and 
Lay soft in mine ! I looked into her eyes ; 
I knew I was unworthy, but I felt 
That I was noble if she did but smile. 

A light of stars shone round her head ; I saw 
The sombre shores that gloomed the lake 

below ; 
The sh.adows settling on tie distant hills ; • 
I heard the pleasant music of the night. 
Brought by the wind, a vagrant messenger, 
From the deep forest and the broad, sweet 

fields. 

But when she spoke, and her pervasive voice 

Stole on me till I trembled to my knees, 

I pressed my lips to hers — then round me 

glowed 
A sudden light, that seemed to flash me on, 
Beyond myself, beyond the fainting stiirs. 
Then all the bleak disheartenings of a life 
That bad not been of pleasure faded ofl) 



292 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



And left ine with a purpose, and a hope 
That 1 was born for something braver than 
To lianp; my head and wear a nameless name. 

That liour has passed, nor ever came again. 
We all do live such — so I would believe. 
Lite's mere arithmetic and prose are mine, 
And I have missed the beauty of the world. 

Let this remembrance comfort me, — that 

when 
l[y heart seemed bnreting — like a restless 

wave. 
That, swollen with fearful longing for the 

shore. 
Throws its strong life on tlie imagined bliss 
Of finding peace and undisturbed calm — 
It fell on rock and broke in many tears. 

Else could I bear, on all days of tlic year. 
Not now alone — this gvntlo summer night, 
AVhen scythes are busy in the headed grass. 
And the full moon warms me to thought- 
fulness, — 
Tliis voice, that haunts the desert of my soul ; 
'■ It might have been," alas 1 '• It might have 

been!" 

William Cross "Willlamson. 



WE PARTED m SILENCE. 

We parted in silence, we ])arted by night, 

On the banks of that lonely river; 
Wliore the fragrant limes their boughs unite. 

We met — and wo parted for ever! 
The night-bird sung, and the stars above 

Told many a touching story. 
Of friends long passed to the kingdom of 
love. 

Where the soul wears its mantle of glory. 

We parted in silence — our cheeks were wet 
With the tears that were past controlling; 
We vowed we would never — no, never for- 
get, 
And those vows at tlio time were con- 
soling; 



But those lips that echoed the sounds of mine 
Are as cold as that lonely river ; 

And that eye, that beautiful spirit's shrine. 
Has shrouded its fires for ever. 

And now on the midnight sky I look, 

And my heart grows full of weeping ; 
Eacli star is to me a sealed book. 

Some tale of that loved one keeping. 
Wo parted in silence — we parted in tears, 

On the banks of that lonely river : 
But the odor and bloom of those by-gone 
yeai's 

Shall hang o'er its waters for ever. 

Mbs. C'bawfobd. 



IN A YEAR. 

Never any more 

While I live, 
Need I hope to see his face 

As before. 
Once his love grown chill. 

Mine m.ay strive — 
Bitterly we reembrace, 

Single still. 

Was it something said. 

Something done. 
Vexed him? was it touch of hand. 

Turn of head ? 
Strange ! that very way 

Love begun. 
I as little understand 

Love's decay. 

When I sewed or drew, 

I recall 
How he looked as if I sang 

— Sweetly too. 
If I spoke a word. 

First of all 
Up his cheek the color sprang, 

Then he heard. 

Sitting by my side. 

At my feet. 
So he breathed the air I breathed, 

Satisfied 1 



MARIANA IN 


THE SOUTH. 293 


I, too, at love's brim 


Dear, the pang is brief. 


Touclicd the sweet. 


Do thy part. 


T would (lie if death bequeathed 


Have thy pleasure. IIow porploxt 


Sweet to him. 


Grows belief 1 




Well, this cold clay clod 


" Speak— I love thee best ! " 


Was man's heart. 


lie exclaimed — 


Crumble it — and what comes next? 


" Let thy love my own foretell." 


Is it God? 

Robert Beowmiho 


I confessed : 




" Clasp my heart on thine 






Now unblamed, 




Since upon thy soul as well 


MARIANA IN THE SOUTH. 


Hangeth mine I " 


I. 
With one black shadow at its feet, 


Was it wrong to own, 


]5eing truth ? 


The house through all the level shines. 


Why should all the giving prove 


Close-latticed to the brooding heat, 


His alone? 


And silent in its dusty vines ; 


I had wealth and ease. 


A faint-blue ridge upon the right, 


Beauty, youth — 


An empty river-bed before, 


Since my lover gave me love, 


And shallows on a distant shore, 


I gave those. 


In glaring sand and inlets bright. 




But " Ave Mary," made she moan, 


That was all I meant, 


And "Ave Mary," night and morn; 


— To bo just. 


And " Ah," she sang, " to bo all alone, 


And the passion I had raised 


To live forgotten, and love forlorn." 


To content. 




Since he chose to change 


II. 


Gold for dust. 


She, as her carol sadder grow. 


If I gave him what he praised 


From brow and bosom slowly down 


Was it strange ? 


Through rosy taper fingers drew 




Her streaming curls of deepest brown 


Would he loved me yet. 


To left and right, and made appear. 
Still-lighted in a secret shrine, 


On and on, 


Her melancholy eyes divine, 


While I found some way undreamed 


The home of woo without a tear. 


— Paid my debt! 


And "Ave Mary," w.'is her rnoan, 


Gave more life and more, 


"Madonna, sad is night and morn ; " 


Till, all gone, 


And "Ah," she sang, "to bo all alone, 


lie should smile " She never seemed 
Mine before. 


To live forgotten, and love forlorn." 


" What— she felt the while, 


III. 
Till all the crimson changed, and passed 


Must I think? 


Into deep orange o'er the sea. 


Love 's so difterent with us men," 


Low on her knees herself she cast, 


lie should smile. 


Before Our Lady murmured she ; 


"Dying for my sake — 


Complaining, "Motlier, give me grace 


White and pink I 


To help me of my weary load ! " 


Can 't we touch these bubbles then 


And on the liquid mirror glowed 


J5uttliey break?" 


The clear perfection of her face. 



294 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



" Is this the form," she made her moan, 
"That won his praises night and morn ?" 

And "All," she said, "but I wake alone, 
1 sleep forgotten, I "wake forlorn." 

IV. 

Nor bird would siug, nor lamb would bleat. 

Nor any cloud would cross the vault ; 
But day increased from heat to heat. 

On stony drought and steaming salt; 
Till now at noon she slept again, 
And seemed knee-deep in mountain grass. 
And heard her native breezes pass. 
And runlets babbling down the glen. 
She breathed in sleep a lower moan; 

And murmuring, as at night and morn, 
She thought, "My spirit is here alone, 
Walks forgotten, and is forlorn." 

V. 

Dreaming, she knew it was a dream ; 
She felt he was and was not there. 
She woke : the b.abblo of the stream 
Fell, and without the steady glare 
Shrank the sick olivo sere and small. 
The river-bed was dusty white ; 
And all the furnace of the light 
Struck up against the blinding wall. 
She whispered, with a stifled moan 

ilore inward than at night or morn, 
"Sweet mother, let me not here alone 
Live forgotten, and die forlorn." 



And, rising, from her bosoni drew 

Old letters, breathing of her worth ; 
For " Love," they said, " must needs he true. 
To what is loveliest upon earth." 
•An image seemed to pass the door. 
To look at her with slight, and say, 
" But now thy beauty flows away. 
So be alone for evermore." 

" O cruel heart," she changed her tone, 
" And cruel love, whose end is scorn. 
Is this the end — to be left alone. 
To live forgotten, and die forlorn 1 " 



But sometimes in the falling day 
An image seemed to pass the door, 

To look into her eyes and say, 

" But thou shalt he alone no more." 



And flaming downward over all, 
From heat to heat the day decreased, 
And slowly rounded to the east 
The one black shadow from the wall. 

" The day to night," she made her moan, 
" The day to night, the night to morn 
And day and night I am left alone. 
To live forgotten, and love forlorn." 

vui. 
At eve a dry cicala sung ; 

There came a sound as of the sea ; 
Backward the lattice-blind she flung, 

And leaned upon the balcony. 
There, all in spaces rosy -bright. 
Large Hesper glittered on her tears, 
And deepening through the silent spheres, 
Heaven over heaven, rose the night, 

And weeping then she made her moan, 
" The night comes on that knows not 
morn ; 
When I shall cease to be all alone. 
To live forgotten, and love forlorn." 
Alfred Tennyson 



SONG. 



" A WEAET lot is thine, fair maid, 

A weary lot is thine ! 
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, 

And press the rue for wine ! 
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, 

A feather of the blue, 
A doublet of the Lincoln green — 

No more of me you knew. 
My love I 
No more of me you knew. 

" This morn is merry June, I trow — 

The rose is budding fjiin ; 
But she shall bloom in winter snow 

Ere we two meet again." 
He turned his charger as he spake. 

Upon the river shore ; 
He gave his bridle reins a shake, 

Said, " Adieu for evermore, 
My love ! 
And adieu for evermore." 

Sre "Walter Scott. 



LOCKSLEY HALL. 295 


_^ . 


Then her cheek was pale and thinner than 


LOCKSLEY HALL. 


should be for one so young. 




And her eyes on all my motions with a mute 


CoMiiADEs, leave me here a little, while as 


observance hung. 


yet 't is early morn — 




Leave me here, and when you want me, sound 


And I said, "My cousin Amy, speak, and 


upon the hugle horn. 


speak the truth to me ; 




Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being 


'T is the place, and all around it, as of old, the 


sets to thee." 


curlews call, 




Dreary gleams about the moorland, flying over 




Looksley Hall ; 


On her pallid clieek and foreliead came a 




color and a light. 


Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks 


As I have seen the rosy rod flusliing in the 


tlie sandy tracts. 


northern night. 


And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring into 




cataracts. 


And she turned — her bosom shaken with a 




sudden storm of sighs — 


Many a night from yonder ivied casement, 


All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark of 


ere I went to rest, 


hazel eyes — 


Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to 




the west. 


Saying, "I have hid my feelings, fearing they 




should do me wrong ; " 


Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising through 


Saying, "Dost thou love me, cousin?" weep- 


tlie mellow shade, 


ing, " I have loved thee long." 


Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a 




silver braid. 






Love took up the glass of time, and turned 


Here about the beach I wandered, nourishing 


it in his glowing hands ; 


a youth sublime 


Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in 


With the fairy tales of science, and the long 


golden sands. 


result of time ; 






Love took up the harp of life, and smote on 


When the centuries behind me like a fruitful 


all the chords with might ; 


land reposed ; 


Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, 


When I clung to all the present for the prom- 


passed in music out of sight. 


ise that it closed ; 






Many a morning on the moorland did we hear 


When I (li])t into the future far as human eye 


1 c ^ 

the copses ring. 


could see — 


And her whisper thronged my jiulses with 


Saw tlio vision of the world, and all the won- 


the fulness of the spring. 


der that would be. 




In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the 


Many an evening by the waters did we watch 


robin's breast ; 


the stately ships. 


In the spring the wanton lapwing gets him- 


And our spirits rushed together at tlie touch- 


self another crest ; 


ing of the lips. 


In the si)ring a livelier iris changes on the 


Oh my cousin, shallow-hearted ! Oh my 


burnished dove ; 


Amy, mine no more ! 


In tlie .spring a young man's fancy lightly 


Oh the dreary, dreary moorland ! Oh the 


turns to tlioughts of love. 


I>arren, barren shore! 



206 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all 

songs have sung — 
Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a 

shrewish tongue I 

Is it well to wish thee happy ? — having known 

me; to decline 
On a range of lower feelings and a narrower 

heart than mine ! 

Yet it shall be : thou shalt lower to his level 

day by day, 
Wliat is tine within thee growing coarse to 

sympathize with clay. 

As the husband is, the wife is; thou art 

mated with a clown, 
And the grossness of his nature will have 

weight to drag thee down. 

He will hold thee, when his passion shall 

have spent its novel force, 
Something better than his dog, a little dearer 

than his horse. 

What is this ? his eyes are heavy — think not 

they are glazed with wine. 
Go to him ; it is thy duty — kiss him ; take 

his hand in thine. 

It may be my lord is weary, that his brain is 

overwrought — 
Soothe him with thy finer fancies, touch him 

with thy lighter thought. 

Uo will answer to the purpose, easy things to 

imderstand — 
Better thou wert dead before me, though I 

slow thee with my hands. 

Better tliou and I were lying, hidden from 

the heart's disgrace. 
Rolled in one another's arms, and silent in a 

last embrace. 

(Cursed be the social wants that sin against 

the strength of youth ! 
Cursed be the social lies that warp us from 

the living truth ! 



Cursed he the sickly forms that err from 

honest nature's rule ! 
Cursed be the gold that gilds the straitened 

forehead of the fool ! 

Well— "t is well that I should bluster !— Iladst 
thou less unworthy proved, 

Would to God — for I had loved thee more 
than ever wife was loved. 

Am I mad, that I should cherish that which 

bears but bitter fruit ? 
I will pluck it from my bosom, though my 

heart be at the root. 

Never! though ray mortal summers to such 
length of years should come 

As the many-wintered crow that leads the 
clanging rookery home. 

Where is comfort ? in division of the records 

of the mind ? 
Can I part her from herself, and love her, as 

I knew her, kind ? 

I remember one that perished ; sweetly did 

she speak and move ; 
Such a one do I remember, whom to look at 

was to love. 

Can I think of her as dead, and love her for 

the love she bore ? 
No — she never loved me truly ; love is love 

for evermore. 

Comfort ? comfort scorned of devils ! this is 
truth the poet sings. 

That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remem- 
bering happier things. 

Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest 

thy heart be put to proof. 
In the dead, unhappy night, and when the 

rain is on the roof. 

Like a dog, he hunts in dreams; and thou art 

staring at the wall, 
Where the dying night-lamp flickers, and the 

shadows rise and fall. 



LOCKSLEY UALL. 



m 



Then a hand shall pass before thee, pointing 

to his drunken sleep, 
To thy -widowed marriage-pillows, to the 

tears that thou wilt weep. 

Thou shalt hear the "Never, never," whis- 
pered by the phantom years. 

And a song from out the distance in the ring- 
ing of thine ears ; 

And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient 

kindness on thy pain. 
Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow ; get thee 

to tliy rest again. 

Nay, but nature brings thee solace ; for a 

tender voice will cry ; 
'T is a purer life than thine ; a lip to drain 

thy trouble dry. 

Baby lips will laugh me down ; my latest 

rival brings thee rest — 
Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from 

the mother's breast. 

Oh, the child, too, clothes the father with a 

dearness not his due ; 
Half is thine, and half is his — it will ho 

worthy of the two. 

Oh, I see tliee, old and formal, fitted to thy 

petty part. 
With a little hoard of maxims preaching down 

a daughter's heart : 

" They were dangerous guides the feelings — 
she herself was not exempt — 

Truly, she herself had suffered." — Perish in 
thy self-contempt 1 

Overlive it — lower yet — be happy I wherefore 

should I care ? 
I myself must mis with action, lest I wither 

by despair. 

What is that which I should turn to, lighting 

upon days like these ? 
Every door is barred with gold, and opens 

hut to golden keys. 



Every gate is thronged with suitors; all the 

markets overflow. 
I have but an angry fancy : what is that 

which I should do ? 

I had been content to perish, falling on the 

fooman's ground. 
When the ranks are rolled in vapor, and the 

winds are laid with sound. 

But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt 

that honor feels. 
And the nations do but murmur, snarling at 

each other's heels. 

Can I but relive in sadness ? I will turn that 
earlier page. 

Hide me from my deep emotion, O thou won- 
drous mother-age! 

Make me feel the wild pulsation tliat I felt 

before the strife. 
When I heard my days before mo, and tlie 

tumult of my life ; 

Yearning for the large excitement that the 
coming years would yield — 

Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves 
his fatlier's field, 

And at night along the dusky highway near 

and nearer drawn. 
Sees in heaven the light of London flaring 

like a dreary dawn ; 

And his spirit leaps withia him to be gone 

before him then. 
Underneath the light he looks at, in among 

the throngs of men — 

Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever 

reaping something new : 
That which they have done but earnest of the 

things that they shall do ; 

For I dipt into the future, far as human eye 
could see — 

Saw the vision of the world, and all the won- 
der that would be — 



298 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Saw tho heavens fill with commerce, argosies 

of magic sails, 
Pilots of tho purplo twilight, dropping down 

with costly bales — 

Heard tho heavens till with shouting, and 

there rained a ghastly dew 
From the nations' airy navies grappling in 

tho central blue ; 

Far along the world-wide whisper of the 

south-wind rushing warm, 
With tho standards of the peoples plunging 

through tho thunder-storm ; 

TiU tlio war-drum throbbed uo longej', and 

tho battle-flags were furled 
In the i>arliament of man, tho federation of 

tho world. 

There tho connnon sense of most shall hold a 

fretful realm in awe. 
And tho kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in 

universal law. 

So I triumphed, ere my passion sweeping 

through me,left mo dry. 
Left mo with the palsied heart, and left me 

with the jaundiced ej'e— 

Eye, to which all order festers, all things here 

are out of joint. 
Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping 

on from point to point ; 

Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion, 

creeping nigher. 
Glares at one that nods and winks behind a 

.slowly-dying fire. 

Yet I doubt not through the ages one increas- 
ing purpose runs. 

And the thoughts of men are widened with 
tho process of the suns. 

What is that to him that reaps not harvest of 

his youthful joys. 
Though tho deep heart of existence beat for 

ever like a boy's ? 



Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers; and I 

linger on the shore, 
And the individuid withers, and tho world is 

more and more. 

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and 

he bears a laden breast, 
Fidl of sad experience mo\'ing toward the 

stUlness of his rest. 

llark ! my merry comrades call me, sounding 
on the bugle horn — 

They to whom my foolish passion were a tar- 
get for their scorn ; 

Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a 

mouldered string ? 
I am shamed through all my nature to have 

loved so slight a thing. 

Weakness to bo wroth with weakness ! 

woman's pleasure, woman's pain — 
Nature made them blinder motions bounded 

in a shallower brain ; 

Woman is the lesser man, and all thy pas- 
sions, matched with mine. 

Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water 
unto wine — 

Here at least, where nature sickens, nothing. 

Ah, for some retreat 
Deep in yonder shining orient, where my life 

began to beat ! 

Where in wild Mahratta-battle fell my father, 

evil-starred ; 
I was left a trampled orphan, and a selfish 
uncle's ward. 

Or to burst all links of habit — there to wan- 
dor far away, 

On from island unto island at the gateways 
of the day — 

Larger constellations burning, mellow moons 

and happy skies. 
Breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster, 

knots of Paradise. 



ORPHEUS TO BEASTS. 



299 



S'ever comes the trader, never floats an Eu- 
ropean flag — 

Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, droops 
the trailer from the crag — 

Droops the heavy-Mossomed bower, hangs 

the heavy-fruited tree — 
Slimmer isles of Eden lying in dark -purple 

spheres of sea. 

There, methinks, would be enjoyment more 
than in this march of mind — 

In t!ie steamship, in the railway, in tiie 
thoughts that shake mankind. 

There the passions, cramped no longer, shall 
have scope and breathing-space ; 

I will take some savage woman, she shall rear 
my dusky race. 

Iron-jointod, supple-sinewed, they shall dive, 

and they shall run. 
Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl 

their lances in the sun 

Whistle l)ack the parrot's call, and leap the 
rainbows of the brooks, 

Not with blinded eyesight poring over mis- 
erable books — 

Fool, again the dream, the fancy ! but I know 

my words are wild. 
But I count the gray barbarian lower than 

the Christian child. 

I, to herd v.'ith narrow foreheads, vacant of 

our glorious gains. 
Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast 

with lower pains ! 

Ifated with a squalid savage — what to me 

were sun or clime? 
I, the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files 

of time — • 

I, that rather held it better men should perish 

one by one. 
Than that earth should stand at gaze like 

Joshua's moon in Ajalon ! 

Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, 

forward let us range; 
Let the great world spin forever down the 

ringing grooves of change. 



Through the shadow of the globe we sweep 

into the younger d.ay : 
Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of 

Cathay. 

Mother-ago, (for mine I knew not,) help mo 

as when life begun — 
Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the 



Oh, I see the crescent promise of my spirit 

hath not set ; 
Ancient founts of inspiration well through all 

my fancy yet. 

Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to 

Locksley Hall ! 
Now for me tlie woods may wither, now for 

me the roof -tree fall. 

Comes a vapor from the margin, blackening 

over heath and holt. 
Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast 

a thunderbolt. 

Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail. 

or fire or snow ; 

For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward. 

and I go. 

Alfeed Tenntson. 



ORPHEUS TO BEASTS. 

Heke, here, oh here, Eurydice — 

Here v/as she slain — 
Her sonl 'stilled through a vein ; 

The gods knew less 
That time divinity, 

Than ev'n, ev'n these 

Of brutishness. 

Oh coidd you view the melody 

Of every grace. 
And music of her face. 

You 'd drop a tear ; 
Seeing more harmony 

In her briglit eye, 

Than now you hear. 

BiCHABD Lovelace. 



800 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



O THAT 'TWERE POSSIBLE. 



On thiit 't were possible, 
After long grief and pain, 
To find the iirms of my true love 
Round me once again ! 



When I was wont to meet her 
In the silent woody places 
Of the land that gave me birth, 
Wo stood tranced in long embraces 
Mixt with kisses sweeter, sweeter 
Than anything on earth. 



A shadow flits before me, 

Not thou, but like to thee ; 

Ah Christ, th.at it were possible 

For one short hour to see 

The souls we loved, that they might tell us 

What and where they be ! 



It leads me forth at evening. 

It lightly winds and steals 

In a cold white robe before me. 

When all my spirit reels 

At tlie shouts, the leagues of lights, 

And the roaring of the wheels. 



Half the niglit I waste in sighs. 
Half in dreams I sorrow after 
The delight of early skies ; 
In a wakeful doze I sorrow 
For the hand, the lips, the eyes- 
For the meeting of the morrow. 
The delight of happy laughter. 
The delight of low replies. 



T is a morning pure and sweet. 
And a dewy splendor falls 
On tlie little flower that clings 
To the turrets and the walls ; 
'Tis a morning pure and sweet. 
And the light and shadow fleet ; 
She is walking in the meadow, 



And the woodland echo rings 
In a moment we shall meet ; 
She is singing in the meadow, 
And the rivulet at her feet 
Ripples on in light and shadow 
To the ballad that she sings. 



Do I hear her sing as of old, 
My bird with the shining head. 
My own dove with the tender eye? 
But there rings on a sudden a passionate 

cry — 
There is some one dying or dead ; 
And a sullen thunder is rolled ; 
For a tumult shakes the city, 
And I wake— my dream is fled ; 
I'n the shuddering dawn, behold. 
Without knowledge, without pity, 
By the curtains of my bed . 
That abiding jdiantom cold ! 



Get thee hence, nor come again ! 
Mix not memory with doubt, 
Pass, thou deathlike type of pain, 
Pass and cease to move about i 
'Tis the blot upon the brain 
That will show itself without. 



Then I rise; the eave-drops fall. 
And the yellow vapors choke 
The great city sounding wide ; 
The day comes— a dull red ball 
Wrapt in drifts of lurid smoke 
On the misty river-tide. 



Through tlie hubbub of the market 

I steal, a wasted frame ; 

It crosses here, it crosses there. 

Through all that crowd confused and loud 

The shadow stiU the same ; 

And on my heavy eyelids 

My anguish hangs like shame. 



Alas for her that met me. 
That heard me softly call. 
Came glimmering through the laurels 



THE BLOOM HATH FLED THY CHEEK, MARY. 



301 



At the quiet evenfall, 

In the garden by the turrets 

Of the old luiinorial hall! 



Would the happy spirit descend 
From the realms of light and song, 
In the chamber or the street, 
As she looks among the blest, 
Should I fear to greet my friend 
Or to say "Forgive the wrong," 
Or to ask her, " Take me, sweet, 
To the regions of thy rest ? " 



But the broad light glares and beats, 

And tlie shadow flits and fleets 

And will not let me be ; 

And I loatlie the squares and streets. 

And the faces that one meets, 

Hearts with no love for me; 

Always I long to creep 

Into some still cavern deep. 

There to weep, and weep, and weep 

My whole soul out to thee. 

Alfred Tehntson. 



SOKNET. 

Why art thou silent ! Is thy love a plant 
Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air 
Of absence withers what was once so fair ? 
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant ? 

Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant 
(As would my deeds have been) with hourly 

care. 
The mind's least generous wish a mendicant 
For nought but what thy happiness could 

spare. 

Sjjcak ! though this soft wasm heart, once free 

to hold 

A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine, 

I5e left more desolate, more dreary cold 

Than a forsaken bird's-nest, filled with snow 

'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine ; 

Speak, that my torturing doubts their end 

may know 1 

William WoRDSwoBTn. 



THE BLOOM HATH FLED THY CHEEK, 
MAEY. 

The bloom hath fled thy cheek, Mary, 
As spring's ratli blossoms die ; 

And sadness hath o'ershadowed now 
Thy once bright eye ; 

But look ! on me the prints of grief 
Still deeper lie. 
Farewell ! 

Thy lips are pale and mute, Mary ; 

Thy step is sad and slow ; 
The morn of gladness hath gone by 

Thou erst did know ; 
I, too, am changed like thee, and weep 

For very woe. 
Farewell ! 

It seems as 'twere but yesterday 

We were tlie happiest twain. 
When murmured sighs and joyous tears. 

Dropping like rain, 
Discoursed my love, and told how loved 

I was again. 

Farewell ! 

'T was not in cold and measured phrase 

We gave our passion name ; 
Scorning such tedious eloquence, 

Our hearts' fond flame 
And long-imprisoned feelings fast 

In deep sobs came. 
Farewell ! 

Would that our love had been the love 
That merest worldlings know. 

When passion's draught to our doomed lips 
Turns utter woe, 

And our poor dream of happiness 
Vanishes so ! 

Farewell ! 

But in thefc'reck of all our hopes 
There 's yet some touch of bliss, 

Since fate robs not our wretchedness 
Of this last kiss : 

Despair, and love, and madness meet 
In this, in this. 
Farewell ! 

"William Motderwell. 



302 POEMS OF LOVE. 


WALY, WALY, BUT LOVE BE BONNY. 


JEANIE MORRISON. 


Ou ivaly, waly up the bank, 


I've wandered east, I've wandered west. 


And waly, waly down the brao, 


Through mony a weary way ; 


And waly, waly yon burn side, 


But never, never can forget 


Where I and my love wont to gae. 


The luve o' life's young day ! 




The fire that 's blawn on Beltane e'en 


I leaned my back unto an aik, 


May weel be black gin Yule ; 


I thought it was a trusty tree ; 


But blacker fa' awaits the heart 


But first it bowed, and syne it brak — 


Where first fond luve grows cule. 


Sao ray true love did lightly me ! 






dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, 


Oh waly, waly, but love be bonny. 


The thochts o' bygane years 


A little time while it is new ; 


Still fling their shadows ower my path. 


But when 'tis auld it waxeth cauld. 


And blind my een wi' tears : 


And fades away like the morning dew. 


They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears. 




And sair and sick I pine, 


Oh wherefore should I busk my head ? 


As memory idly summons up 


Or wherefore should I kame my hair ? 


The blithe blinks o' langsyne. 


For my true love has me forsook, 




And says he '11 never love me mair. 


'Twas then we luvit ilk ither weel. 




'T was then we twa did part ; 


Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed ; 


Sweet time — sad time! twa bairns at scule. 


The sheets shall ne'er be fyled by me ; 


Twa bairns, and but ae heart ! 


Saint Anton's well shall be my drink, 


'Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink. 


Since my true love has forsaken me. 


To leir ilk ither lear ; 




And tones and looks and smiles were shed, 


Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, 


Remembered evermair. 


And shake the green leaves otf the tree ? 




gentle death, when wilt thou come 2 


I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet. 


For of my life I 'm weary. 


When sitting on that bink. 




Cheek touchin' cheek, loot locked in loof. 


'T is not the frost that freezes fell. 


What our wee heads could think. 


Nor blawing snaw's inclemency ; 


When baith bent doun ower ae braid page. 


'T is not sic cauld that makes me cry, 


Wi' ae bulk on our knee. 


But my love's heart grown cauld to me. 


Thy lips were on thy lesson, but 


When we came in by Glasgow town. 


My lesson was in thee. 


We were a comely sight to see ; 


Oh, mind ye how we hung our heads. 


My love was clad in the black velvet. 


IIow cheeks brent red wi' shame. 


And I my sell in cramasie. 


Whene'er the scule-weans, laughin', said 


But had I wist, before I kissed. 


We cleeked thegither hame ? 


That love had been sae ill to win. 


And mind ye o' the Saturdays,- 


I 'd locked my heart in a ca* of gold, 


(The scule then skail't at noon,) 


And pinned it with a silver pin. 


When we ran olF to speel the braes, — 




Tlie broomy braes o' June ? 


Oh, oh, if mj' young babe were born. 




And set upon the nurse's knee. 


My head rins round and round about — 


And I my sell were dead and gane, 


My heart flows like a sea. 


And the green grass growin' over mo ! 


As ane by ane the thochts rush back 


ASO.NYMOUB. 


0' scule-time and o' thee. 



MY HEID IS LIKE TO EEND, WILLIE. S03 


Oh mornin' lifol oh raornin' hive! 


dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, 


Oh liclitsome days and lang, 


Since we were sindered young 


AVhen hinnied hopes around our hearts 


I 've never seen your face nor heard 


Like shnnicr blossoms sprang ! 


The music o' your tongue ; 




But I could hug all wretchedness. 


Oh, wind ye, hive, how aft we left 


And happy could I die. 


The deavin' dmsome toun, 


Did I but ken your heart still dreamed 


To wander by the green burnside, 


0' bygone days and me ! 


And hear its waters croon ? 


William Motoebwelu 


The simmer leaves hung ower our heads, 




The flowei-s burst round our feet, 
And in thy gloainin o' the wood 






The throssil whusslit sweet ; 


MY ILEID IS LIKE TO EEND, WILLIE. 


The throssil whusslit in the wood, 


Mt held is like to rend, Willie — 


The burn sang to the trees — 


My heart is like to break ; 


And we, witli nature's heart in tune, 


I 'm wearin' atT my feet, Willie — 


Concerted harmonies; 


I 'm dyin' for your sake ! 


And on the knowe abune the bm-n 


Oh, lay your cheek to mine, Willie, 


For hours thegither sat 


Yonr hand on my briest-bane, — 


In the silentness o' joy, till baith 


Oh, say ye 'U think on me, Willie, 


Wi' very gladness grat. 


When I am deid and gane ! 


Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison, 


It 's vain to comfort me, Willie — 


Tears trinkled doun your cheek 


Sair grief maun ha'e its will ; 


Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nana 


But let me rest upon your briest 


Uad ony power to speak ! 


To sab and greet my fill. 


Tliat was a time, a blessed time. 


Let mo sit on your knee, Willie — 


When hearts were fresh and young. 


Let me shed by your hair, 


When fi-eely gushed all feelings forth. 


And look into the face, Willie, 


Unsyllablcd — unsung ! 


I never sail see mair ! 


I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, 


I 'm sittin' on your knee, Willie, 


Gia I hae been to thee 


For the last time in my life, — 


As closely twined wi' earliest thochts 


A puir heart-broken thing, AVillie, 


As ye hae been to me ? 


A mither, yet nae wife. 


Oh, tell me gin tlieir music flUs 


Ay, press your hand upon my heart, 


Thine ear as it does mine ! 


And press it mair and mair, — 


Oh, say gin e'er your heart grows grit 


Or it will burst the silken twine, 


Wi' dreamings o' langsyne? 


Sae Strang is its despair. 


I 've wandered east, I 've wandered west. 


Oil, wao's me for the hour, Willie, 


I 've borne a weary lot ; 


When we thegither met — 


But in my wanderings, far or near. 


Oh, wae 's me for the time, Willie, 


Ye never were forgot. 


That our first tryst was set ! 


The fount that first burst frae this heart 


Oh, wae 's me for the loanin' green 


Still travels on its way ; 


Where we were wont to gae, — 


And channels deeper, as it rins. 


And wae 's me for the destinie 


Tlie luve o' life's young day. 


That gart me luve thee sae ! 



304 



rOEMS OF LOVE. 



Oh, dinna miud my words, Willie — 

I downa seek to blame ; 
But oh, it 's hard to live, AVillie, 

Aud dree a warld's shame I 
Het tears are hailiii' ower your cheek, 

Aud hailiu' ower your chiu : 
VTliy weep ye sae for worthlessness, 

For sorrow, and for sin ? 

I 'm weary o' this warld, 'Willie, 

And sick wi' a' I see, 
I oanna live as I ha'o lived. 

Or be as I should be. 
But fauld unto your heart, Willie, 

The heart that still is thine,— 
Aud kiss anoo mair the white, white 
cheek 

Ye said was red langsyue. 

A stoim' (laes through my lieid, Willie — 

A sair stoun' throuiih my heart ; 
Oh, baud me up aud let mo kiss 

Thy brow ero we twa pairt. 
Anither, and anither yet! — 

ITow fast my life-stringcs break ! — 
Fareweel ! lareweel ! through yon kirk- 
yard 

Step lichtly for my sake ! 

The lav'rock iu the lift, Willie, 

That lilts far ower our held. 
Will sins; the morn as mcrrilio 

Abuue the clay-cauld deid ; 
And this green turf we 're sittin' on, 

Wi' dew-draps shimmerin' sheen, 
Will hap the heart that luvit thee 

As warld has seldom seen. 

But oh, remember me, Willie, 

On land where'er ye be — 
And oh, think on the leal, leal heart, 

That ne'er luvit aue but thee ! 
And oh, think on the caidd, oauld mools 

That file my yellow hair, — 
That kiss the cheek, aud kiss the cliin 

Ye never sail kiss mair! 

William Motherwell. 



THE ROSE AND THE GAUNTLET. 

Low spake the knight to the peasant-girl,— 
" I tell thee sooth, I am belted earl ; 
Fly with me from this garden small. 
And thou shalt sit in my castle's hall ; 

"Thou shalt have pomp, and wealth, and 

pleasure, 
Joys beyond thy fancy's measure ; 
ITere with my sword and horse I stand. 
To bear thee away to my distant laud. 

"Take, thou fairest! this full-blown rose, 
A token of love that as ripely blows." 
With his glove of steel he plucked the tokeii. 
But it fell from his gauntlet crnshed aud 
broken. 

The maiden exclaimed, — " Tliou seest, sir 
knight, 

Thy fingers of iron can only smite ; 

And, like the rose thou hast torn aud scat- 
tered, 

I in thy grasp should he wrecked aud shat- 
tered." 

She trembled and blushed, and her glances 

fell; 
But she turned from the knight, aud said, 

"Farewell!" 
" Not so," he cried, " will I lose my prize ; 
I heed not thy words, but I read thine eyes." 

He lifted her up iu his grasp of steel. 

And he mounted and spurred with furious 

heel ; 
But her cry drew forth her hoary sire. 
Who snatched his bow from above the fire. 

Swift from the valley the warrior tied. 
Swifter the bolt of the cross-bow sped ; 
And the weight th.at pressed on the lleot- 

foot horse 
Was the living nuxn, aud the woman's corse. 

Th.1t morning the rose was bright of hue; 
That morning the maiden was fair to view ; 
But the evening sun its beauty shed 
On the withered leaves, and the maiden dead. 

Joira Stkrlino. 



MAUD MULLER. 



805 



MAUD MULLER. ■ 

Maud Muller, on a summer's day, 
Riiked the meadow sweet with hay. 

Bcneatli licr torn Ijiit glowed tlie wealth 
Of siiiiiilo beauty and rustic health. 

SingiiifT, she wrought, and her merry glee 
Tlie mock-liird echoed from Ids tree. 

I'.ut, when she glanced to tlio fur-ofTtown, 
White from its liill-slopo looking down, 

Tlio sweet song died, and a vague unrest 
And a nameless longing fdled lier breast — 

A wish, that she hardly dared to own, 
For something better than she had known. 

The judge rode slowly down the lane, 
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. 

Ifo drew his bridle in the shade 

Of tlio apjile-trecs, to greet the maid, 

And ask a draught from the spring that 

flowed 
Through the meadow, across the road. 

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled 

up, 
And filled fur him her small tin cup, 

And blushed as she gave it, looking down 
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. 

"Tlianks!" said the judge, "a sweeter 

draught 
Kroin a fairer hand was never quaffed." 

lie spoke of the grass and flowers and trees. 
Of the singing birds and the humming bees; 

Then talked of the haying, and wondered 

whether 
The cloud in the west would bring foul 

weather. 

21 



And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown. 
And her graccfnl ancles, bare and brown, 

And listened, while a jdeased surjirisc 
Looked from her long-lashed hazel-oycs. 

At last, like one who for delay 
Seeks a vain excuse, ho rode away. 

Maud Mnller looked and sighed : " Ali nie 1 
That I the judge's bride might be! 

"He would dross nie uj) in silks so fine. 
And praise and toast me at his wine. 

"My father should wear a broadclotli coat, 
My brother should sail a painted boat. 

"I 'd dress my mother so grand and gay, 
And the baby sI)oul<I have a now toy each 
day. 

"And I'd food the liungry and chithe the 

I«)or, 
And ali should bless me who loft our door." 

The judge looked back as he climbed tlie hill, 
And saw Maud Muller standing still : 

" A form more fair, a face more sweet, 
Ne'er liath it been my lot to meet. 

"And her modest answer and graceful air 
Show her wise and good as she is fair. 

" Would she were mine, and I to-day, 
Like her, a harvester of hay. 

" No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs. 
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues, 

" But low of cattle, and song of birds. 
And health, and quiet, and loving words." 

But he thought of his si.ster, proud and cold, 
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold. 

So, closing his heart, the judge rode on. 
And Maud was left in the field alone. 

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, 
When ho hummed in court an old love tune; 



306 



rOEJIS OF LOVE. 



And the young girl mused beside the well, 
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. 

He wedded a wife of richest dower, 
Who lived for fashion, as he for power. 

Yet oft, iu his mai-blo hearth's bright glow, 
Ho watched a picture come and go ; 

And sweet Maud MuUor's h.izel eyes 
Looked out in tlieir innocent siu'prise. 

Oft, when the wine in his glass was red. 
He longed for the wayside well instead. 

And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms. 
To dream of meadows and clover blooms; 

And the proud man sighed with a secret pain, 
" Ah, that I were free again ! 

" Free as when I rode that day 

Where the barefoot maiden raked the hay." 

She wedded a man unlearned and poor, 
And many childi-cn played round her door. 

But care and sorrow, and child-birth pain, 
Left their traces on lieart and brain. 

And oft, when the sunnner sun slione hot 
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot, 

And she heard the little spring brook fall 
Over the roadside, through the wall, 

In the shade of the apple-tree again 
She saw a rider draw his rein, 

And, gazing down with a timid grace, 
She felt his pleased eyes read her fiice. 

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls 
Stretched away into stately halls ; 

The weary wheel to a spinnet turned, 
The tallow candle an astral burned ; 

And for him who sat by the chinmey lug. 
Dozing and grimibling o'er pipe and mug. 



A manly form at her side she saw, 
And joy was duty and love was law. 

Then she took up her burden of life again, 
Sajdng only, "It might have been." 

Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, 

For rich repiner and household drudge ! 

God pity them both ! and pity us aU, 
"Who vainly the dreams of youth recall ; 

For of all sad words of tongue or pen. 

The saddest are these : " It might have been ! " 

Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope lies 
Deeply buried from human eyes ; 

And, in the hereafter, angels may 
Roll the stone from its grave away ! 

Jonx Gkeenleaf Whittier. 



AULD ROBIN GRAY. 

WiiEx the sheep are in the fould, and the kye 

at hame. 
And a' !ho warld to sleep are gane; 
The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my 

ee, 
When my gudeman lies sound by me. 

Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and soeht me for 
his bride ; 

But, saving a croun, he had naething else be- 
side. 

To mak that croun a pund, young Jamie gaed 
to sea ; 

And the croun and the pund were baith for 
me ! 

He hadna been awa a week but only twa, 
When my mother she fell sick, and the cow 

was stown awa ; 
My fothcr brak his arm, and young Jamie at 

the sea — 
And auld Robin Gray cam' a-courtin' me. 



BERTUA IN TUE LANE. 



307 



My father cou'dna work, and my mother 

cou'dna spin ; 
I toiled day and nicht, but tlicir bread I 

cou'dna win ; 
iVuld Itolj maintained them baitli, and, wi' 

tears in liis ee. 
Said, " Jenny, for their sakes, oh marry me ! " 



My heart it said nay, for I looked for Jamie 

back ; 
But the wind it blew high, and the ship it 

was a wrack ; 
The ship it was a wrack ! Why didna Jamie 

dee? 
Or, why do I live to say, Wae 's me ? 



My father argued sair — my mother didna 

speak. 
But she lookit in my face till my heart was 

like to break ; 
Sae they gied him my hand, though my heart 

was in the sea; 
And auld Kobin Gray was gudeman to me. 



I hadna been a wife, a week but only four, 
When, sitting sae mournfully at the door, 
I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I cou'dna think 

it he. 
Till he said, " I 'm come back for to marry 

thee!" 



Oh sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did 

we say ; 
We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves 

a\v.ay: 
I wish I were dead, but I 'm no like to dee ; 
And why do I live to say, Wae 's me ? 



I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ; 
I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a 

sin; 
But I '11 do my best a gndo wife to be. 
For auld Eobin Gray is kind unto me. 

Lady Anne Babnaed. 



BERTHA m THE LANE. 

Put the broidery-frame away. 

For my sewing is all done 1 
The last thread is used to-day, 

And I need not join it on. 

Though the clock stands at tlio noon, 

I am weary ! I have sewn, 

Sweet, for thee, a wedding-gown. 

Sister, help me to the bed. 

And stand near me, dearest-sweet! 

Do not shrink nor be afraid, 
Blushing with a sudden heat! 
No one standcth in tlio street! — 
By God's love I go to meet. 
Love I thee with love complete. 

Lean thy face down ! drop it in 
Tliese two hands, tliat I may hold 

'Twist tlieir palms thy cheek and chin. 
Stroking back the curls of gold. 
'T is a fair, fair face, in sooth — 
Larger eyes and redder mouth 
Than mine were in my first youth ! 

Thou art younger by seven years — 
Ah! — so bashful at my gaze 

That the lashes, hung with tears, 
Grow too heavy to upraise ? 
I would wound thee by no touch 
Wliich thy sliyness feels as such — 
Dost thou mind me, dear, so nmch ? 

Have I not been nigh a mother 
To thy sweetness — tell me, dear ? 

Have we not loved one another 
Tenderly, from year to year ? 
Since our dying mother mild 
Said, with accents undefiled, 
" Child, be mother to this child ! " 

Mother, mother, up in heaven, 
Stand up on the jasper sea, 

And be witness I have given 
All the gifts required of me ; — 
Hope that blessed me, bliss tliat crowned, 
Love that left me with a wound. 
Life itself, that turned around ! 



SOS 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Mother, mother, thou art kind. 
Thou art standing in the room, — 

In a molten glory shrined, 
That rays oft" into the gloom I 
But thy smile is bright and bleak, 
Like cold waves — I cannot speak ; 
I sob in it, and grow weak. 

Ghostly mother, keep aloof 

One hour longer from my soul — 

For I still am thinking of 
Earth's warm-beating joy and dole ! 
On my finger is a ring 
"Which I still see glittering, 
AVlien the night hides every thing. 

Little sister, thou art pale ! 

Ah, I have a wandering brain — 
But I lose that fever-bale, 

And my thoughts grow calm again. 

Lean down closer — closer still ! 

I have words thine ear to fill, — 

And would kiss thee at my will. 

Dear, I heard thee in the spring, 
Thee and Robert — through the trees, — 

When we all went gathering 
Boughs of May-bloom for the bees. 
Do not start so ! think instead 
How the sunshine overhead 
Seemed to trickle through the shade. 

What a day it was, that day ! 

HiUs and vales did openly 
Seem to heave and throb away, 

At the sight of the great sky ; 

And the silence, as it stood 

In the glory's golden flood. 

Audibly did bud — and bud! 

Through the winding hedgerows green, 
How we wandered, I and you, — 

With the bowery tops shut in, 
And the gates that showed the view — 
How we talked there ! thrushes soft 
Sang our pauses out, — or oft 
Bleatings took them, from the croft. 

Till the pleasure, grown too strong, 

Left me muter evermore ; 
And, the winding road being long, 

I walked out of sight, before ; 



And so, wrapt in musings fond. 
Issued (past the wayside poud) 
On the meadow-lands beyond. 

I sat down beneath the beech 
Which leans over to the lane, 

And the far sound of your speech 
Did not promise any pain ; 
And I blessed yon, full and free, 
With a smile stooped tenderly 
O'er the May-flowers on my knee. 

But the sound grew into word 
As the speakers drew more near — 

Sweet, forgive me that I heard 
What you wished me not to hear. 
Do not weep so — do not shake — 
Oh, — I heard thee. Bertha, make 
Good true answers for my sake. 

Yes, and he too ! let him stand 

In thy thoughts, untouched by blame. 

Could he help it, if my hand 
He had claimed with hasty claim ! 
That was wrong perhaps — but then 
Such things be — and will, again! 
Women cannot judge for men. 

Had he seen thee, when he sworo 
He would love but me alone ? 

Thou wert absent — sent before 
To our kin in Sidmouth town. 
When he saw thee, who art best 
Past compare, and loveliest, 
He but judged thee as the rest. 

Could we blame him with grave words, 
Thou and I, dear, if we might? 

Thy brown eyes have looks like birds 
Flying straightway to the light; 
Mine are older. — Hush ! — look out — 
Up the street ! Is none without ? 
How the poplar swings about ! 

And that hour — beneath the beech — 
When I listened in a dream, 

And he said, in his deep speech. 
That he owed me all esteem — 
Each word swam in on my brain 
With a dim, dilating pain, 
Till it burst with that last strain — 



BERTHA IN 


THE LANE. ,30y 


I fell flooded with a dark, 


I, like May-bloom on thorn tree — 


In the silence of a swoon — 


Thou, like merry summer-bee ! 


Wlien I rose, still, cold and stark, 


Fit, that I be plucked for thee. 


There was night — I saw the moon : 




And the stars, each in its place, 


Yet who plucks me ? — no one mourns — 


And the May-blooms on the grass, 


I have lived my season out — 


Seemed to wonder what I was. 


And now die of my own thorns, 




Which I could not live without. 


And I walked as if apart 


Sweet, bo merry ! How the light 


From myself when I could stand — 


Comes and goes I If it bo night, 


And I pitied my own heart. 


Keep the candles in my sight. 


As if I held it in my hand — 




Somewhat coldly — with a sense 


Are there footsteps at the door ? 


Of fulfilled benevolence. 


Look out quickly. Yea, or nay 1 


And a " Poor thing " negligence. 


Some one might be waiting for 




Some last word that I might say. 


And I answered coldly too. 


Nay? So best! — So angels would 


When you met me at the door ; 


Stand off clear from deathly road — 


And I only hoard the dew 


Not to cross the sight of God. 


Dripping from me to the floor ; 




And the flowers I bade you see, 


Colder grow my hands and foot — 


Were too withered for the bee — 


When I wear the shroud I made. 


As my life, henceforth, for me. 


Let the folds lie straight and neat, 


Do not weep so — dear — heart- warm ! 


And the rosemary be spread — 


It was best as it befell ! 


That if any friend should come. 




(To see thee, sweet!) all the room 
May bo lifted out of gloom. 


If I say he did me harm, 

I speak wild — I am not well. 


All his words were kind and good — • 
lie esteemed me ! Only blood 




And, dear Bertha, let me keep 


Runs so faint in womanhood. 


On my hand this little ring. 




Which at nights, when others sleep. 


Then I always was too grave — 


I can still see glittering. 


Liked the saddest ballads sung — 


Let me wear it out of sight. 


With that look, besides, we have 


In the grave — where it will light 


In our faces, who die young. 


All the dark up, day and night. 


I had died, dear, all the same — 




Life's long, joyous, jostling game 


On that grave, drop not a tear! 


Is too loud for my meek shame. 


Else, though fathom-deep the place, 




Through the woollen shroud I wear 


We are so unlike each other. 


I shall feel it on my face. 


Thou and I ; that none could guess 


Rather smile there, blessed one. 


Wo were children of one mother, 


Thinking of me in the sun — 


But for mutual tenderness. 


Or forget me — smiling on ! 


Thou art rose-lined from the cold, 




And meant, verily, to hold 


Art thou near me? nearer? so! 


Life's pure pleasures manifold. 


Kiss me close upon the eyes. 




That the earthly light may go 


I am pale as crocus grows 


Sweetly as it used to rise — 


Close beside a rose-tree's root ! 


When I watched tlie morning gray 


Whosoe'er would reach the rose, 


Strike, betwixt the hills, tlie way 


Treads the crocus underfoot — 


He was sure to come that day. 



310 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



So — no more vain words be said ! 
The hosannas nearer roll — 

Mother smile now on thy dead — 
I am death-strong in my soul ! 
Mystic Dove alit on cross, 
Guide the poor bird of the snows 
Through the snow-wind above loss ! 

Jesus, victim, comprehending 
Love's divine self-abnegation — 

Cleanse my love in its self-spending, 
And absorb the poor libation ! 
Wind my thread of life up higher, 
Up through angels' hands of tire! — 
I aspii-e while I cxi)ire! — 

EuzABETn Barrett Browning. 



TRDEN. 



I GIVE thee treasures hour by liour, 
That old-time princes asked in vain, 
And pined for in their useless power, 
Or died of passion's eager pain. 

I give thee love as God gives light. 
Aside from merit, or fro7u prayer, 
Rejoicing in its own delight, 
And freer than the lavish air. 

I give thee prayers, like jewels strung 
On golden threads of hope and fear ; 
And tenderer thoughts than ever hung 
In a sad angel's pitying tear. 

As earth pours freely to the sea 
Her thousand streams of wealth untold, 
So flows my silent life to thee. 
Glad that its very sands are gold. 

Wliat care I for thy carelessness? 
I give from depths that overflow, 
Kegardless that their power to bless 
Thy spirit cannot sound or know. 

Far lingering on a dist.ant dawn 
My triumph shines, more sweet than late ; 
When from tliese mortjil mists withdi'awn, 
Thy heart shall know me — I can wait. 

EosE Terry. 



THE FORSAKEN MERMAN. 

Come, dear children, let us away ! 

Down and away below. 
Now my brothers call from the bay ; 
Now the great winds shore wards blow; 
Now tlie salt tides seaward flow ; 
Now the wild white horses play, 
Champ and chaff and toss in the spray. 

Children dear, let us away ; 
This way, this way. 

Call her once before you go. 

Call once yet. 
In a voice that she will know : 

"Margaret! Margaret!" 
Children's voices should be dear 
(Call once more) to a mother's ear ; 
Children's voices wild with pain. 

Surely, slie will come again. 
Call her once, and come away ; 

This way, this way. 
"Mother dear, we cannot stay," 
The wild white horses foam and fret, 

Margaret ! Margaret ! 

Come, dear children, come away down. 

Call no more. 
One last look at the white-waUed town, 
And the little gray church on the windy shore. 

Then come down. 
She will not come, though you call all day. 

Come away, come away. 

Children dear, was it yesterday 

We heard the sweet bells over the bay ? 
In the caverns where we lay, 
Through the surf and through the swell, 

The far-off sound of a silver bell ? 

Sand-strewn caverns cool and deep, 

Where the winds are all asleep ; 

Where the spent lights quiver and gleam ; 

Where the salt weed sways in the stream ; 

Where the sea-beasts ranged all ai'ound 

Feed in the ooze of their pasture ground ; 

Where the sea-snakes coil and twine, 

Dry their mail, and bask in the brine ; 

Where great whales come sailing by, 

Sail and sail, with mishut eye. 

Round the world forever and aye ? 

When did music come this way ? 
Children dear, was it yesterday ? 



THE FORSAKEN MERMAN. 311 


Children dear, was it yesterday 


Come away, children, call no more. 


(Call }'ct once) that she went away? 


Come away, come down, call no more. 


Once she sat with you and mo, 




On a red gold throne in the heart of the 


Down, down, down, 


sea, 


Down to the depths of the sea; 


And the youngest sat on her knee. 


She sits at her wheel in the humming town 


She combed its bright hair and she tended it 


Singing most joyfully. 


well, 


Hark what she sings ; " Oh joy, oh joy, 


When down swung the sound of the far-off 


For the humming street, and the child with 


bell ; 


its toy. 


She sighed, she looked up through the clear 


For the priest and the bell, and the holy 


groon sea ; 


well, 


She said, "I must go, for my kinsfolk pray 


For the wheel where I spun. 


In the little gray church on the shore to-day. 


And the blessed light of the sun." 


'T will bo Easter-time in the world — ah me ! 


And so she sings her fill. 


And I lose my poor soul, merman, here with 


Singing most j oy fully , 


thee." 


Till the shuttle falls from her hand. 


I said, " Go up, dear heart, through the waves ; 


And the whizzing wheel stands still. 


Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind 


She steals to the window and looks at the 


sea-oaves." 


sand; 


She smiled, she went up through the surf in 


And over the sand at the sea ; 


the bay ; 


And her eyes are set in a stare ; 


Children dear, was it yesterday? 


And anon there breaks a sigh, 




And anon there drops a tear. 


Children dear, were wo long alone ? 


From a sorrow-clouded eye. 


" The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan ; 


And a heart sorrow-laden, 


Long prayers," I said, "in the world they say. 


A long, long sigh, 


Come," I said, and we rose through the surf 


For the cold strange eyes of a little mermaiden, 


in the bay. 


And the gleam of her golden hair. 


We went up the beaoh in the sandy down 




Whore the sea-stocks bloom, to the whito- 


Come away, away, children. 


walled town. 


Come, children, come down. 


Tlirough the narrow-paved streets, where all 


The hoarse wind blows colder ; 


was still, 


Lights shine in the town. 


To the little gray church on the windy hill. 


She will start from her slumber 


From the church came a murmur of folk at 


When gusts shake the door; 


their prayers. 


She will hear the winds howling. 


But we stood without in the cold blowing airs. 


Will hear the waves roar; 


We climbed on the graves, on the stones worn 


We shall see, while alx>ve us 


with rains, 


The waves roai- and whirl, 


And we gazed up the aisle through the small 


A ceiling of amber, 


leaded panes. 


A pavement of peai'l. 


She sat by the pillar ; we saw her clear ; 


Singing, " Here came a mortal. 


" Marg.aret, hist! come quick, we are here. 


But faithless was she. 


Dear heart," I said, "wo are here alone. 


And alone dwell forever 


The sea grows stormy, the little ones 


The kings of the sea." 


moan." 




But ah, she gave me never a look, 


But children, at midnight, 


For her eyes were sealed to the holy book. 


When soft the winds blow, 


" Loud prays the priest ; shut stands the 


When clear falls the moonlight, 


door." 


When spring-tides arc low, 



312 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



When sweet airs come seaward 
From heaths starred with broom, 
And high rocks throw mildly 
On the blanched sands a gloom ; 
Up the still, glistening beaches, 
Up the creeks we will hie ; 
Over banks of liright seaweed 
The ebb-tide leaves dry. 
We will gaze from the sand-hills. 
At the white sleeping town ; 
At the church on the hill-side — 
And then come back, down. 
Singing, '• There dwells a loved one,- 
But cruel is she ; 
She left lonely forever 
The kings of the sea." 

Matthew Aksold. 



EXCUSE. 
I TOO have suffered. Tet I know 
She is not cold, though she seems so; 
She is not cold, she is not light; 
But our ignoble soiils lack might. 

She smiles and smiles, .^nd will not sigh. 
While we for hopeless passion die ; 
Yet she could love, those eyes declare. 
Were but men nobler than they are. 

Eagerly once her gracious ken 
Was turned upon the sons of men ; 
But light the serious visage grew — 
She looked, and smiled, and saw them through. 

Our petty souls, our strutting wits, 
Our labored puny passion-fits — 
Ah, may she scorn them still, till we 
Scorn them as bitterly as slic ! 

Yet oh, that Fate would let her see 
One of some worthier race than we — 
One for whose sake she once might prove 
How deeply she who scorns can love. 

Ilis eyes be like the starry lights — 
Ilis voice like sounds of summer nights — 
In idl his lovely mien let pierce 
The magic of the imiverse ! 

And she to him will reach her hand. 
And gazing in his eyes wQl stand. 
And know her friend, and weep for glee, 
jVnd cry — Long, long I 've looked for thee ! 



Then will she weep— with smiles, till then 
Coldly she mocks the sons of men. 
Till then her lovely eyes maintain 
Their gay, unwavering, deep disdain. 

Mattuew Arxolu, 



INDIFFERENCE. 

I MUST not say that thou wert true. 
Yet let me say that thou wert fair ; 
And they that lovely face who view. 
They will not ask if truth be there. 

Trutb— what is truth ? Two bleeding hearts 
Wounded by men, by fortune tried, 
Outwearied with their lonely parts. 
Vow to beat henceforth side by side. 

The world to them was stern and drear ; 
Their lot was but to weep and moan. 
Ah, let them keep their taith sincere. 
For neither could subsist alone ! 

But souls whom some benignant breath 
Has charmed at birtli from gloom and care, 
These ask no love — these plight no foith. 
For they are happy as they are. 

The world to them may homage make. 

And garlands for tlioir forehead weave; 
And what the world can give, they take — 
But they bring more than they receive. 

They smile upon the world ; their ears 
To one demand alone are coy. 
They will not give us love and teai-s — 
They bring us light, and warmth, and joy. 

It was not love that heaved thy breast. 
Fair child ! it was the bUss within. 
Adieu ! and say that one, at least, 
Was just to what he did not win. 

Mattuew ARNOLDw 



SONG. 



My silks and fine array. 
My smiles and languished air, 

By love are driven away, 
And mom-nfal lean despair 

Brings me yew to deck my grave ; 

Such end true lovers have. 



ALLAN 


PERCY. 813 


His fooe is fair as heaven 


Fear not ! my arm shall 1)oar thee safely back ; 


When springing buds unfold ; 


I need no squu-e, no page witli bended knee, 


Oh, wliy to him was 't given, 


To bear my baby through the wildwood track, 


Who.sc heart is wintry cold? 


Where Allan Percy used to rnam with me. 


His l>ruust is love's all-worsliipped tomb 


Lulhdiy ! 


■\Vhere all love's pilgrims come. 






Here I can sit ; and vvliile tlie livsh wind IjIows, 


Bring mo an axe and spade, 


Waving the ringlets of thy shining hair, 


Bring me a winding-sheet; 


Giving thy clieek a deeper tinge of rose. 


"When I my grave have made, 


I can dream dreams tliat comfort my de- 


Let winds and tempests beat ! 


spair ; 
I can make visions of adillerent liome, 


Then down I '11 lie, as cold as clay, 


True love doth pass away ! 


Such as we hoped in otlier da>s might be; 


William Blakb. 


There no proud earl's unwelcome footsteps 




come — 
There, Allan Percy, I am safe with thee! 




ALLAN PERCY. 


Lullaljy! 


It was a beauteous lady richly dressed ; 


Tliou art mine own — I'll boar tliec where I 


Around her neck are chains of jewels rare ; 


list, 


A velvet mantle shrouds her snowy breast. 


Far from the dull, proud tower and donjun 


And a young child is softly slumbering 


keej) ; 


there. 


From my long hair the pearl cliains i '11 un- 


In her own arms, beneath that glowing sun, 


twist. 


She bears him onward to the greenwood 


And with a peasant's heart sit down and 


tree; 


weep. 


Is the dun heath, thou fair and thoughtless 


Thy glittering broidercd robe, my precious 
one 


one. 
The place where an earl's son should cra- 


Changed for a simpler covering shall be ; 


dled be 2 


And I will dream thee Allan Percy's son. 


Lullaby! 


And think poor Allan guards thy sleep 




with me. 


Though a proud earl be father to my cliild. 


Lullaby! 


Yet on the sward my blessed babe shall lie ; 


Caroline Norton. 


Let the winds lull him with their murmurs 

wild, 
And toss the green bouglis upward to the 

sky. 
Well knows that earl how long my spirit 




CHANGES. 


WrioM first we love, you know, wo seldom 


pined. 


wed. 


I loved a forester, glad, bold, and free ; 


Time rules us all. And life, indeed, is not 


And had I wedded as my heart inclined, 


The thing we jilanned it out ere hope was 


My cliild were cradled 'neath the green- 


dead. 


wood tree. 


And then, we women cannot choose our lot. 


Lullaby. 






Much must be borne which it is hard to bear; 


Slumber thou still, my innocent — mine own, 


Much given away which it wore sweet to 


While I call back the dreams of other days. 


keep. 


In the deep forest I feel less alone 


God help us all ! who need, indeed. His care. 


Tlian wlien those palace splendors mock 


And yet, I know the Shepherd loves His 


my gaze. 


sheep. 



314 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



My little boy begins to babble now 
Upon ray knee bis earliest infant prayer. 
He has his father's eager eyes, I know ; 
And, they say, too, his mother's sunny hair. 

lint when he sleeps and smiles upon my knee, 
iVnd I can feel his light breath come and go, 
I tliink of one (Heaven help and pity me!) 
Who loved me, and whom I loved, long ago ; 

Who might have been . . . a!i, what I dare 

not think ! 
We are all changed. God judges for us best. 
God help us do our duty, and not shrink. 
And trust in Heaven humbly for the rest. 

But blame us women not, if some appear 
Too cold at times ; and some too gay and light. 
Some griefs gnaw deep. Some woes are hard 

to bear. 
Who knows the past? and who can judge us 

right? 

Ah, were we judged by what we might have 

been, 
And not by what we are — too apt to fall ! 
My little child — he sleeps and smiles between 
These thoughts and me. In heaven we shall 

know all! 

EOBEHT ButWER LTTTON. 



FLOEEJTCE VANE. 

I LOVED thee long and dearly, 

riorence Vane; 
My life's bright dream and early 

Hath come again ; 
I renew, in my fond vision. 

My heart's dear pain — 
My hopes, and thy derision, 

Florence Vane. 

The ruin, lone and hoary. 

The ruin old, 
Where thou didst hark my story. 

At even told — 
That spot — the hues Elysian 

Of sky and plain — 
I treasure in my vision, 

JTlorence Vane. 



Thou wast lovelier than the roses 

In their prime ; 
Thy voice excelled the closes 

Of sweetest rhyme ; 
Thy heart was as a river 

Without a main. 
Would I had loved thee never, 

Florence Vane ! 

But, fairest, coldest wonder ! 

Thy glorious clay 
Lieth the green sod under — 

Alas, the day ! 
And it boots not to remember 

Thy disdain. 
To quicken love's pale ember, 

Florence Vane. 

The lUies of the valley 

By young graves weep ; 
The daisies love to dally 

Where maidens sleep. 
May their bloom, in beauty vying, 

Never wane 
Where thine earthly part is lying, 

Florence Vane ! 

PniLip Pendleton CooKa 



MINSTREL'S SONG. 

On, sing unto my roundelay ! 

Oh, drop the briny tear with me ! 
Dance no more at holiday; 
Like a running river be. 
My love is dead, 
Oone to hkdeatli led, 
All under the willow tree. 

Black his liair as the winter night, 

White his neck as the summer snow, 
Ruddy his foce as the morning light ; 
Cold he lies in the grave below. 
My love is dead, 
Oone to his death led, 
All vnder the willow tree. 

Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note ; 
Quick in dance as thought can be ; 



ANNABEL LE.E. 315 


Deft his tabor, cudgel stout ; 




Oh, he lies by the willow-tree ! 


ANNABEL LEE. 


My lore u dead, 




Gone to his death led. 


It was many and many a year ago, 


All under the willow tree. 


In a kingdom by the sea. 




That a maiden lived, whom you may know 


Ilark ! the raven flaps his wing 


By the name of Annabel Lee ; 


In the briered dell below ; 


And this maiden she lived witli no other 


Hark ! the death-owl loud doth sing 


tliought 


To the nightmares as they go. 


Than to love, and be loved by me. 


My love is dead, 




Gone to Jiis death bed, 


I was a child and she was a child. 


All uiuler the willow tree. 


In this kingdom by the sea ; 




But we loved with a love that was more than 


See ! the white moon shines on high ; 


love, 


"Whiter is my true-love's shroud, 


I and my Annabel Lee — 


Whiter than the morning sky, 


With a love that the winged seraplis of 


Whiter than the evening cloud. 


heaven 


My love is dead, 


Coveted her and me. 


Gone to his death bed, 




All under the loillow tree. 


And this was the reason that, long ago, 




In this kingdom by the sea. 


Here, upon my true-love's grave 


A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 


Shall the barren flowers he laid, 


My beautiful Annabel Lee; 


Nor one holy saint to save 


So that her high-horn kinsmen came, 


All the coldness of a maid. 


And bore her away from me, 


My lone is dead. 


To shut her up in a sepulchre, 


Gone to his death led. 


In this kingdom by the sea. 


All under the willow tree. 






The angels, not so happy in heaven, 


With my hands I '11 bind the briers 


Went envying her and me. 


Round his holy corse to gre ; 


Yes ! that was the reason (as all men know) 


Ouphaut fairy, light your fires; 
Here ray body still shall be. 


In tliis kingdom by the sea, 
That the wind came out of the cloud by 
night, 
Cliilling and killing my Annabel Leo. 


My love is dead, 
Gone to his death led. 


All under the willow tree. 


But our love it was stronger by far than the 




love 


Come, with acorn-cup and tliorn, 


Of those who were older than we. 


Drain my heart's blood away ; 


Of many far wiser than we ; 


Life and all its good I scorn. 


And neither the angels in heaven alx)ve, 


Dance by night, or feast by day. 


Nor the demons down under the sea, 


My love is dead, 


Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 


Gone to his death led. 


Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 


All under the willow tree. 






For the moon never beams without bringing 


Water-witches, crowned with rcytes, 


me dreams 


Bear me to your lethal tide. 


Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, 


I die ! I come ! my true love waits. 


And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright 


Thus the damsel spake, and died. 


eyes 


Thomas Cuatteeton. 


Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 



816 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



And so, nil tho night-tide I lio down by the 

side 
Of my darlinfr, my dai-ling, my lifo, and my 
bride, 
In her sopulclire there by the sea. 
In her tomb by tho sounding sea. 

KuoAU Allan Poe. 



EVELYN HOPE. 

Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead ! 

Sit and watch liy her side an lionr. 
That is her book-shelf, this her bed; 

She plucked that piece of geranium-flower. 
Beginning to die, too, in the glass. 

Little has yet been changed, I think ; 
Tlie shutters arc shut — no light nuiy pass, 

Save two long rays thro' the hinge's chink. 

Sixteen years old when she died 1 

I'crhaps she bad scarcely beard my name — 
It was not her time to lo\'0 ; beside, 

lier life hud many a hope and aim. 
Duties enough and little cai'cs ; 

And now was quiet, now astir — 
Till God's band beckoned unawares. 

And tlie sweet white brow is all of her. 

Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope? 

AVbat! your soul was pure and true; 
The good stars met in your horoscope. 

Made you of sjjirit, lire and dew ; 
And just because I was thrice as old. 

And our patlis in the world diverged so 
wide, 
Each was naught to each, nmst I be told ? 

Wo were fellow-mortals — naiight beside ? 

No, indeed! for God above 

Is great to grant, as mighty to make. 
And creates tho love to reward the love; 

1 claim yon still, for my own love's sake ! 
Delayed, it may be, for more lives yet. 

Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few; 
Much is to learn and much to forget 

Ere the time bo come for taking you. 

But the time will come — at last it will — 
When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I shall 
say, 

In the lower earth — in. the years long still — 
That body and soul so gay ? 



Why your hair was amber I shall divine, 
And your mouth of yonr own geranium's 
red — 

And what you would do with me, in fine. 
In the new life come in the old one's stead. 

I have lived, I shall say, so much since then. 

Given up myself so many times. 
Gained mo the gains of various men. 

Ransacked the ages, spoiled tho climes; 
Yet one thing — one — in my soul's full scope. 

Either I missed or itself missed me— 
And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope! 

What is the issue? let us see ! 

I loved you Evelyn, all the while; 

My heart seemed full as it could hold — 
There was place and to spare for the frank 
young smile 
And the red young mouth and the hair's 
young gold. 
So, hush! I will give you this leaf to keep ; 
See, I shut it inside the svreet, cold band. 
There, that is our secret ! go to sleep ; 
You will wake, ami remember, and under- 
stand. 

I'.ORERT Browning. 



HIGHLAND MARY. 

Ye banks, and braes, and streams ai'ound 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your floods, and fair your flowers, 

Your waters never drumlio ! 
There simmer first unlaid her robes 

And there she langest tai'ry ! 
For there I took the last farewcel 

C my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk I 

How rich tlio hawthorn's blossom I 
As underneath their fragrant shade 

I chis]ied her to my bosom I 
The golden hours, on angel wings, 

Flow o'er mo and my dearie ; 
For dear to me as light and lifo 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 

Wi' monie a vow and locked embrace 

Our parting was fu' tender ; 
Aitd jiledging aft to moot again, 

We tore ourselves asunder ; 



AUX ITALIENS. 



311 



Diit, oh ! fell death's untimely frost, 

Tliat nipt ray flower sac early ! 
Now green 's tlio sod, and cauld 's the clay, 

Tliat wraps my Highland Mary! 

(_)li pale, pale now, tlioso I'osy lips 

1 aft Iiae kissed sao fondly ! 
And closed ior aye tlio sparkling glance 

Tliat dwelt on me sae kindly! 
And inould'ring now in silent dust 

That heart that lo'ed mo dearly! 
But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live niy Highland Mary. 

ItoIil'.KT BuENfi. 



TO MAEY m HEAVEN. 

TnoTT lingering star, witli less'ning ray, 

That lov'st to greet tlio early morn, 
Again thou usherest in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary ! dear, departed shade ! 

Where is thy jilace of Uissful I'est? 
Seest tliou tliy lover lowly laid? 

llear'st thou the groans that rend his 
breast ? 

That sacred liour can I forget, 

Can I forget the Iiallowed grove, 
Where by the winding Ayr we met, 

To live one day of parting love? 
Eternity will not efface, 

Tlioso records dear of transports past — 
Tliy imago at our last embrace ! 

Ah I little thought we 't was our last ! 

Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, 

O'crhnng witli wild woods, thickening, 
green ; 
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar. 

Twined amorous round the raptured scene. 
The flowers sfirang wanton to he prest, 

The birds sang love on every spray, 
Till too, too soon, the glowing west 

Proclaimed the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes. 
And fondly broods with miser care ; 

Time but th' impression deeper makes, 
As streams their channels deeper wear. 



My Mary ! dear, departed shade I 
Where is thy place of blissful rest? 

Seest thou tliy lover lowly laid? 
Hear'st thou the groans that rend his 
breast ? 



AUX ITALIENS. 

At Paris it was, at the opera tlicre ; 

And she looked like a quoon in a book that 
night. 
With the wreath of pearl in her raven hair, 

And the hrooi:li on her breast so bright. 

Of all the operas that Verdi wrote. 

The best, to my taste, is the Trovatorc ; 

And Mario can soothe, with a tenor note, 
Tlic souls in purgatory. 

The moon on the tower slept soft as snow ; 
And who was not thrilled in the strangest 
way, 
As we heard him sing, wliilo tho gas burned 
low, 
" JVo» ti scordar di me?" 

The emperor there, in his bo.x of state. 
Looked grave ; as if he had just then seen 

The red flag wave from the city gate. 
Where his eagles in bronze had been. 

The empress, too, had a tear in her eye : 
You 'd have said that her fancy had gone 
back again. 

For one moment, under the old blue sky, 
To tho old glail life in Spain. 

Well 1 there in our front row ho.t we sat. 
Together, ray bride betrothed and I ; 

My gaze v/as fixed on my opera liat. 
And hers on tlie stage hard by. 

And both were silent, and both wore sad ; — 
Like a queen she leaned (;ii her full white 
arm. 

With that regal, indolent air she Iiad; 
So confident of her charm ! 



818 



POKMS OF LOVE. 



I have not a doubt slie was thiukiiig then 
V( lier Ibrmer lord, good soul that ho was, 

^\'lio died tho richest aud roundest of men. 
The Marquis ofOarabas. 

1 hope that, to get to tlie kiiigilom of heaven. 
Through a needle's eve he had not to pass; 

1 wish him well, for the jointure given 
To my lady of Carabas. 

Meanwhile, 1 was thinking of ray lirst love, 

As 1 had not been thinking of anght for 
years ; 
Till over uiy eyes there began to niovo 
Something that felt like tears. 

I thought of the dress that she wore last time, 
AVheu we stood, 'ueatli tho cypress ti'ees 
together. 

In that lost laud, in tluit soft clime. 
In tlie crimson evening weather ; 

Of that muslin dross (for the eve was hot) ; 

And her warm white neck in its golden 
chain ; 
And lier full, soft hair. Just tied in a knot, 

And falling loose again; 

,\nd I he jasmine llower in her fair young 
breast ; 
(Oil the faint, sweet smell of that jasmine 
llower!) 
And the one bird singing alone to his nest; 
And the one star over the tower. 

1 thought of our little quarrels and strife, 
And tho letter that brought nio back my 
ring ; 

And it idl seemed then, in the waste of life, 
Such a very little thing! 

For I thought of her grave below the hill, 
Which the sentinel cypress tree stjuids over ; 

And 1 thought, " Were she only living still, 
How 1 could forgive her and love her! "' 

Aud 1 swear, as I thought of her thus, in that 
hour, 

.iVnd of how, after .all, old things are best, 
That I smelt the smell of that jasmine flower 

"Which she used to wear in her breast. 



It smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet, 
It made me creep, and it made me cold ! 

Like tho scout that steals from tho crumbling 
sheet 
Where a nunnniy is half imrolled. 

And I turned, aud looked : she was sitting 
there. 

In a dim box over the stage; and drest 
In that nuislin dross, witli that full, soft hair. 

And that jasmine in her breast I 

I was here, and she was there ; 

And the glitterhig horse shoo curved be- 
tween: — 
From my bride hetrotlied, with her raven 
hair 
And her sumptuous, scornful mien. 

To my early love, with her eyes downcast, 
And over her prinwose face the shade, 

(In short, from the future back to tho past) 
There was but a step to be made. 

To my early love from my future bride 
Chie moment I looked. Then I stole to the 
door, 
I traversed the passage; and down at her 
side 
I was sitting, a moment more. 

My thinking other, or the music's strain, 
(h- something which never will bo exprest. 

Had brought her back from the grave again, 
Witli the jasmine in her breast. 

She is not dead, and she is not wed ! 
IJut she loves me now, and she loved me 
then 1 
And the very first word that her sweet lips 
sai<l, 
tdy heart grew youtht'ul again. 

Tho marchioness there, of Carabas, 

She is wealthy, and young, and handsome 
still; 

And but for her . . . well, we'll let that pass ; 
She may marry whomever she will. 

Hut I will nuirry my own first love. 

With her primrose face, for old things are 
best ; 



LAODAMIA. 



319 



Anil tlio ilowcr in her bosom, I prize it iiliovo 
Tlio liroocli in my lady's liroiwt. 

Tlio world is fdlcd with folly and sin, 
And lovo must ding wlicro it can, I say : 

For beauty is easy ciiougli to win ; 
But ono is n't loved every day. 

And I tbink, in the lives of most women and 
men, 
Tiicro's a moment when all would go 
smooth and even, 
If only the dead could fin<l out when 
To come back and bo forgiven. 

But oh the smell of that jasmine flower! 

And oh that nmsie! and oh the way 
That voice rang out from the donjon tower, 

Non ti scordar di me, 
Non ti scordar di me ! 

ItOIIERT BULWER LyTTON. 



TOO LATE. 

" DowglaB, Dowglon, tondir and trou." 

OouLi) yo come liack to mo, Douglas, Douglas, 
In the old likeness that I knew, 

I would bo so faithful, so loving, Douglas, 
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. 

Never a scornful word should grieve ye, 
I 'd smile on yc sweet as the angola do ; — 

Sweet as your smile on me sliono ever, 
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. 

Oh, to call back the days that ore not I 

My eyes were blinded, your words wore few: 

Do you know the trutli now, up in lieaven, 
Douglas, Douglas, ten<ler and true ? 

I never was worthy of you, Douglas; 

Not half wortliy tlic like of you : 
Now all men beside seem to mo like shadows — 

I lovo you, Douglas, tender and true. 

Rtrctcl] out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas, 
Droj) forgiveness from heaven liko dew; 

As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Dou- 
glas, 
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true ! 

Dinah Mauia MtaocK. 



LAODAMIA. 

" Wrni sacrifice, before tho rising inoiMi, 

Vows Iiavo I made by fruitless hope inspired ; 

And from th' infernal gods, 'mid sliades for- 
lorn 

Of night, my slaughtered lord Imvo I re- 
quired ; 

Celestial iiity I again implore; — 

Restore him to my siglit — great .(ove, restore I " 

So speaking, and by fervent lovo endowed 
With faith, the suppliant lieavenward lifts 

her hands; 
While, like tho sun emerging frotn a chjud, 
Ilor countenance briglitcns and her eye ex- 
pands ; 
Ilcr bosom hottvcs and spreads, her stature 

grows ; 
And sho expects the issue in repose. 

Oh ton-or ! what hath she perceived ? — oh joy b 
Wliat doth she look on? — whom dotli slie be- 
hold ? 
Her hero shun upon tiie heach cjf Troy ? 
Ills vital presence? his corporeal mould? 
It is — if sense deceive her not — 't is he ! 
And u god leads him — winged Mercury 1 

Mild llerrnes spake — and toudied her with 
his wand 

Tliat calms all fear : " Snch grace hath crown- 
ed thy prayer, 

Laodamia! that at Jove's connninid 

Thy husband walks tho paths of upper air; 

He comes to tarry with tlieo tliree liours' 
si)ace ; 

Accejit tlie gift, Iji'bold Ijim face to facol " 

Fortli sprang (lie impassioned queen her lord 

to elasj) ; 
Again that consummation she essayed ; 
But unsubstantial form eludes her grasp 
As often as that eager grasp was made. 
The phantom parts — but parts to rellnite. 
And reiissnme liis place before her sight. 

" Protesilaua, lo ! thy guide is gone 1 
Confirm, I pray, tlio vision with thy voice: 
Tliis is our jialace, — yonder is thy throne; 
Speak ! and the floor thou tread'st on will re- 
joice. 



320 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Not to appal me have the gods bestowed 
This precious boon, and blest a sad abode." 

" Great Jove, Laodainia, doth not leave 
Ilis gifts imperfect : — spectre though I be, 
I am not sent to scare thee or deceive ; 
But in reward of thy fidelity. 
And something also did my worth obtain ; 
For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain. 

"Tliou know'st, the Delphic oracle foretold 
That the first Greek who touched the Trojan 

strand 
Should die ; but me the threat could not 

withhold — 
A generous cause a victim did demand ; 
And forth I leapt upon the sandy plain ; 
A self-devoted chief, by Hector slain." 

" Supreme of hei'oes ! bravest, noblest, best 1 
Thy matchless com-age I bewaU no more, 
Which then, when tens of thoosands were 

deprest 
By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore; 
Thou found'st — and I forgive thee — here thou 

art— 
A nobler counsellor than my poor heart. 

" But thou, though capable of sternest deed, 
Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave ; 
And he whose power restores thee hath de- 
creed 
Tliou shouldst elude the malice of the grave ; 
Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair 
As when their breath enriched Thessalian air. 

" No spectre greets me, — no vain shadow 

this; 
Come, blooming hero, place thee by my side! 
Give, on this well-known couch, one nuptial 

kiss 
To me, this day a second time thy liride ! " 
Jove frowned in heaven ; the conscious Parcis 

threw 
Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue. 

" This visage tells thee that my doom is past ; 
Nor should the change be mourned, even if 

the joys 
Of sense were able to return as fiist 
And surely as they vanish. Earth destroys 
Those raptures duly— Erebus disdains; 
Calm pleasures there abide — majestic pains. 



" Be taught, O faithful consort, to control 
Eebelhous passion : for tlie gods approve 
The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul ; 
A fervent, not ungovernable, love. 
Thy transports moderate ; and meekly mourn 
When I depart, for brief is my sojourn — " 

"Ah, wherefore? — Did not Hercules by force 
Wrest from the guardian monster of the tomb 
Alcestis, a reanimated corse. 
Given back to dwell on earth in vernal 

bloom ? 
Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years. 
And jEson stood a youth 'mid youthful peers. 

" The gods to us are merciful, and they 
Yet further may relent ; for mightier far 
Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the 

sway 
Of magic potent over sun and star. 
Is love, tliough oft to agony distrest. 
And though his favorite seat be feeble wo- 
man's breast. 

" But if thou goest, I follow—" " Peace ! " 

lie said; — 
She looked upon him and was calmed and 

cheered ; 
The ghastly color from his lips had fled ; 
In his deportment, shape, and mien appeared 
Elysian beauty, melancholy grace. 
Brought from a pensive, though a hai)py 

place. 

He spake of love, such love as spirits feel 
In worlds whose course is equable and pure ; 
No fears to beat away — no strife to heal — 
The past unsighed for, and the future sure ; 
Spake of heroic arts in graver mood 
Revived, with finer harmony pursued ; 

Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there 
In happier beauty ; more pellucid streams, 
An ampler ether, a di\ine air, 
And fields invested with pnrpureal gleams ; 
Climes wliich the sun, who sheds the brightest 

day 
Earth knows, is all unworthy to siu-vey. 

Yet there the soul shall enter which hath 

earned 
That privilege by virtue. — " 111," said he. 



LOVE'S LAST MESSAGES. 



321 



" The eod of man's existence I discerned, 
Who from ignoble games and revelry 
Could draw, when we had parted, vain de- 
light, 
AVhUe tears were thy best pastime, day and 
night; 

''And while my youthful peers before my 

eyes 
(Each hero following his peculiar bent) 
Prepared themselves for glorious enterprise 
By martial sports, — or, seated in the tent. 
Chieftains and kings in council were de- 
tained, 
What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained. 

" The wished-for wind was given ; — I then 

revolved 
The oracle, upon the silent sea ; 
And, if no wortliier led the way, resolved 
That, of a thousand vessels, mine should be 
The foremost prow in pressing to the strand — 
Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan 
sand. 

" Yet bitter, ofttimes bitter, was the pang 
When of thy loss I thought, beloved wife ! 
On thee too fondly did my memory hang. 
And on the joys we shared in mortal life — 
The paths which we had trod — these foun- 
tains, flowers— 
My new-planned cities, and unfinished towers. 

" But should suspense permit the foe to cry, 
'Behold they tremble! — haughty their array. 
Yet of tlieir number no one dares to die ? ' 
In soul I swept th' indignity away. 
Old frailties then recurred ; — but lofty thought. 
In act embodied, my deliverance wrought. 

"And thou, though strong in love, art all 
too weak 

In reason, in self-government too slow ; 

I counsel thee by fortitude to seek 

Our blest reunion in the shades below. 

The invisible world with thee hath sympa- 
thized ; 

Be thy affections raised and solemnized. 

" Learn, by a mortal yearning, to ascend, — 
Seeking a higlier object. Love was given, 
22 



Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end ; 
For this the passion to excess was driven, — 
That self might be annulled — her bondage 

prove 
The fetters of a dream, opposed to love." 

Aloud she shrieked ! for Hermes reappears ! 
Bound the dear shade she would have clung, 

— 't is vain ; 
The hours are past, — too brief had they been 

years; 
And him no mortal effort can detain. 
Swift, toward the realms that know not 

earthly day. 
He through the portal takes his silent way. 
And on the palace floor a lifeless corso she 

lay. 

Thus, aU in vain exhorted and reproved. 
She perished ; and, as for wilful crime, 
By the just gods, whom no weak pity moved. 
Was doomed to wear out her appointed time, 
Apart from happy ghosts, that gather flowers 
Of blissful quiet 'mid tinfading bowers. 

— Yet tears to human suflfering are due; 
And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown 
Arc mourned by man, and not by man alone, 
As fondly he beUeves. — Upon the side 
Of Hellespont (such faith was entertained) 
A knot of spiry trees for ages grew 
From out the tomb of him for whom slie 

died ; 
And ever, when such stature they had gained 
That Ilium's walls were subject to their view. 
The trees' tall summits withered at the sight ; 
A constant interchange of growth and blight ! 
William WoRDSwoRTn. 



LOVE'S LAST MESSAGES. 

Merrt, merry little stream, 
Tell me, hast thou seen my dear ? 

I left him with an azure di-eam, 
Calmly sleeping on his bier — 
But he has fled ! 

"I passed liira in his church-yard bed- 
A yew is sighing o'er his head. 
And grass-roots mingle with his hair." 
What doth he there? 



822 POEMS OF LOVE. 


Oh cruel ! can he lie alone ? 


Of her, who lived so free from taint, 


Or in the arms of one more deal' ? 


So virtuous deemed by all — 


Or hides he in the bower of stone, 


That in herself was so complete. 


To cause and kiss away my fear? 


I think that she was ta'en 


" He doth not sjieak, he doth not moan — 
lilind, motionless he lies alone ; 
But, ere the grave-snake tieshed his sting, 
This one warm tear he bade me bring 


By God to deck His paradise, 

And with His saints to reign; 
Whom, while on earth, each one did prize, 
The fairest thing in mortal eyes. 


And lay it at thy feet 
Among the daisies sweet." 


But naught our tears avail, or cries ; 
AU soon or late in death shall sleep ; 


Moonlight whisp'rer, summer au-, 
Songster of the groves above, 


Nor living wight long time may keep 
The fairest thing in mortal eyes. 

Charles Duke of Oeleaxs. (French.) 


Tell the maiden rose I wear 


Translatiou of Hesbj Fkanois Cabt. 


■\Vhether thou hast seen my love. 
"This night in heaven I saw him lie, 






Discontented with his bliss ; 


THE BUPJAI. OF LOVK 


And on my lips he left this kiss, 
For thee to taste and then to die." 

TllOM.18 LOTELL BeBDOSS. 


Two dark-eyed maids, at shut of day, 

Sat where a river rolled away. 

With calm, sad brows and raven hair ; 




And one was pale and both were fair. 

Bring flowers, they sang, bring flowers un- 
blown ; 
Bring forest blooms of name unknown; 


THE FiUEEST THING IN MORTAL 
EYES. 


To make my lady's obsequies 


Bring budding sprays from wood and wild. 


My love a minster wrought, 


To strew the bier of Love, the child. 


And, in the chantry, service there 
Was sung by dolefid thought ; 

The tapers were of bm-ning sighs, 
That light and odor gave ; 

^Vnd sorrows, painted o'er with teai's. 


Close softly, fondly, wliile ye weep. 
His e3'es, that death may seem like sleep : 
And fold his hands in sign of rest, , 
His waxen hands, across his breast. 


Enlumined her grave ; 
And round about, in quaintest guise, 
Was carved : " Within this tomb there lies 
The fairest thing in mortal eyes." 


And make his grave where violets hide. 
Where stai'-flowers strew the rivulet's side, 
And blue-birds, in the misty spring. 
Of cloudless skies and summer sing. 


Above her lieth spread a tomb 
Of gold and sapphires blue: 
The gold doth show her blessedness, 


Place near him, aa yo lay him low, 
His idle shafts, his loosened bow. 
The silken tillet tbat ai'ound 


The sapphires mark her true ; 
For blessedness and truth in her 


His waggish eyes in sport he wound. 


Were livelily portrayed. 


But we sh.nll mourn him long, and miss 


When gracious God with both His hands 


His ready smile, his ready kiss. 


Her goodly substance made. 


The i>attcr of his little feet, 


He framed her in such wondrous wise. 


Sweet frowns and stammered phrases sweet- 


She was, to speak without disguise. 
The fairest tiling in mortal eyes. 


And graver looks, serene and high, 
A light of heaven in that young eye : 


No more, no more ! my heart doth taint 


All these shall haunt us till the heai't 


When I the life recall 


Shall ache and ache — and teai-s will start. 



WINIFREDA. 



323 



Tlio bow, the band, sliall fall to dust; 
The Khiuing arrows waste with rust ; 
Auu all of Lovo that earth can claim, 
Bo but a memory and a name. 

Not thus his nobler part shall dwell, 
A prisoner in this narrow cell ; 
Hut ho whom now we hide from men 
In the dark ground, shall live again — 

Shall break these clods, a form of liglit. 
With nobler mien and purctr sight. 
And in th' eternal glory stand. 
Highest and nearest God's right liand. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



LOVE NOT. 

Love not, love not! ye hapless sons of clay I 
ITope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly 

flowers — 
Things that are made to fade and fall away 
Ere they have blossomed for a few short hours. 
Love not I 

Love not ! the thing ye love may change ; 
The rosy lip may cease to smile on you, 
The kindly-beaming eye grow cold and strange, 
The heart still warmly beat, yet not bo true. 
Love not ! 

Love not I the thing you love may die — 
May perish from the gay and gladsome earth ; 
The silent stars, the blue and smiling sky, 
Beam o'er its grave, a.s once upon its birth. 
Love not ! 

Lovo not! oh warning vainly said 
In present hours as in years gone by ; 
Love flings a halo round the dear ones' head, 
Faultless, immortal, till they change or die. 
Lovo not ! 

Caroline Norton. 



SONNET. 

The doubt which ye mi.sdeem, foir lovo, is 
vain. 
That fondly fear to lose your liberty; 
When, losing one, two liberties ye gain. 
And make him bound that bondage erst 
did fly. 



Sweet be the bands, the which truo love dotli 
tye 
Without constraint, or dread of any ill: 
The gentle bird feels no cai)ti\'ity 

Within her cage; but sings aii<l feuds her 
till; 
There pride dare not apiiroacli, nor discord 
sjiiU 
The league 'twi.\t them, that loyal lovo hath 
bound ; 
But simple truth, and mutual good-will, 
Seeks, with sweet peace, to salvo each 
other's wound ; 
There faith doth fearless dwell in lirazen 

tower, 
And spotless pleasure builds her sacred bower. 
Edmund SpENsnit, 



WINIFREDA. 

Away ! let naught to love displeasing. 
My Winifreda, move your care ; 

Let naught delay the heavenly blessing. 
Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear. 

What though no grants of I'oyal donors 
VVitli pompous titles grace our blood ; 

Wo '11 shine in more substantial honors. 
And to be noble wo '11 bo good. 

Our name, while virtue thus we tender. 
Will sweetly sound where'er 't is spoke : 

And all the great ones, they shall wonder 
IIow they respect such little folk. 

What though from fortune's lavish bounty 

No mighty treasures we possess; 
We'll find within our pittance plenty. 
And be content without excess. 

Still shall each kind returning season 

Sufticient for our wishes give; 
For we will live a life of reason, 

And that's the only life to live. 

Through youth and age in lovo excelling, 
We'll hand in han<l together tread; 

Swoet-smilingpeaco shall crown our dwelling, 
And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed. 

How should I love the pretty creatures, 
Wliile 'round my knees they Jbiidly clung, 

To see them look their mother's features, 
To hear them lisp their mother's tongue! 



324 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



And when witli envy, time, transported. 
Shall tliink to rob us of our joys. 

You '11 in your girls again be courted, 
And I '11 go a-wooing in my boys. 

Anonymous. 



SONG. 



Gather ye rose-buds as ye may. 

Old Time is still a-flying ; 
And this same flower that smiles to-day 

To-morrow will be dying. 

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, 

The higher he 's a-getting, 
The sooner will his race be run, 

And nearer he 's to setting. 

The age is best which is the first, 
"When youth and blood are warmer; 

But being spent, the worse and worst 
Time still succeed the former. 

Then bo not coy, but use your time, 
And while ye may, go marry ; 

For having lost but once your prime. 
You may for ever tarry. 

Robert IIerrick. 



BRID^VL SONG. 

To the sound of timbrels sweet 
Moving slow our solemn feet. 
We have borne thee on the road 
To the virgin's blest abode ; 
With thy yellow torches gleaming. 
And thy scarlet mantle streaming. 
And the canopy above 
Swaying as we slowly move. 

Thou hast left the joyous feast. 
And the mirth and wine have ceased ; 
And uow we set thee down before 
The je;ilously-uuclosing door. 
That the favored youth admits 
Where the veiled virgin sits 
In the bliss of maiden fear. 
Waiting om- soft tread to iiear, 
And the music's brisker din 
At the bridegroom's entering in. 
Entering in, a welcome guest. 
To the chamber of his rest. 

Henuy Haet Milman. 



EPITIIALiVMION. 



Y'e learned sisters, which have oftentimes 
Beene to the aydmg others to adorne, 
Whom ye thought worthy of your gracefid 

rymes. 
That even the greatest did not greatly scorno 
To heare thejT names sung in your simple 

lays. 
But joyed in theyi- praise ; 
And when ye list your own mishaps to 

mourne, 
Which death, or love, or fortune's wreck did 

rayse, 
Y'our string could soone to sadder tenor 

turne, 
And teach the woods and waters to lament 
Y'our doleful dreriment ; 
Now lay "those sorrowfuU complaints aside; 
And, having all your heads with girlands 

crowned, 
Helpe me mine owne love's prayses to re- 

soxmd, 
Ne let the same of any be envide. 
So Orpheus did for his owne bride ; 
So I unto my selfe alone will sing ; 
The woods shall to me answer, and my echo 

ring. 

Early, before the world's light-giving lampe 
His golden beame upon the hils doth spred, 
Having disperst the night's uncheerfull 

dampe. 
Doe ye awake ; and with fresh lustyhed 
Go to the bowre of my beloved love. 
My truest turtle dove ; 
Bid her awake ; for Hymen is awake. 
And long since ready forth his maske to 

move, 
With his bright torch that flames with many 

a flake, 
Ajid many a bachelor to waite on him, 
In theyr fresh garments trim. 
Bid her awake therefore, and soone her dight ; 
For loc! the wished day is come at last. 
That shall, for all the paynes and sorrowes 

past, 
Pay to her usury of long delight ! 
And, whylest she doth her dight. 



EPITHALAMION. 



Doo ye to her of joy and solace siag, 
That all the woods may answer, and your 
echo ring. 

Bring witli you all the nymphes that you can 

lieare, 
Both of the rivers and the forests greene, 
And of the !?ea that neighbours to her neare; 
AU with gay girlands goodly w'el beseene. 
And let them also with them bring in hand 
Another gay girland, 
For my fViyre love, of lillyes and of roses. 
Bound, true-love-wise, with a blue silk 

riband. 
And let them make great store of bridale 

posies ; 
And let them eke bring store of other flow- 
ers, 
To deck the bridale bowers. 
And let the ground whereas her foot shall 

tread. 
For fearo the stones her tender foot should 

wrong, 
Bestrewed with fragrant flowers all along, 
And diapred lyke the discolored mead. 
Which done, doe at her chamber dore awayt, 
For she will waken strayt; 
The whiles do ye this song imto her sing. 
The woods shall to you answer, and your 

echo ring. 

Yo nymphes of MuUa, which with careful! 

heed 
The silver-scaly trouts do tend full well. 
And greedy pikes which used therein to 

feed, 
(Those trouts and pikes all others doe ex- 
cell;) 
And ye, likewise, which keepe the rushy 

lake. 
Where none do fishes take — 
Bynd up the lucks the which hang scattered 

light, 
And in bis waters, which your mirror make, 
Behold your faces as the christall bright. 
That when you come whereas my love doth 

lie 
No blemish she may spie. 
And eke, ye lightfoot mayds, which keepe 

the dore 
Th.at on the hoary mountayne used to towre — 



And the wyldo wolves, which seeke them U: 
devouro. 

With your Steele darts doe chace from com- 
ing neare — 

Be also present here. 

To helpe to decke her, and to help to sing, 

That all the woods may answer, and your 
echo ring. 

Wake now, my love, awake ; for it is time : 
The rosy morne long since left Tithon's bed, 
All ready to her silver coacho to clyme ; 
And Phoebus 'gins to shew his glorious hed. 
Harkl how the cheerfull birds do chaunt 

theyr laies, 
And Carroll of love's praise ! 
The merry larke his mattins sings aloft ; 
The thrush replyes; the mavis descant 

playes ; 
The onzell shrills; the ruddock warbles soft : 
So goodly all agree, with sweet consent. 
To tills daye's merriment. 
Ah ! my deare love, why do ye sleepo tlius 

long? 
When meeter were that ye should now awake, 
T' awayt the comraing of your joyous make ; 
And hearken to the birds' love-learned song. 
The dewy leaves among ! 
For they of joy and pleasance to you sing. 
That all the woods them answer, and theyr 

echo ring. 

My love is now awake out of her dreamo ; 
And her fayre eyes, like stars that dimmed 

w-ero 
With darksome cloud, now shew theyr goodly 

beame, 
More bright than Ilesperus his head doth 

reare. 
Come now, ye damsels, daughters of delight, 
Ilelpe quickly her to dight ! 
But first come, ye fayre houres, which were 

begot 
In Jove's sweet paradise of day and night; 
Which do the seasons of the year allot; 
And all that ever in this world is fayre, 
Do make and still repayre ! 
And ye, three handmayds of the Cyprian 

queene. 
The which do still adorn her beauteous 

pride, 
Ilelpe to adorn my beautifullest bride ; 



32C 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



And, as ye her array, still throw between 
Some graces to be scene ; 
And, as ye used to Venus, to her sing. 
The wliiles the woods shal answer, and your 
echo rina;. 



Now is niy lovo all ready fortli to come — 

Let all the virgins, therefore, well awayt ; 

And ye fresh boys, that tend upon her groome, 

Prei)are yourselves; for he is comming strayt. 

Set all your things in seemely-good ai-ay. 

Fit for so joyfull day — 

The joyfulest day that ever sun did see. 

Fair sun ! shew forth thy favourable ray, 

And let tliy lifull heat not fervent be, 

For fearo of burning her sunshyny face, 

Her beauty to disgrace. 

fayrest Phabus! father of the Muse ! 

If ever I did honour thee aright. 

Or sing the thing that mote thy mindo de- 
light. 

Do not thy servant's simple boone refuse ; 

But let this day, let this one day, be mine ; 

Let all the rest be thine. 

Then I thy soverayne prayeses loud will sing, 

That all the woods shal answer, and theyr 
echo ring. 

Earko ! how the minstrels 'gin to shrill aloud 
Their merry musick that resounds from far — 
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling croud 
That well agree withouten breach or jar. 
But most of all the damzels do delite 
Vlicn they their tymbrels smyte. 
And thereunto do d.aunce and carrol sweet. 
That all the sences they do ravish quite ; 
The whiles the boyes run up and doune the 

street, 
Crying aloud with strong, confused noyce. 
As if it were one voyce : 
Hymen, lo Hymen, Hymen ! they do shout. 
That oven to the heavens theyr shouting 

shrill 
Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill ; 
To which the people standing all abont. 
As in approvance, do tliereto applaud. 
And loud advaunce her land ; 
And evermore they Hymen, Hymen ! sing, 
That all the woods them answer, and theyr 

echo ring. | 



Loe ! where she comes along with portly pace, 
Lyke Phcebe, from her chamber of the east, 
Arysing forth to run her mighty race, 
Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best. 
So well it her beseems that ye would wccne 
Some angell she had beene. 
Her long, loose, yellow locks, lyke golden 

wyre. 
Sprinkled with perle, and perling tlowrea 

atweene. 
Do lyke a golden mantle her attyre ; 
And, being crowned with a girland greeno. 
Seem lyke some mayden queene. 
Her modest eyes, abashed to behold 
So many gazers as on her do stare. 
Upon the lowly ground affixed ai-e ; 
Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold. 
But blush to heare her prayses sung so loud, 
So farre from being proud. 
Nathlesse do yo still loud her prayses sing. 
That all the woods may answer, and your 

echo ring. 

Tell me, ye merchants' daughters, did yo see 
So fayre a creature in your towne before 1 
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she, 
Adornd with beauty's grace and vertue's 

store ? 
Her goodly eyes lyke saphyres shining bright ; 
Her forehead ivory white ; 
Her cheekes lyke apj'les which the sun hath 

rudded ; 
Her lips lyke cherries charming men to byte , 
Her brest lyke to a bowl of cream uncrudded ; 
Her paps lyke lyllies budded ; 
Her snowie necke lyke to a marble towre ; 
And all her body like a pallace fayre, 
Ascending up with many a stately stayro, 
To honor's seat and chastity's sweet bowre. 
Why stand ye still, ye virgins, in amaze 
Upon her so to gaze. 

Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing, 
To which tlio woods did answer, and your 

echo ring ? 

But if ye saw that which no eyes can see. 
The inward beauty of her lively spright, 
Garnisht with heavenly gifts of high degree, 
Much more then would ye wonder at that 
sight, 



EPITIIALAMION. 



n27 



Ami stand astonisht, lyke to those which red 

Medusae's raazeful hed. 

There dwells sweet love, and constant chas- 
tity, 

Unspotted faytli, and comely womanhood. 

Regard of honour, and mild modesty; 

Tliore yertuo raynes as queeno in royal 
throne, 

And giveth lawes alone, 

Tlie wliich the base affections do obey, 

And yeeld theyr services unto her will ; 

Ne tliought of things uncomely ever may 

Tliereto approach, to tempt her mind to ill. 

Had ye once scene these her celestial treas- 
ures, 

And unrevealed pleasures. 

Then would ye wonder, and her prayscs 
sing, 

That all the woods should answer, and your 
echo ring. 

Open the temple gates unto my love ! 
Open them wide, tliat she may enter in ! 
And all the postcs adorno as doth behove, 
And all the pillars dock with girlands trim, 
For to receyve this saynt with lionour dew, 
That commeth in to you ! 
With trembling steps and humble reverence 
She commeth in before th' Almighty's view. 
Of her, ye virgins, learne obedience, — 
AVlien so ye come into those holy places, 
To liumble your proud faces. 
Bring her up to th' higli altar, that she may 
The sacred ceremonies there partake. 
The which do endlesso matrimony make ; 
And let the roaring organs loudly play 
The praises of the Lord in lively notes ; 
The whiles, with hollow throates. 
The choristers the joyous antheme sing. 
That all the woods may answer, and their 
echo ring. 

Behold ! whiles she before tlie altar stands. 
Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes, 
And blesseth her with his two happy hands, 
How the red roses flush np in her cheekes. 
And tlie pure snow with goodly vermill 

stayne. 
Like crimson dyde in grayne: 
That even the angels, which continually 
About the sacred altar do remaine, 



Forget their sorvico and about her tly, 

Ofte peeping in her face, that .seems more 

fay re 
The more they on it stare. 
But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground, 
Are governed with goodly modesty, 
That suffers not one look to glaunco awry 
Which may lot in a little thought unsound. 
Why blush ye, love, to give to mo your hand, 
The pledge of all our band ! 
Sing, ye sweet angels, alleluya sing. 
That all the woods may answer, and your 

echo ring! 

Now all is done: bring homo the bride 

again — 
Bring homo the triumph of our victory; 
Bring home with you the glory of her gaine — 
With joyance bring hor and with jollity. 
Never had man more joyfull day than this. 
Whom heaven would heapo with bliss. 
Make feast tlierol'ore now all this live-long 

day ; 
This day for ever to mo holy is. 
Pom-e out the wine without restraint or stay — 
Poure not by cups, but by the belly-fnll — 
Pouro out to all that wull ! 
And sprinkle all the postes and walls with 

wine. 
That they may sweat and drunken bo withal). 
Crowne ye god Bacchus witli a coronall, 
And Hymen also crowno with wreatiis of 

vine; 
And let the Graces daunco unto the rest, 
For they can do it best ; 
The whiles tlio maydens do theyr carrol 

sing, 
To wliich the woods shall answer, and theyr 

echo ring. 

PJng ye the bells, ye yong men of the towne. 
And leave your wonted labors for this day : 
This day is holy — do ye write it downo. 
That ye for ever it remember may, — 
This day the sun is in his chiefest bight. 
With Barnaby tho bright. 
From whence declining daily by degrees. 
He somewhat loseth of his heat and light. 
When once the Crab behind his back he sees. 
But for this time it ill-ordained was 



328 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



To choose the longest day in all the yeare, 
And shortest night, when longest fitter 

woare ; 
Yet never day so long but late would passe. 
Ring ye the bells, to make it weare away, 
And bonfires make all day ; 
And daunce about them, and .about them sing, 
That all the woods may answer, and your 

echo ring. 

Ah ! when will this long weary day have end. 
And lende me leave to come unto my love ? 
IIow slowly do the houres theyr numbers 

spend ! 
now slowly does sad Time his feathers move ! 
Hast thee, O fayrest planet, to thy home, 
TTithin the westerne foamo; 
Thy tyred steedes long siuce have need of rest. 
Long though it be, at last I see it gloome. 
And the bright evening-star with golden 

crest 
Appeare out of the east. 
Fayre child of beauty! glorious lamp of lovel 
That all the host of heaven in rankes dost 

load, 
And guidest lovers through the night's sad 

dread, 
IIow cherefully thou lookcst from above, 
And secra'st to laugh atweeno thy twinkling 

light. 
As joying in the sight 
Of these glad many, which for joy do sing, 
Tliat all the woods them answer, and their 

echo ring. 

Now cease, ye damsels, your delights fore- 
past ; 
Enough it is that all the day was youres. 
Now day is done, and night is nighing fast ; 
Now bring the bryde into the brydall bowres. 
Tlie night is come, now soon her disarray. 
And in her bed her lay ; 
Lay her in lyllies and in violets ; 
And silken curtains over her display. 
And odourd sheets, and arras coverlets. 
Behold bow goodly my faire love does h'e. 
In proud humility ! 

Like unto Maia, when as Jove her took 
In Tempo, lying on the flowry grass, 
'Twixt sleepe and wake, after she we.ary was, 
■ft'ith bathing in the Acidalian brooke. 



Now it is night — ye damsels may be gone. 
And leave my love alone ; 
And leave likewise your former lay to sing : 
The woods no more shall answer, nor your 
echo ring. 

No(v welcome, night! thou night so long 

expected. 
That long dale's labour doest at last defray. 
And all my cares which crueU love collected, 
lla.st summd in one, and cancelled for aye ! 
Spread thy broad wing over my love and me. 
That no man may us see ; 
And in thy sable mantle us enwrap, 
From feare of perill and foule horror free. 
Let no false ti-oason seeko us to entrap, 
Nor any dread disquiet once annoy 
The safety of our joy ; 
But let the night be c.alme, and quietsome. 
Without tempestuous storms or sad afray : 
Lyke as when Jove with ftiyre Alcmena lay, 
When he begot the great TirjTithiau groome ; 
Or lyke as when he with thy selfe did lye. 
And begot Majesty. 

And let the nuiyds and yongmen cease to sing; 
No let the woods them answer, nor theyr 

echo ring. 

Let no lamenting cryes, iior doleful teares. 
Be heard all night within, nor yet without ; 
Ne lot false whispers, breeding hidden feares, 
Brcake gentle sleepe with misconceived dout. 
Lot no deluding dreanies, nor dreadful sights, 
Make sudden, sad afi'rights ; 
Ne let liouse-fyres, nor lightning's helples 

harmes. 
No let the pouke, nor other evill sprights, 
No lot mischievous witches with their 

charmes. 
No lot hob-goblins, names whose sense we 

see not. 
Fray us with things that be not; 
Let not the shriech-owle, nor the storke, be 

heard ; 
Nor the night raven, that still deadly yells ; 
Nor damned ghosts, cald up with mighty 

spells ; 
Nor griesly vultures make us once afteard. 
Ne let th' unpleasant quire of frogs stUl crok- 

ing 
Make us to wish theyr choking. 



EPITHALAMION. 



K2ft 



Let none of these theyr dreary accents sing ; 
Ne let the woods tbem answer, nor theyr 
echo ring. 

But let stil silence true night-watches keepe, 
Tliat sacred peace may in assurance rayne, 
And tymely sleep, when it is tyme to sleepe, 
May poure his limbs forth on your pleasant 

playno ; 
The whiles an hundred little winged Loves, 
Like divers-fethcred doves. 
Shall Hy and flutter round about the bed, 
And Ln tlie secret darke, tliat none reproves. 
Their prety stealthes shall worke, and snares 

shall spread 
To filch away sweet snatches of delight, 
Conceald through covert night. 
Ye sonncs of Venus play your sports at willl 
For greedy pleasure, carelesse of your toyes, 
Tliinks more upon her paradise of joyes 
Than what ye do, albeit good or iU. 
All night therefore attend your merry play. 
For it will soono be day ; 
Now none doth hinder you, that say or sing ; 
Ne will the woods now answer, nor your 

echo ring. 

Who is the same, which at my window 

peepes? 
Or whose is that fayre face that shines so 

bright? 
Is it not Ciiithia, she that never sleepes. 
But walks about high Heaven all the night? 
fayrest goddesse, do thou not envy 
My love with me to spy ; 
For thou likewise didst love, though now un- 

thought. 
And for a fleece of v/ool, which privily 
The Latmian shepherd once unto thee 

brought, 
His pleasures with thee wrought. 
Therefore to lis be favorable now ; 
And sith of women's labours thou iiast charge. 
And generation goodly dost enlarge, 
Encline thy will t' effect our wishfuU vow. 
And tlie cliast womb informe with timely 

seed. 
That may our comfort breed : 
Till which we cease our hopefull hap to sing; 
Ne let the woods us answer, nor our echo 



And tliou, great Juno ! which with awful 

might 
The lawcs of wedlock still dost patronize ; 
And the religion of the faith first plight 
With sacred rites hast taught to solemnize ; 
And eke for comfort often called art 
Of women in their smart — 
Eternally bind thou this lovely band. 
And all thy blessings unto us impart. 
And thou, glad genius! in wliose gentle liand 
The brydale bowro and geniall bed reniaine, 
Witliout blemish or staine ; 
And the sweet pleasures of they r love's deliglit 
With secret aydo dost succour and supply. 
Till they bring forth the fruitful [irogeuy ; 
Send us the timely fruit of this same night ; 
And thou, fayre Uebe! and thou. Hymen freel 
Grant that it may so be ; 
Till which we cease your further praise to sing, 
Ne any wood shall answer, nor your echo ring. 

And ye, high heavens, the temple ofthe gods. 
In wliich a thousand torches flaming bright 
Do buriic, tliat to us wretched eartlily clods 
In dreadful darknesse lend desired light; 
And all ye powers whicli in the same re- 

mayne. 
More tlian we men can fayne — 
Poure out your blessing on us plentiously. 
And happy influence upon us raine. 
That wo may raise a largo posterity, 
Wliich, from the earth which tliey may long 

possess© 
With lasting happinesse. 
Up to your haughty pallaces may mount; 
And, for the guerdon of theyr glorious merit. 
May heavenly tabernacles there inlierit, 
Of blessed saints for to increase the count. 
So let us rest, sweet love, in hope of this. 
And cease till then our tymely joyes to sing: 
Tlio woods no more us answer, nor our echo 

ring. 

Song ! made in lieu of many ornaments, 
With whichmy love slwuld duly have hcen decht, 
Which cutting off through hasty accidents, 
Ye leould not stay your due time to expect. 

But promist l>oth to recompens ; 

Be unto her a goodly ornament. 

And for short time an endlcsse monument ! 
Edmitxd Spensek. 



sso 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



EPITnALAMIUM. 

I SAW two clouds at morning, 

Tinged by tlio rising sun, 
And in tlio diiwu tlioy floated on, 

And mingled into one; 
I tliouglit that morning cloud was blest. 
It moved so sweetly to the west. 

I saw two summer currents 
Flow smoothly to their meeting, 

And join their course with silent force. 
In peace each other greeting ; 

Calm was their course through banks of 
green, 

While dimpling eddies played between. 

Such be your gentle motion. 
Till life's last pulse shall beat ; 

Like summer's beam, and summer's stream, 
float on, in joy, to meet 

A calmer sea, where storms shall cease — 

A purer sky, where all is peace. 

John G. C. Brainakp. 



NOT OUES THE VOWS. 

Nor ours the vows of such as plight 
Their troth in sunny weather, 

While leaves are green, and skies are bright. 
To walk on flowers together. 

But we have loved as those who tread 

The thorny path of sorrow, 
With clouds above, and cause to dread 

Yet deeper gloom to-morrow. 

That thorny path, those stormy skies. 
Have drawn our spirits nearer ; 

And rendered us, by sorrow's ties, 
Each to the otlier dearer. 

Love, born in hours of joy and mirth, 
With mirth and joy may perish ; 

That to which darker hours gave birth 
Still more and more we cherish. 

It looks beyond the clouds of time. 

And through death's shadowy portal ; 

Made by adversitj- sublime, 

By taith and hope immortid. 

Bebnakd Barton. 



MY LOVE HAS TALKED. 

Mt love has talked with rocks and trees ; 
He finds on misty mountain-ground 
His own vast shadow glory-crowned — 

He sees himself in all he sees. 

Two partners of a married life, — 

I looked on these and thought of thee 
In vastness and in mystery. 

And of my spirit as of a wife. 

These two, they dwelt with eye on eye ; 

Their hearts of old have beat in tune ; 

Their meetings made December June ; 
Their every parting was to die. 

Their love has never passed away ; 
The days she never can forget 
Are earnest th.at he loves her yet, 

Whate'er the faithless people say. 

Her life is lone — he sits apart — 

lie loves her yet — she wUI not weep, 
Though, rapt in matters dark and deep, 

He seems to slight her simple heart. 

He tlirids the labyrinth of the mind; 
lie reads the secret of the stai- — 
lie seems so near and yet so far ; 

He looks so cold : she thinks him kind. 

She keeps the gift of years before — 
A withered violet is her bliss ; 
She knows not what his greatness is ; 

For that, for all, she loves him more. 

For him she plays, to him she sings 
Of early faith and plighted vows ; 
She knows but matters of the house ; 

And ho — ho knows a thousand things. 

Her faith is fixed and cannot move ; 

She darkly feels him great and wise; 

She dwells on him with faithfid eyes; 
'' I cannot imdorstand — I love." 

Alfeed Tbknvsox. 



MY WIFE 'S A WINSOME WEE THING. 



331 



IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE, MY LOVE. 

h- thou wert by my side, ray love, 
IIow fast would eveuing fail 

lu groeu Bongala'.H palmy grove. 
Listening the niglitiiigalo! 

If thou, my lovo, wert by my sido. 

My ba.bica at my knee, 
IIow gayly would our pinnace glide 

O'er Gunga's mimic sea 1 

I miss thee at the dawning gray, 
When, on our deck reclined. 

In careless ease my limbs I lay 
And woo the cooler wind. 

I miss thee when by Gunga's stream 

My twilight steps I guide. 
But most beneath the lamp's pale beam 

I miss thee from my side. 

I .spread my books, my pencil try, 
'i'be lingering noon to cheer. 

But miss ti]y kind, ajjproving eye. 
Thy meek, attentive ear. 

But when at morn and eve the star 

Beholds me on my knee, 
I feel, though thou art distant far, 

TLy prayers ascend for me. 

Then on! then on! where duty leads. 

My course be onward still. 
O'er broad Ilindostan's sultry meads. 

O'er bleak Almorah'a hill. 

That com'se nor Delhi's kingly gates, 

Nor mild Malwah detain ; 
For sweet the bliss us both awaits 

By yonder western main. 

Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they 
say. 
Across the dark bine sea ; 
But ne'er were hearts so light and gay 
As then shall meet in thee ! 

Kboikald IIebi^r. 



A WISE. 

Mine bo a cot beside the hill ; 

A bee-hive's hum .shall soothe my car ; 
A willowy brook, tliat turns a mill, 

With numy a fall sli.il! linger near. 

ITio swallow oft beneath my tliatoh 
Shall twitter from lier clay-built nest; 

Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, 
And share my meal, a welcome guest. 

Around my ivied porch shall spring 
Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew ; 

And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing 
In russet gown and apron blue. 

The village church among the trees, 

Where first our marriage vows were given 

Witli merry peals shall swell the breeze 
And point with taper spire to heaven. 

Samcbl Roqeks. 



MY WIFE 'S A WINSOME WEE THING. 

Sine is a win.somo wee thing, 
She is a handsome wco thing. 
She is a bonnio wee thing, 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

I never saw a fairer, 

I never lo'ed a dearer, 

And neist my heart I '11 wear her, 

For fear my jewel tine. 

She is a winsome wee thing. 
She is a handsome wee thing. 
She is a licmnie wee thing, 
This sweet wee wife of mine. 

The warld's wrack, we share o't, 
llie warstle and tlie care o 't, 
Wi' her I '11 blythely bear it. 
And think my lot divine. 

EollERT BUENB. 



it32 



POEMS OF LOVE 



THE riKESIDE. 

Dkau Chloe, -o'liile the busy crowd, 
riio \nm, the wealthy, ami the iiroud, 

III folly's maze lulvanee ; 
riunigh singularity and pride 
Bo called our choice, we '11 step aside, 

Nor join the giddy dance. 



From the gay world we '11 oft retire 
To our own family and tire, 

M'hero love our hoiirs employs ; 
No noisy neighbor enters here, 
No intermeddling stranger near. 

To spoil our heartfelt joys. 

If solid happiness wo prize, 
Within our breast this jewel lies, 

And they are fools who roam ; 
The world hath nothing to bestow — 
Trom our own selves our bliss nnist flow, 

And that dear hut, our home. 

Though fools spnrn Hymen's gentle powers. 
We, who improve his golden hours, 

By sweet experience know 
That marriage, rightly understood, 
Gives to the tender and the good 

A paradise below. 

Our babes shall richest comforts bring; 
If tutore<l right, they '11 prove a spring 

Whence pleasures over rise; 
We '11 form their minds witli studious care 
To all that 's manly, good, and fair. 

And train them for the skies. 



While they our wisest hours engage, 
They'll joy our youtli, support our ago. 

And crown our hoary hairs; 
Tliey '11 grow in virtue every day, 
-Uul thus our fondest loves repay. 

And recompense our cares. 



No borrowed joys, they 're all our own. 
While to the world wo live unknown, 



Or by the world forgot ; 
Monarehs ! we envy not your state- 
Wo look with pity on the great, 

And bless our humble lot. 



Our portion is not large, indeed; 
But then how little do we need, 

For nature's calls are few ; 
In this tlie art of Uving lies, 
To want no more than may suffice, 

And make that little do. 



We '11 therefore relish with content 
Whato'er kind Providence has sent, 

Nor aim beyond our power; 
For, if onr stock be very small, 
'Tis prudence to enjoy it all. 

Nor lose the present hour. 

To bo resigned when ills betide, 
Patient when favors are denied, 

And pleased with favors given — 
Dear Ohloe, this is wisdom's part. 
This is that incense of the heai't, 

Whose fragrance smells to heaven. 

We '11 ask no long-protracted treat, 
Since winter-life is seldom sweet; 

But, when our feast is o'er, 
Grateful from table wo '11 arise. 
Nor grudge our sons, with envious eyes, 

The relies of our store. 

Thus hand in hand through life we'll go; 
Its eho(piored patlis of joy and woe 

With cautious steps we 'U tread ; 
Quit its vain scenes without a tear. 
Without a trouble, or a fe;u-, 

And mingle with the dead; 

While couseioncc, like a faithful friend. 
Shall through the gloomy vale attend. 

And cheer our dying breath — 
Shall, when all other comforts cease. 
Like a kind angel whisper peace. 

And smooth the bed of death. 

Natji^vniel Cotton. 



THE POET'S BRIDAL. DAT SONG. 



333 



TOE POET'S BRIDAL-DAY SOl^G. 

On, my love 's like the steadfast sun, 
Or streams that deepen as they run ; 
Nor hoary hairs, nor foi-ty years. 
Nor moments between sighs and tears, 
Nor nights of thought, nor days of pain. 
Nor dreams of glory dreamed in vain, 
Nor mirtli, nor sweetest song that flows 
To sober joys and soften woes, 
Can make my heart or fancy floe. 
One moment, my sweet wife, from thee. 

Even while I muse, I see thee sit 

In maiden bloom and matron wit; 

Fair, gentle as when first I sued, 

Ye seem, l>ut of sedater mood ; 

Yet my lioart leaps as fond for thee 

As when, beneath Arbigland tree, 

"We stayed and wooed, and thought the moon 

Set on the sea an hour too soon ; 

Or lingered 'mid the falling dew, 

AVben looks wore fond and words were few. 

Though I see smiling at tliy feet 
Five sons and ac fair daughter sweet, 
And time, and care, and birthtimc woes 
na\e dimmed thine eye and touched thy rose, 
To thee, and thonghts of thee, belong 
Whate'er charms me in tale or song. 
Wlien words descend hke dews, unsought. 
With gleams of deep, enthusiast thought. 
And fancy in her heaven flies tree. 
They come, my love, they come from thee. 

Oh, when more thought we gave, of old. 
To silver, tlian some give to gold, 
'T was sweet to sit and ponder o'er 
How wo should deck our humble bower ; 
'T was sweet to pull, in hope, with thee. 
The golden fruit of fortune's tree; 
And sweeter still to choose and twine 
A garland for that brow of thine — 
A song-wreath which may grace my Joan, 
WhUe rivers flow, and woods grow green. 

At times there come, as come there ought. 
Grave moments of sedater thought. 
When fortune frowns, nor lends our night 
One gleam of her inconstant light ; 



And hope, that decks the peasant's bower, 
Shines like a rainbow througli the shower; 
Oh then I see, while seated nigh, 
A mother's heart shine in thine eye. 
And proud resolve and purpose meek. 
Speak of thee more than words can speak. 
I think this wedded wife of mine. 
The best of all that 's not divine. 

Allan Cunninghau. 



TO SARAH. 

One happy year has fled. Sail, 

Since you were .all my own ; 
The leaves have felt the autumn blight. 

The wintry storm h.as blown. 
We heeded not the cold blast. 

Nor the winter's icy air ; 
For we found our climate in the heart. 

And it was summer there. 

The summer sun is bright. Sail, 

The skies are pure in hue — 
But clouds will sometimes sadden tlieni, 

And dim their lovely blue ; 
And clouds may come to us, Sail, 

But sure they will not stay ; 
For there's a spell in fond hearts 

To chase their gloom away. 

In sickness and in sorrow 

Thine eyes were on me still. 
And there was comfort in each glance 

To charm the sense of ill; 
And were they absent now. Sail, 

I 'd seek my bed of pain. 
And bless each p.ang that gave mo back 

Tlioso looks of lovo again. 

Oil, pleasant is the welcome kiss 

When day's dull round is o'er. 
And sweet the music of the step 

That meets me at the door. 
Though worldly cares may visit us, 

I reck not when they faU, 
While I have thy kind Ups, my Sail, 

To smile away tliem all. 

Joseph Kodmax Drake. 



SM 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



THE POET'S SONG TO HIS WIFE. 

How many suniiiuTs, love, 

Hnvo I boon tliiiio? 
How many ilays, tliou dove, 

Hnst thou been mine ? 
Time, like the winged wind 

When 't hcnds the flowers, 
Unth left no mnrk behind, 

To eonnt the hours I 

Some -weight of tliouglit, tliough loth. 

On thee he leaves ; 
Some lines of rare round both 

Perhaps ho weaves ; 
Some fears, — a soft regret 

For joys scarce known; 
Sweet looks wo half forget ; — 

All else is flown ! 

Ah! — With what thankless heju-t 

I mourn and sing! 
Look, where our children start, 

Like sudden spring I 
With tongues all sweet and knv. 

Like a ])leasant rhyme. 

They tell how nuieh I owe 

To thee and time ! 

lUnnv CoRNWALU 



THE BLISSFUL DAY. 

TnE day returns, my bosom burns, 
The blissful day we twa did meet ; 

Tho' winter wild in tempest toiled, 
Ne'er summer sun was half sao sweot. 



Than a' the pride that loads the tide. 
And crosses o'er tho sultry line — 

Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes. 
Heaven gave mo more ; it made thee mine. 

While day and night can bring delight, 

Or nature aught of pleasure give — 
While ,ioys above my mind Ciin move, 

For tlioo and thee alone I live ; 
When that grim foo of life below 

Oomes in betvreen to make us part, 
The iron hand that breaks our bmul, 

It brciiks my bliss— it breaks my heart. 

KOBKRT BuENS. 



JOHN ANDERSON. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 

When we were first acquent. 
Your locks were like the raven. 

Your bonnio brow was brent ; 
But now your brow is bald, John, 

Your locks arc like the snow ; 
Hut blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson, my jol 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 

We elamb tlio hill tliegither ; 
And mony a eanty day, John, 

Wo 'vo had wi' nne anither ; 
Now wo maun totter do\ni, John, 

15\it hand in band we '11 go, 
And sleep tliegither at the foot, 

John Anderson, my jo. 



KoitKitT Burns. 



PART V. 
POEMS OF AMBITION 



Patriots have toiled, and in llicir country*s cauHO 
Bled nobly ; and their deeds, as tlicy deserve, 
Eeccive proud recompense. We give in charge 
Their names to tlie sweet lyre. The historic Muse, 
Proud of the treasure, marches with it down 
To latest times ; and Sculpture, in her turn, 
Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass 
To guard tiicm, and to immortalize her trust. 

CowrEtt. 



- On courage 1 there bo comes ; 



What ray of honor round about him looms 1 

Ob, what new beams from bis bright eyes do glance I 

princely port ! presugeful countenance 

Of hap at bund ! JIc doth not nicely jirank 

In clinquant pomp, as some of meanest rank, 

But armed in steel ; that briglit habiliment 

Is bis rich valor's sole rich ornament. 

JOBUUA SYLTESIBII. 



En avantl marehons 
Centre Icui'S canons I 
A travers le fer, lo feu des battaillonf;, 
Courons a la victoire ! 

Casi-mik dr la Vionk. 



The perfect heat of that celestial fire. 
That so inllamcs the pure heroic breast. 
And lifts the thought, that it can never rest 

Till it to heaven attain its prime desire. 

Loud Tuurlow. 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



nORATIUS. 



i I,AT MADE ABOUT THE TEAR OP HOME OOOLX. 



Lars Porsena of Chisium, 

By the nine gods ho swore 
Tliiit the great house of Tarqnin 

Sliould suflbr wrong no more. 
IJy t}]e nine gods lie sworo it, 

And named a trysting day, 
And bade his messengers ride forth. 
East and west and soutli and nortli, 

To summon his array. 



East and west and south and north 

Tlio messengers ride fast. 
And tower and town and cottage 

Have heard the trumpet's blast. 
Sliaino on the false Etruscan 

Who lingers in his home, 
When Porsena of Clusium 

Is on the march for Rome ! 



Tlie horsemen and the footmen 

Are pouring in amain 
From many a stately market-place, 

From many a fruitful jilain, 
From many a lonely hamlet, 

Wliich, hid by beech and pine, 
Like an eagle's nest hangs on the crest 

Of jiurple Apennino; 
23 



From lordly Volaterrae, 

Where scowls the far-famed hold 
Piled by the hands of giwits 

For godlike kings of old ; 
From sea-girt Populonin, 

Whoso sentinels descry 
Sardinia's snowy mountain-tops 

Fringing the southern sky; 

V. 

From the proud mart of Pisae, 

Queen of tlio western waves. 
Where ride Massilia's triremes, 

Ueavy with fair-haired slaves; 
From where sweet Clanis wanders 

Through corn and vines and flowers ; 
From where Oortona lifts to heaven 

Ilcr diadem of towers. 



Tall are the oaks wliose acorns 

Drop in dark Auser's rill ; 
Fat are the stags that champ the boughs 

Of the Ciminian hill ; 
Beyond all streams,Clitumnus 

Is to the herdsman dear; 
Best of all pools the fowler loves 

The great Volsinian mere. 



But now no stroke of woodman 

Is heard by Auser's rill ; 
No hunter tracks the stag's green path 

Up the Ciminian hill; 



838 POEMS OF 


AMBITION. 


Unwatehod along Olituinims 


And with a mighty following, 


Grazes tlio milk-wliito stoer; 


To join the muster, came 


Fnlinrmcd the water-fowl may dip 


The Tuseulan Mamilius, 


In the Volsifiian mere. 


Prince of the Latian name. 


vm. 


XIII. 


The harvests of Arret'mni, 


Rut by the yellow Tiber 


This year, old men shall reap; 


"Was tumult and aflVight ; 


This year, young boys in Urabro 


From nil the spacious champaign 


Shall plunge the struggling sheep ; 


To Rome men took their flight. 


And in the vats of Luna, 


A mile around the city 


This year, tlie must shall foam 


The throng stopped up the ways; 


Uomul the white feet of laughing girls 


A fearful siglit it was to see 


Whoso sires liave marched to Rome. 


Through two long nights and days. 


IX. 


XIV. 


There bo thirty chosen prophets, 


For aged folk on crutches. 


The wisest of the laud. 


And women great with child, 


AVho ahvay by Lars Porscna 


And mothers, sobbing over babes 


lioth morn and evening stand. 


That clung to them and smiled. 


Evening and morn the thirty 


And sick men borne iu litters 


Have turned the versos o'er, 


High on the necks of slaves. 


Traced from the right on linen white 


And troops of sunburned husbaudineu 


liy mighty seers of yore; 


^Vith reaping-hooks and staves. 


X. 


XV. 


And with one voice the thirty 


And droves of mules and asses 


llavo their glad answer given: 


Laden with skins of wine, 


"Co forth, go forth, Lars Porsena— 


And endless flocks of goats and sheep, 


Cio forth, beloved of heaven! 


And endless herds of kine, 


(u), and rctiu-n in glory 


And endless trains of wagons. 


To CMusium's royal dome, 


That creaked beneath the weight 


And hang round Niu-scia's altars 


Of corn-sacks and of household goods. 


T'he golden shields of Rome I " 


Choked every roaring gate. 


XI. 


XVI. 


And now hath every city 


Now, from the rook Tarpoian, 


Sent up her tale of men ; 


Could tlie wan burghers spy 


The foot are fourscore thousand, 


Tho line of blazing villages 


The horse are thousands ten. 


Rod in the midnight sky. 


Before the gates of Sutrium 


Tho fatliors of tho city. 


Is met the great array; 


They sat all night and day, 


A iM-ond man was Lars Porsena 


For every hour some horseman caino 


Upon the trysting day. 


■\Vith tidings of dismay. 


XII. 


XVII. 


For all the Etruscan armies 


To eastward and to westward 


"Wore ranged beneath his eye, 


Ilavo spread tho Tuscan bands. 


And many a banished Roman, 


Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecot, 


And many a stout ally ; 


In Crust umeriiuu stands. 



HORATIUS. 



SSH 



Verbeiiiia ddwii to Ostia 
Ilatli wasted all the plain ; 

Astur bath stormed Jaiiiculum, 
And the stout guards are slain. 

XVIII. 

I wis, in nil tlio senate 

There was no heart so bold 
]5ut sore it aohed, and fast it beat, 

When that ill news was told. 
Forthwith up rose the consul, 

Up rose the fathers all ; 
In haste they girded up their gowns, 

And hied them to the wall. 



They held a eonneil, standing 

Before the river-gate ; 
Short time was there, yo well may guess. 

For musing or debate. 
Out spake the consul I'oundly : 

"Tlie bridge must straight go down ; 
For, since Janiculuin is lost, 

Nought else can save tlic town." 



.lust then a scout came flying. 

All wild with haste and fear : 
" To arms ! to arms ! sir consul — 

Lars P(jrsena is here." 
On the low hills to westward 

The constd fixed his eye. 
And saw the swarthy storm of dust 

Kise fast along the sky. 

zxi. 

And nearer fast and nearer 
Doth the rod whirlwind come; 

And louder still, and still more loud. 
From underneath that rolling cloud. 
Is heard the trumpets' war-note proud. 

The trampling and the hum. 
And plainly and more jilainly 

Now through the gloom appears. 
Far to left and far to right, 
In broken gleams of dark-blue light, 
Tlie long array of helmets bright, 

The long array of spears. 



And plainly and more plainly. 

Above that glinimoring lino, 
Now iniglit ye see the banners 

Of twelve fair cities shine; 
But the banner of proud Glusium 

"Was highest of them all — 
Tho terror of the Uinbrian, 

The terror of the (iaul. 



And plaiidy and more plainly 

Now might tliO burghers know. 
By ij^rt and vest, by liorse and crest, 

Each warlike Lucurao: 
There Oilnius of Arretium 

On his fleet roan was seen ; 
And Astur of tho fourfold shield. 
Girt with the brand none else may wield; 
Tolumnius with the belt of gold, 
And dark Vorbonna from the hold 

By reedy Thrasymene. 

XXIV. 

Fast by tho royal standard, 

O'erlooking all the war, 
Lars Porsena of Ciusium 

Hat in his ivory car. 
By the right wheel I'ode Mamilius, 

Prince of the Latian name; 
And by tho left false Sextus, 

Tiiat wrought the deed of shame. 



But when the face of Sextus 

Was seen among tho foes, 
A yell that rent the firin.ament 

From all tho town arose. 
On tho housetops was no woman 

But spat towards him and hissed, 
No child but screamed out curses. 

And shook its little flst. 

xxvr. 

But tho consul's brow was sad. 
And tho consul's speech was low. 

And darkly looked he at the wall. 
And darkly at tho foe : 



340 POEMS OF 


AMBITION. 


" Their van will be upon us 


For Eomans in Rome's quarrel 


Before the bridge goes down ; 


Spared neither land nor gold. 


And if they once may win the bridge, 


Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life. 


■\Vliat hope to save the town ? " 


In the brave days of old. 


xxvn. 






XXXII. 


Tlien out spake bravo Iloratius, 




The captain of the gate : 


Then none was for a pai'ty — 


" To every man upon this earth 


Then all were for the state ; 


I^oath Cometh soon or late. 


Then the great man helped the poor, 


And how can man die better 


And the poor man loved the great; 


Than lacing fearful odds 


Then lands were fairlj' portioned 1 


For the ashes of his fathers, 


Then spoils were fairly sold : 


And the temples of his gods? 


The Eomans were like brothers 




In the brave days of old. 


xxvin. 




"And for the tender mother 


xxxin. 


M'ho dandled him to rest, 




And for the wife who nurses 


Now Roman is to Roman 


His baby at her breast. 


More hateful than a foe. 


And for the holy maidens 


And the tribunes beard the high, 


AVho feed the eternal flame — 


And the fathers grind the low. 


To save them from false Sextus 


As we wax hot in faction. 


That wrought the deed of shame? 


In battle wo was cold; 




Wberefore men fight not as they fought 


XXIX. 


In the brave days of old. 


" Ilew down the bridge, sir consul. 




AVitli all the speed ye may ; 


XXXIV. 


I, with two more to help me. 


Now while the three were tightening 


■\VilI hold the foe in play — 


Their harness on their backs, 


In yon strait path a thousand 




The consul was the foremost man 


May well be stopped by three. 
Now who will stand on either hand. 


To take in h.and an axe; 


And keep the bridge with me?" 


Aiul fathers, mixed with commons. 
Seized hatchet, bar, and crow, 




And smote upon the planks above, 


XXX. 


And loosed the props below. 


Then out sp.ike Spurius Lartius — 




A Ranmian proud was he : 




"Lo, I will stand at tliy right hand. 


xsxv. 


And keep the bridge with thee." 


Meanwhile the Tuscan army. 


And out spake strong Ilerniinius — 


Right glorious to behold. 


Of Titian blood was he : 


Came flashing back tlic noonday light, 


'• I will abide on thy left side, 


Rank behind rank, like surges bright 


And keep the bridge with thee." 


Of a broad sea of gold. 




Four hundred trumpets sounded 


XXXI. 


A peal of warlike glee. 


" Iloratius," quoth the consul, 


As that great host, with measured tread, 


"As thou sayest, so let it be." 


And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, 


And straight against that great array 


Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head, 


Forth went the dauntless three. 


■Where stood the dauntless three. 



IIORATIUS. 341 


XXXVI. 


"Lie there," he cried, "foil pirate! 


The tliroo stood calm and silent, 


No more, aghast and pale. 


And looked upon the foes, 


From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark 


And a f,'reut shout of lauglitcr 


The track of thy destroying bark ; 


From all tlio vun^^iuu'd rose; 


No more Campania's hinds shall fly 


And forth three chiefs came spurring 


To woods and caverns, when they spy 


Before that deep array ; 


Thy thrice-accursed sail ! " 


To earth they sprang, their swords they 




drew, 


XI.I. 


And lifted high their shields, and flew 


IJut now no sound of laughter 


To win the narrow way. 


Was heard among the foes; 


XXXVII. 


A wild and wrathful clamor 


Annus, from green Tifernum, 


From all the vanguard rose. 


T 1 i>f1 1*11 /< ■ 


Six spears' lengths from the entrance 


Lord ol the lull oi vines; 




And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves 


Halted that deep array. 




And for a space no iium came forth 


Sicken in Ilva's mines; 




And ricus, long to Clusium 


To win the narrow way. 


Vassal in peace and war, 




Who led to fight his Umbrian powers 


XI.II. 


From that gray crag where, girt with 


But, hark! the cry is Astur: 


towers. 


And lo ! the ranks divide ; 


The fortress of Nequiuuiii lowers 


And the great lord of Luna 


O'er the pale waves of Nar. 


Comes with his stately stride. 




Upon his ample shoulders 


XXXVIII. 






Clangs linid the fourfold shield. 


Slout Lartius hurled down Annus 


And in his hand he shakes tlie brand 


Into the stream beneath; 


Which none but ho can wield. 


Ilcrminius struck at Scius, 




And clove him to the teeth ; 




At Picus bravo Iloratius 


XI.III. 


Darted one fiery thrust. 


lie smiled on tlioso bold Romans, 


And the proud Dmbrian's gilded arms 


A smile serene and high ; 


Clashed in the bloody dust. 


IIo eyed the flinching Tuscans, 




And scorn was in his eye. 


XXXIX. 


Quoth ho, "The she-wolf's litter 


Then Ocnus of Falerii 


Stand savagely at bay ; 


Rushed on the Roman three ; 


But will ye dare to follow. 


And Lausulus of Urgo, 


If Astur clears the way ? " 


Tlio rover of the sea ; 




And A runs of Volsinium, 




Who slew the great wild boar — 


XLIV. 


The great wild boar that had his den 


Then, whirling up his broadsword 


Amidst the reeds of Cosa's fen. 


With both hands to the height. 


And wasted fields, and slaughtered men, 


Ho rushed against Iloratius, 


Along Albiuia's shore. 


And smote with all his miglit. 




With shield and blado Iloratius 


XL. 


Right deftly turned the blow. 


Ilerminius smote down Aruns; 


The blow, tliough turned, came yet too nigh, 


Lartius laid Ocnus low ; 


It missed his lielm, but gashed his thigh — 


Right to the lieart of Lausulus 


The Tuscans raised a joyful cry 


Horatius sent a blow: 


To see the red blood flow. 



342 POEMS OF 


AMBITION. 


XLV. 


Come to tho mouth of the dark lair 


llo reeled, ami on Ilerminius 
lie loaned one breathing apace — 


"Where, growling low, a fierce old bear 
Lies amidst bones and blood. 


Tlien, like a wild-eat mad with wounds, 


I,. 
"\Vas none who woidd be foremost 

To lead such dire attack ; 
But those behind cried " Forward 1" 

And those before cried "Backl " 
And backwiird now, and forward. 


Sprang right at Astur's face. 
Through teeth, and skull, and helmet, 

So fierce a thrust ho sped, 
Tlio good sword stood a hand-breadth out 

Ueliind the Tuscan's head. 


XLVI. 

And the great lord of Luna 
Foil at that deadly stroke, 

As falls on Mount Avernus 
A thunder-smitten oak. 


"Wavers tho deep array ; 


And on tho tossing sea of steel 
To and fro the standards reel. 
And the victorious trumpet-peal 
Dies fitfully away. 


Far o'er the crashing forest 


I.I. 


The giant arms lie spread ; 


Yet one man for one moment 


And the pale augurs, muttering low. 


Strode out before the crowd ; 


Gaze on tbo blasted head. 


AVell known was ho to all tho tliree. 




And they gave him greeting loud : 


xi.vn. 


" Now welcome, welcome, Sestus ! 


On Astur's thro.at Iloratius 


Now welcome to thy home ! 


i;ight firmly pressed his lieel, 


AVliy dost thou stay, and turn away ? 


And tlirice and four times tugged amain. 


Hero lies the road to Rome." 


Kro he wrenched out the steel. 




" And see," ho cried, "the welcome. 


i.n. 


Fair guests, that waits you here ! 


Tluico looked he at tho city ; 


^yhat noble Lucunio comes next 


Thrice looked ho at tho dead ; 


To taste our Ronum cheer ? " 


And thrice came on in fury. 




And thrice turned back in dread; 


XLVIII. 


And, white with foar and hatred. 


But at his luaughty challenge 

A sullen murmtir raTi, 
]\Iinglod with wrath, and .shame, and dread, 


Scowled at the narrow way 
"Where, wallowing in a pool of blood, 
The bravest Tuscans lay. 


Along that glittering van. 


LIII. 


Tliere lacked not men of prowess, 
Nor men of lordly race ; 

For all Etruria's noblest 
AVere round the fatal place. 


But meanwhile axe and lever 
Have manfully been plied ; 

And now tho bridge hangs tottering 
Above tho boiling tide. 




" Come biick, come back, Horatius ! " 


XI.IX. 


Loud cried the fathers .ill — 


l!ut all Etruria's noblest 


" Back, L.artius ! back, Herminius I 


Felt their hearts sink to see 


Back, ere tho ruin fall 1 " 


On tlie earth tho bloody corpses, 




In tho path the dauntless throe , 


I.IV. 


And from the ghastly entrance, 


Back darted Spnrius Lartius — 


"Where those bold Ronaans stood. 


Herminius darted back ; 


All shrank— like hoys who, unaware, 


And, as they passed, beneath tlrcir feet 


Ranging a wood to start a hare, 


They felt the timbers crack. 



IIORATIUS. 843 


liut wlioii tlicy turned tlioir faoef, 


So ho spake, and, speaking, slicatlied 


Ami on tlio fartlier hIioi'O 


The good sword by his side, 


Suw brave Iloratius stand alone, 


And, with liis harness on his back. 


They would have crossed once more ; 


Plunged headlong in the tide. 


I.V. 

lint witli a crash like thunder 


LX. 


Fell every loosened hoani, 


No sound of joy or sorrow 


And, like a dnm, tlie miglity wreck 


Was hoard from cither bunk. 


I,ay right ntliwart the stream ; 


lint friends and foes in dumb surprise, 


And a long sliout of triumph 


With parted lips and straining eyes. 


Hose from the walls of liomo. 


Stood gazing where ho sank; 


As to tlie liighest turrct-tnps 


And when above tlie surges 


Was s]ilaslied tlie yellow foam. 


Tliey saw his crest appear, 




All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry. 


I.VI. 


And even the ranks of Tuscany 


And like a horse unbroken. 


Could scarce forbear to cheer. 


When first ho feels the rein. 




The furious river struggled hard, 




And tossed his tawny mane, 


I.XI. 


And burst the curb, and bounded, 


But fiercely ran the current. 


Itejoii-^iiig to be free; 


Swollen high by months of rain. 


And whirling down, in fierce career, 


And fast liis blood was flowing; 


Hattlcment, and plank, and pier, 


And he was sore in pain. 


Rushed lieadlong to the sea. 


And heavy with his armor. 


I.VII. 


And spent with changing blows; 




And oft they thought him sinking, 


Alone stood bravo Iloratius, 




But still again ho rose. 


J5nt constant still in mind — 




Thrice tliirty thousand foes before. 




And the broad flood behind. 


I.XI I. 


"Down with him I " cried false Sextus, 




Witli a smile on his pale face ; 


Never, I ween, did swimmer, 


" Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, 


In such an evil case, 


" Now yield thee to our grace ! " 


Struggle through such a raging flood 




Safe to the landing place ; 


Lvni. 


But his limbs were borne up bravely 


Round turned he, as not deigning 


By tlio bravo heart witliin. 


Those craven ranks to see ; 


And our good father Tiber 


Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, 


Bare bravely up his chin. 


To Sextus nought spake he ; 




But lie saw on Palatinns 


i.xm. 


The white porch of liis liorne; 


And he sjjako to the noble river 


"Curse on him!" (juoth false Sextus, — 


That rolls by the towers of Rome : 


" Will not tlie villain drown ? 




But for this stay, ere close of day 


MX. 


We should have sacked the town I" 


"0 TiI)or! father Tiber I 


"Heaven hell) him!" quoth ^''^''^ Porsena, 


To whom the Romans pray, 


" And bring him safe to shore ; 


A Roman's life, a Roman's arrni, 


For such a gallant feat of arms 


Take thou in charge this day 1 " 


Was never seen before." 



344 POEMS OF 


AMBITION. 


LXIT. 


LSIX. 


And now he feels the bottom ; 


When the oldest cask is opened. 


Now on dry earth he stands ; 


And the largest lamp is lit ; 


Now round him throng the fathers 


When the chestnuts glow in the embers. 


To press his gory hands ; 


And the kid turns on the spit ; 


And now, with shouts and clapping, 


"When young and old in circle 


And noise of weeping loud. 


Around the firebrands close; 


lie enters through the river-gate, 


When the girls are weaving baskets, 


Borne by the joyous crowd. 


And the lads are shaping bows ; 


LST. 


ixx. 


They gave him of the corn-land, 


When the goodman mends his armor, 


That was of public right. 


And trims his helmet's plume ; 


As much as two strong oxen 


When the goodwife's shuttle merrily 


Oonld plough from morn till night ; 


Goes flashing through the loom; 


And they made a molten image. 


With weeping and with laughter 


And set it up on high — 


Still is the story told. 


And tliere it stands unto this day 


How well lloratius kept the bridge 


To witness if I lie. 


In the brave days of old. 




LOKD Macaitlav 


LXVI. 




It stands in the comitium, 
Plain for all folk to see, — 






lloratius in his harness. 




Halting upon one knee; 


THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHE- 


And underneath is written, 


RIB. 


In letters all of gold. 




IIow valiantly he kept the bridge 


The Assyrian came down like the wolf en 


In the br.ave days of old. 


the fold. 




And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and 


Lxvn. 


gold; 


And still his name sounds stirring 


And the sheen of their spears was like stars 


Unto the men of Rome, 


on the sea, 


As the trumpet-blast that cries to them 


When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep 


To charge the Volscian home ; 


Galilee. 


And wives still pray to Juno 




For boys with hearts as bold 


Like the leaves of the forest when summer 


As his who kept tlie bridge so well 


is green. 


In the brave days of old. 


That host with their banners at sunset were 


Lxvm. 


seen; 
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn 


And in the nights of winter, 


hath flown. 


AVhen the cold north winds blow, 


That host on the morrow lay withered and 


And tlie long howling of the wolves 


strown. 


Is beard amidst the snow ; 




■ff lien round the lonely cottage 


For the angel of death spread his wings on 


Roars loud the tempest's din. 


the blast. 


And the good logs' of Algidus 


And breathed in the foco of the foe as he 


Roar louder yet within ; 


passed ; 



IT IS GREAT FOR OUR COUNTRY TO DIE. 



34-1 



Aud the oyes of the sleepers waxed deadly 

aud chill, 
And their hearts but once heaved, and for 

ever grew still ! 

And there lay the steed with his nostril all 

wide, 
But through it there rolled not the breath 

of his pride ; 
And tlie foam of his gasping lay white on 

the turf, 
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating 

surf. 

And there lay the rider distorted and pale, 
With the dew on his brow and the rust on 

his mail ; 
And the tents were all silent the banners 

alone. 
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their 

wail ; 
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; 
And tlie might of the Gentile, unsmote by 

the sword, 

Hath melted like snow in the glance of the 

Lord! 

Lord Btbok. 



KARMODIUS AND APJSTOGEITON. 

I'll wreathe my sword in myrtle bough. 
The sword that laid the tyrant low. 
When patriots burning to be free. 
To Athens gave equality. 

Harraodius, hail t tliough 'reft of breath, 
Thou ne'er shalt feel the stroke of death ; 
The heroes' hajipy isles .shall be 
The bright abode allotted thee. 

I '11 wreathe my sword in myrtle bough, 
The sword that laid Ilipp.archus low, 
AVhcn at Atliena's adverse fane 
He knelt, and never rose again. 

While freedom's name is understood. 
You sliall delight the wise and good; 
You dared to set your country free. 
And gave her laws equality. 
TransluUon of Loed Denman. Callisteatus (Greek). 



IT IS GREAT FOR OUR COUNTRY 
TO DIE. 

On I it is groat for our country to die, where 
ranks are contending : 
Bright is tlie wreath of our fame ; glory 
awaits us for aye — 
Glory, that never is dim, shining on with 
light never ending — 
Glory that never shall fade, never, oh ! 
never away. 

Oh ! it is sweet for our country to die 1 IIow 
softly reposes 
Warrior youth on his bier, wet by the 
tears of his love, 
Wet by a mother's warm tears ; they crown 
him with garlands of roses, 
Weep, and then joyously turn, bright 
where he triumphs above. 

Not to the shades shall the youth descend, 
who for country hath perished ; 
Hebe awaits hiin in heaven, welcomes him 
there with her smile ; 
There, at the banquet divine, tlic patriot 
spirit is cherished ; 
Gods love the young who ascend pure from 
the funeral pile. 

Not to Elysian fields, by the still, oblivious 
river ; 
Not to the isles of the blest, over the 
blue, rolling sea ; 
But on Olympian lieights shall dwell the de- 
voted for ever ; 
There shall assemble the good, there the 
wise, valiant, and free. 

Oh ! then, liow great for our country to die, 
in the front rank to perish. 
Firm with our breast to the foe, victory's 
shout in our ear I 
Long they our statues shall crown, in songs 
our memory cherish ; 
We sliall look forth from our heaven, 
pleased the sweet music to hear. 

James Gates Pekcival. 



346 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



LEONIDAS. 

SnouT for the mighty men 

Who (lied along this shore, 

Wlio died withia this mountain's glen ! 

For never nobler chieftain's head 

AVas laid on valor's crimson bed, 
Nor ever prouder gore 

Sprang foi-th, than theirs who Avon the dav 

Upon thy strand, Thermopylas ! 

Shout for the mighty men 

Who on the Persian tents, 
Like lions from their midnight den 
Bounding on the slumbering doer, 
Rushed — a storm of sword and spear ; 

Like the roused elements. 
Let loose from an immortal hand 
To chasten or to crush a land ! 



But there are none to hear — 

Greece is a hopeless slave. 

Leonidas ! no hand is near 

To lift thy fiery talcliion now ; 

No warrior makes the warrior's vow 
Upon thy sea-washed grave. 

The voice that should be raised by men 

Must now be given by wave and glen. 

And it is given ! — the surge. 

The tree, the rock, the sand 
On freedom's kneeling spirit urge, 
In sounds that speak but to the free, 
The memory of thine and thee ! 

The vision of thy band 
Still gleams within the glorious dell 
Where their gore hallowed as it fell ! 

And is thy grandeur done? 

Mother of men like these ! 
Has not thy outcry gone 
Where justice has an car to hear? — 
Be holy I God sh.iU guide thy spear, 

Till in thy crimsoned seas 
Are plunged the chain and scimitar. 
Greece shall be a new-born star ! 

Geobge Ckoly. 



PERICLES AND ASPASIA. 

This was the ruler of the land 
When Athens was the land of fame ; 

This was the light that led the band 
When each was like a living flame ; 

The centre of earth's noblest ring — 

Of more than men the more than king. 

Yet not by fetter, nor by spear, 
His sovereignty was held or won : 

Feared — but alone as freemen fear. 
Loved — but as freemen love alone, 

He waved the scejrtre o'er his kind 

By nature's first great title — mind ! 

Resistless words were on his tongue — 
Then eloquence first flashed below ; 

Full armed to life the portent sprung — 
Minerva from the thunderer's brow ! 

And his the sole, the sacred hand 

That shook her a>gis o'er the land. 

And throned immortal by his side, 
A woman sits with eye sublime, — 

Aspasia, all his spirit's bride ; 

But, if their solemn love were crime, 

Pity the beauty and the sage — 

Their crime was in their darkened age. 

He perished, but his wreath was won — 
He perished in his height of f;ime ; 

Then sunk the cloud on Athens' sun, 
Yet stUl she conquered in his name. 

Filled with his soul, she could not die ; 

Her conquest was posterity! 

George Croly. 



BOADIOEA. 

When the British warrior queen. 
Bleeding from the Roman rods. 

Sought, with an indignant mien, 
Counsel of her country's gods. 

Sage beneath the spreading oak 
Sat the druid, hoary chief; 

Every burning word he spoke 
Full of rage and full of grief. 



THE BULL-FIGHT OF GAZUL. 34V 


Princess ! if our aged eyes 




Weep upon thy miitcliless wrongs, 


THE BULL-FIGUT OF GAZUL. 


'T is because resentment ties 




All the terrors of our tongues. 


I. 




King Almanzor of Granada, he hath bid the 


Rome shall perish — write that word 


trumpet sound. 


In the blood that she has spilt ; 


He hath summoned all the Moorish lords from 


Perish, hopeless anil abhorred, 


the bills and plains around ; 


Deep in ruin as in guilt. 


From Vega and Sierra, from Betis and Xenil, 




They have come with helm and cuirass of 




gold and twisted steel. 


PfcOme, for empire far renowned. 




Tramples on a thousand states ; 


11. 


Soon her pride shall kiss the ground — 


'T is the holy Baptist's feast they hold in roy- 


Uarlv ! the Gaul is at her gates 1 


alty and state, 




And they have closed the spacious lists beside 


Other Romans shall arise. 


the Alhambra's gate ; 


Heedless of a soldier's name ; 


In gowns of black, and silver-laced, within 


Sounds, not arms, sliall win the prize. 


the tented ring. 


Harmony the path to fame. 


Eight Moors, to fight the bull, are placed in 




presence of the king. 


Tlien the progeny that springs 


III. 


From the forests of our land, 


Eight Moorish lords of valor tried, with stal- 


Armed with tliunder, clad with wings, 


wart arm and true. 


Shall a wider world command. 


The onset of the boasts abide, come trooping 




furious througli ; 


Regions Cajsar never knew 


The deeds they 've done, the spoils they 've 


Thy posterity shall sway ; 


won, fiU all with hope and trust; 


Where his eagles never flew. 


Yet, ere high in heaven appears the sun, they 


None invincible as they. 


all have bit the dust. 


Such the bard's prophetic words, 


IV. 

Then sounds the trumpet clearly ; then clangs 


Pregnant with celestial fire, 


the loud tambour : 


Bending as he swept the chords 


Make room, make room for Gazul — throw 


Of his sweet but awful lyre. 


wide, throw wide the door 1 




Blow, blow the trumpet clearer still, more 


She, with all" a monarch's pride. 


loudly strike the drum— 


Felt them in her bosom glow : 


The Alcayde of Algava to fight the bull doth 


Rushed to battle, fought, and died ; 


come! 


Dying, hurled them at the foe. 


V. 




And first before the king he passed, with rev- 


Ruffians, pitiless as proud. 


erence stooping low. 


Heaven awards the vengeance due ; 


And next he bowed him to the queen, and 


Empire is on us bestowed. 


the infantas all a-rowe ; 


Sliame and ruin wait for you. 


Then to bis lady's grace ho turned, and she to 


"William Cowpeb. 


him did tlirow 


^_ 


A scarf from o>it her balcony, was whiter 




than tlie snow. 



348 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



VI. 

With tlio life-blood of the slaughtered lords 

all slippery is the sand, 
Yet proudly in the centre hath Gazul ta'en 

his stand ; 
And ladies look with heaving breast, and 

lords with anxious eye — 
But the lance is firmly in its rest, and his 

look is calm and high. 



Three bulls against the knight are loosed, and 

two come roaring on ; 
lie rises high in stirrup, forth stretching his 

rejon ; 
Each furious beast upon the breast he deals 

him such a blow, 
He blindly totters and gives back, across the 

sand to go. 



"Turn, Gazul, turn," the people cry — "the 
third comes up behind ; 

Low to the s.and his head holds he, his nos- 
trils snuff the wind ; " 

The mountaineers that lead the steers with- 
■ out stand whispering low, 

"Now thinks this proud Alcayde to stun 
Ilarpado so ? " 



From Guadiana comes he not, he comes not 

from Xenil, 
From Guadalarif of the plain, or Barves of 

the hill; 
But where from out the forest burst Xarama's 

waters clear. 
Beneath the oak trees was he nursed, this 

proud and stately steer. 



Dark is his hide on either side, but the blood 

within doth boil ; 
And the dun hide glows, as if on fire, as he 

paws to the turmoil. 
His eyes are jet, and they are set in crystal 

rings of snow ; 
But now they stare with one red glare of 

brass upon the foe. 



Upon the forehead of the bull the horns stand 

close and near, 
From out the broad and wrinkled skull like 

daggers they appear ; 
His neck is massy, like the trunk of some old 

knotted tree. 
Whereon the monster's shagged mane, like 

biUows curled, ye see. 



His legs are short, his hams .ire thick, his 
hoofs are black as night. 

Like a strong flail he holds his tail in fierce- 
ness of his might ; 

Like something molten out of iron, or hewn 
from forth the rock, 

Harpado of Xarama stands, to bide the Al- 
cayde's shock. 



Now stops the drum — close, close they come 
— thrice meet, and thrice give back ; 

The white foam of Harpado lies on the char- 
ger's breast of black — 

The white fo.im of the charger on Harpado's 
front of dun : 

Once more advance upon his lance — once 
more, thou fearless one ! 



Once more, once more — in dust and gore to 

ruin must thou reel ; 
In vain, in vain thou tearest the sand with 

furious heel — 
In vain, in vain, thou noble beast, I see, I see 

thee stagger ; 
Now keen and cold thy neck must hold the 

stern Alcayde's dagger ! 



They have slipped a noose around his feet ; 

six horses are brought in. 
And away they drag H.arpado with a loud 

and joyful din. 
Now stoop tliee, lady, from thy stand, and 

the ring of price bestow 

Upon G.azul of Algava, that hath laid Ilar- 

p.ado low. 

Anontmoits. (Sp.inish.) 
Translation of JouN Gibson Lockhart. 



CHEVY- 


CHASE. 349 




The hounds ran swiftly through the 


CEEVY-OHASE. 


woods. 
The nimble deer to take, 


God prosper long our noble king, 
Our lives and safeties all ; 


That with their cries the hills and dales 
An echo shrill did make. 


A woful hunting once there did 




In Chevy-Chase befall. 


Lord Percy to the quarry went. 




To view the slaughtered deer ; 


To drive the deer with hound and horn 
Earl Percy took his way ; 


Quoth he, " Earl Douglas promised 
This day to meet mo here ; 


The child may rue that is unborn 




The hunting of that day. 


But if I thought ho would not come, 




No longer would I stay ; " 


The stout earl of Northumberland 


With that a bravo young gentleman 


A vow to God did make, 


Thus to the earl did say : 


His pleasure in the Scottish woods 




Throe summer days to take — 


" Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come 




Ilis men in armor bright; 


The chiefest liarts in Ohevy-Ohase 


Full twenty lumdred Scottish spears 


To kill and bear away. 


All marching in our sight; 


Tliese tidings to Earl Douglas came, 




In Scotland where ho lay ; 


All men of pleasant Teviotdalc, 




Fast by the river Tweed ; " 


Who sent Earl Percy present word 


"Then cease your sports," Earl Percy 


He would prevent his sport. 


said, 


The English earl, not fearing that, 


" And take your bows with speed ; 


Did to the woods resort. 






And now with me, my countrymen. 


With fifteen hundred bowmen bold, 


Your courage forth advance ; 


All chosen men of miglit, 


For never was there champion yet. 


Wlio knew full well in time of need 


In Scotland or in France, 


To aim their shafts aright. 






That ever did on horseback come. 


The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran 


But if my hap it were, 


To chase the fallow deer ; 


I durst encounter man for man, 


On Monday they beg.an to hunt 


With him to break a spear." 


When d.ay-light did appear ; 






Earl Douglas on his milk-white steed, 


And long before high noon they had 


Most like a baron bold. 


A hundred fot bucks slain ; 


Rode foremost of his company. 


Then having dined, the drovers went 


Whose armor shone like gold. 


To rouse the deer again. 






"Show me," said he, "whose men you 


The bowmen mustered on the hills, 


be. 


Well able to endure ; 


That hunt so boldy here. 


And all their rear, with special care. 


Th.at, without my consent, do chase 


That day was guarded sure. 


And kill my fallow-deer." 



350 POEMS OF 


AMBITION. 


The first man that did answer make, 


His host he parted had in three. 


"Was noble Percy lie — 


As leader ware and tried ; 


Who said, " We list not to declare, 


And socn his spearmen on their foes 


Nor show whose men we be : 


Bore down on every side. 


Yet will we spend our dearest blood 


Throughout the English archery 


Thy chiefest harts to slay." 


They dealt full many a wound ; 


Then Douglas swore a solemn oath, 


But still our valiant Englishmen 


And thus in rage did say : 


AU firmly kept their ground. 


" Ere thus I will out-braved be, 


And throwing straight their bows away. 


One of us two shall die ; 


They grasped their swords so bright ; 


I know thee well, an carl thou art — 


And now sharp blows, a heavy shower, 


Lord Percy, so am I. 


On shields and helmets light. 


But trust me, Percy, pity it were, 


They closed fuU fast on every side — 


And great offence, to kill 


No slackness there was found ; 


Any of these our guiltless men, 


And many a gallant gentleman 


For they have done no ill. 


Lay gasping on the ground. 


Let you and me the battle try. 


In truth, it was a grief to see 


And set our men aside." 


How each one chose his spear. 


" Accursed be he," Earl Percy said, 


And how the blood out of their breasts 


" By whom this is denied." 


Did gush like water clear. 


Then stepped a gallant squire forth. 


At last these two stout earls did meet ; 


Witherington was his name. 


Like captains of great might, 


"Who said, " I would not have it told 


Like lions wode, they laid on lode, 


To Henry, our king, for shame, 


And made a cruel fight. 


That e'er my captain fought on foot. 


They fought until they both did sweat. 


And I stood looking on. 


With swords of tempered steel. 


You two be earls," said "Witherington, 


Until the blood, like drops of rain, 


" And I a squire alone ; 


They trickling down did feel. 


I '11 do the best that do I may. 


" Yield thee. Lord Percy," Douglas said 


"While I have power to stand ; 


" In faith I will thee bring 


"Wliile I have power to wield my sword, 


Where thou shalt high advanced be 


I '11 fight with heart and hand." 


By James, our Scottish king. 


Our English archers bent their bows — 


Thy ransom I will freely give. 


Their hearts were good and true ; 


And this report of thee. 


At the first flight of arrows sent, 


Thou art the most courageous knight 


Full fourscore Scots they slew. 


That ever I did see." 


Yet stays Earl Douglas on the bent. 


"No, Douglas," saith Earl Percy then. 


As chieftain stout and good ; 


" Thy proffer I do scorn ; 


As valiant captain, all unmoved, 


I will not yield to any Scot 


The shockfhe firmly stood. 


That ever yet was born." 



CHEVY- 


CHASE. 351 


With that there came an arrow keen 


Against Sir Ilugb Mountgomer}' 


Out of an English bow, 


So right the shaft he set, 


Which struck Eui-l Douglas to the heart ; 


The gray goose wing that was thereon 


A deep and deadly blow ; 


In his heart's blood was wet. 


Who never spake more words than 


This fight did last from break of day 


these : 


Till setting of the sun : 


" Fight on, my merry men all ; 


For when they rung the evening-bell, 


For why, my life is at an end ; 


The battle scarce was done. 


Lord Percy sees my fall." 






With stout Earl Percy there were slain 


Then leaving life, Earl Percy took 


Sir John of Egerton, 


The dead man by the hand ; 


Sir Pwobert Ratcliff, and Sir John, 


And said, " Earl Douglas, for thy life 


Sir James, that bold baron. 


Would I had lost my land. 






And with Sir George and stont Sii 


In truth, my very lieart doth bleed 


James, 


With sorrow for thy sake ; 


Both knights of good account, 


For sure a more redoubted knight 


Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slain. 


Mischance did never take." 


Whose prowess did surmount. 


A knight amongst the Scots there was 


For Witherington my heart is wo 


Who saw Earl Douglas die, 


That ever he slain should be, 


Who straight in wrath did vow revenge 


For when his legs were hewn in two, 


Ui)on the Earl Percy. 


lie knelt and fought on his knee. 


Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he called. 


And with Earl Douglas there was slain 


Who, with a sjiear full bright. 


Sir Hugh Mountgomery, 


AV'ell mounted on a gallant steed. 


Sir Charles Murray, that from the field 


Ran fiercely through the fight; 


One foot would never flee. 


And past the English archers all, 


Sir Charles Murray of Ratelifl', too — 
His sister's son was he ; 


Without a dread or fear ; 
And through Earl Percy's body then 


Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed, 
But saved he could not be. 


He thrust his hateful spear ; 






And the Lord Maxwell in like case 


With such vehement force and might 


Did with Earl Douglas die : 


He did his body gore. 


Of twenty hundred Scottish spears, 


The staff ran through the other side 


Scarce fifty-five did fly. 


A large cloth-yard and more. 






Of fifteen hundred Englishmen, 


So thus did both these nobles die, 


Went home but fifty-three ; 


Whose courage none could stain. 


The rest in Chevy-Chase were slain. 


An English archer then perceived 


Under the greenwood tree. 


The noble earl was slain. 






Next day did many widows come, 


lie had a bow bent in his band, 


Their husbands to bewail ; 


Made of a trusty tree ; 


They washed their wounds in brinish 


An arrow of a cloth-yard long 


tears, 


To the bard head haled he. 


But all would not prevail. 



352 



POEMS OP AMBITION. 



Their bodies, bathed in purple blood, 
They bore with them away ; 

They kissed them dead a thousand 
times, 
Ere they were clad in clay. 

The news was brought to Edinburgh, 
AYhere Scotland's king did reign. 

That bravo Earl Douglas suddenly 
Was with an arrow slaiu : 

" Oh heavy news," King -James did say ; 

"Scotland can witness be 
I have not any captain more 

Of such account as he." 

Like tidings to King Henry came 

Within as short a space. 
That Percy of Northumberland 

Was slaiu in Chevy-Chase : 

"Now God be with him," said our king, 

'■ Since 't will no better be ; 
I trust I have within my realm 

Five hundred as good as he: 

Yet shall not Scots or Scotland say 

But I will vengeance take : 
I '11 be revenged on them all, 

For brave Earl Percy's sake." 

This vow fuU well the king perfoi-med 

After at Ilumbledown ; 
In one day fifty knights were slain 
With lords of high renown ; 

And of the rest, of small account. 

Did many hundreds die : 
Thus eudeth the hunting of Chevy- 
Chase, 

Made by the Earl Percy. 

God save the king, and bless this land, 

With plenty, joy, and peace ; 
And grant, henceforth, that foul debate 

'Twixt noblemen may cease ! 

Anonymous. 



THE BALLAD OF AGINCOHRT. 

Faik stood the wind for France, 
When we our sails advance, 
Nor now to prove our chance 

Longer wLU tarry ; 
But putting to the main, 
At Kaux, the mouth of Seine, 
With all his martial train, 

Landed King Harry. 

And taking many a fort, 
Furnished in warlike sort, 
Marched towards Agincourt 

In happy hour — 
Skirmishing day by day 
With those that stopped his way, 
Where the French gen'ral lay 

With all his power, 

Which in his height of pride. 
King Henry to deride, 
His ransom to provide 

To the king sending; 
WTiich he neglects the while, 
As from a nation vUe, 
Yet, with an angry smile, 

Their fall poi-tending. 

And turning to his men. 
Quoth our brave Henry then ; 
Though they to one be ton. 

Be not amazed ; 
Yet have we well begun — 
Battles so bravely won 
Have ever to the sun 

By fame been raised. 

And for myself, quoth he. 
This my fidl rest shall be ; 
England ne'er mourn for m.-. 

Nor more esteem me. 
Victor I will remain. 
Or on this earth lie slain ; 
Never shall she sustain 

Loss to redeem me. 

Poitiers and Cressy tell, 
When most their pride did swell, 
Under our swords they fell ; 
No less our skill is 



THE CAVALIER'S SONG. 353 


Than wlien our grandsire gi'eat, 


This while our noble king. 


Claiming the regal seat, 


His broadsword brandishing, 


By many a warliko feat 


Down the French host did ding, 


Lopped the French lilies. 


As to o'erwhelm it ; 




And many a deep wound lent. 


The duke of York so dread 
The eager vaward led ; 
With the main Henry sped, 


His arms with blood besprent, 
And many a cruel dent 
Bruised his helmet. 


Amongst his henchmen. 


Glo'ster, that duke so good. 


Excester had the rear — 


Nest of the royal blood. 


A braver man not tiere : 


For famous England stood. 


Lord 1 how hot they were 


With his brave brother — 


On the false Frenchmen ! 


Clarence, in steel so bright, 




Though but a maiden knight, 


They now to fight are gone ; 
Armour on armour shone ; 


Yet in that furious fight 
Scarce such another. 


Drum now to drum did groan — 
To hear was wonder ; 

That with the cries they make 

The very earth did shake ; 

Trumpet to trumpet spake, 
Thunder to thunder. 


W^arwick in blood did wade ; 
Oxford the foe invade, 
And cruel slaughter made. 

Still as they ran up. 
Sufi'ulk his axe did ply ; 
Beaumont and Willoughby 




Bare them right doughtily. 


Well it thine age became, 


Ferrers and Fanhopc. 


noble Erpingham ! 
■Which did the signal aim 

To our hid forces ; 
When, from a meadow by. 
Like a storm suddenly. 
The English archery 

Struck the French horses, 


Upon Saint Crispin's day 
Fought was this noble fray, 
Whicli fame did not delay 
To England to carry ; 
Oh, wlien shall Englishmen 
With such acts fill a pen. 
Or England breed again 


With Spanish yew so strong, 


Such a King Harry ? 

MionAEL Drayton. 


Arrows a cloth-yard long. 
That like to serpents stung. 






Piercing the weather ; 
None from his fellow starts. 


THE CAVALIER'S SONG. 


But playing manly parts. 
And like true English hearts, 
Stuck close together. 


A STEED ! a steed of matchlesse speed, 

A sword of metal keene ! 
All else to noble heartes is drosse. 




All else on earth is meane. 


When down their bows they threw. 


The neighyinge of the war-horse prowde. 


And forth their bilbows drew, 


The rowlinge of the drum. 


And on the French they flew, 


The clangor of the trumpet lowde. 


Not one was tardy : 


Bo soundes from heaven that come ; 


Arms were from shoulders sent ; 


And oh ! the thundering presse of knightes, 


Scalps to the teeth were rent ; 


Whenas their war cryes swell. 


Down the French peasants went ; 


May tole from heaven an angel bright. 


Our men were hardy. 
24 


And rouse a fiend from hell. 



354 POEMS OF 


AMBITION. 


Tlieu moiinte! then mounte, brave gallants 


For the onslaught all were eager 


all, 


When the word sped round our leaguer: 


And (Ion your helraes aniaine : 


" Soon as the clock chimes twelve to-night 


Deathe's couriers, lame and lienor, call 


Then, bold hearts, sound boot and saddle, 


Us to the field againe. 


Stand to your arms, and on to battle, 


No shrewish teares shall fill our eye 


Every one that has hands to fight ! " 


"When the sword-hilt 's in our hand — 




Heart whole we '11 part, and no whit sigho 




For the fayrest of the laud ; 


Musqueteers, horse, yagers, forming. 


Lot piping swaine, and craven wight, 


Sword in hand each bosom wai'ming, 


Thus weopo and puling crye ; 


Still as death we all advance ; 


Our business is like men to fight, 


Each prepared, come blows or booty, 


And hero-like to die ! 


German-like to do our duty, 


William Motherwell. 


Joining hands in the gallant dance. 




Our cannoneers, those tough old heroes. 




Struck a lusty peal to cheer us. 


PEINCE EUGENE. 


Firing ordnance great and snuiU ; 
Right and left our cannon thundered. 




Till the pagans quaked, and wondered, 


Prinoe Eugene, our noble leader, 


And by platoons began to fall. 


Made a vow in death to bleed, or 




Win the emperor back Belgrade : 




" Launch pontoons, let all bo ready 


On the right, like a lion angered. 


To beai- our ordnance safe and steady 


Bold Eugene cheered on the bold vanguard ; 


Over the Danube " — thus ho said. 


Ludovio spurred up and down, 




Crying " On, boys ; every hand to 't ; 




Brother Germans nobly stand to 't ; 


There was mustering on the border 


Charge them home, for our old renown I " 


"When our bridge in marching order 




Breasted first the roaring stream ; 




Tlien at Semlin, vengeance breathing, 


Gallant prince ! ho spoke no more ; ho 


We encamped to scourge the heathen 
Back to Mahound, and iame redeem. 


Fell in early youth and glory. 

Struck from his horse by some curst baU : 




Great Eugene long sorrowed o'er huu, 


'T was on August one-and- twenty, 

Scouts and glorious tidings plenty 


For a brother's love he bore him ; 
Every soldier mourned his fidl. 


Galloped in, through storm imd rain ; 




Turks, they swore, three hundred thousand 
Marched to give our prince a rouse, and 
Dared us forth to battle-plain. 


In Wai-adin we laid his ashes ; 
Cannon peals and musket flashes 
O'er his grave due honors jiaid : 




Then, the old black eagle flying. 


Then at Prince Eugene's head-quarters 
Met our fine old fighting Tartars 


All the pagan powers defjing. 

On we marched and stormed Belgrade. 


Geuer:ds and field marshals all ; 


Anonymocs. (tJerinan.) 


Every point of war debated. 


Translation of Jons Ucghes. 


Each in his turn the signal waited, 




Forth to mai'ch and on to faU. 







I V U Y. 



355 



BANNOOK-BURN. 

KOBEr.T BRUCe's ADDKES8 TO HIS ARMT. 

Sqots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled — 
Soots, wham Bruce has aftea led— 
'Welcome to your gory biid, 
Or to victorie I 



Now 's the day, aud now 's the hour ; 
See the front o' battle lower ; 
See approach proud Edward's power — 
Chains aud slaverio ! 

Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave? 
Wha sae base as bo a slave ? 
Let him turn and flee I 

Wha for Scotland's king and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
Freeman stand or freeman fa' — 
Let him follow me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains ! 
By your sons in servile chains! 
We will drain our dearest veins, 
But they shall he free ! 

Lay the proud usurpers low I 
Tyrants fall in every foe 1 
Liberty 's in every blow ! 
Let us do, or die ! 

BOBEBT BnilNS. 



IVRY. 



Now glory to the Lord of hosts, from wIiotii 

all glories are ! 
And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry 

of Navarre! 
Now lot there be the merry sound of music 

and of danoe. 
Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny 

vinos, O pleasant land of France ! 



j\jul thou, Rochelle, our own Eochclle, proud 

city of the waters. 
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy 

mourning daughters; 
As thou wert constant in uur ills, be joyous 

in our joy ; 
For cold and stiff and still are they wlio 

wrought thy walls annoy. 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! a single field hath turned 

the chance of war ! 
Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry, and Henry of 

Navarre. 

Oh ! how our hearts were Ijeating, when, at 

the dawn of day, 
We saw tlio army of the league drawn out in 

long array ; 
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel 

peers, 
And Appenzol's stout infantry, and Egmont's 

Flemish spears. 
There rode tlio brood of false Lorraine, the 

cui'ses of our land ; 
And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a trun- 
cheon in his hand ; 
And, as we looked on them, we thought of 

Seine's empurpled flood. 
And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled 

with bis blood ; 
And wo cried unto the living God, wlio rules 

the fate of war, 
To light for His own holy name, and Henry 

of Navarre. 

The king is come to marshal us, in all his 

armor drest ; 
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon 

his galL'mt crest, 
lie looked upon his people, and a tear was in 

his eye ; 
lie looked upon the traitors, and his glance 

was stern and high, 
liight graciously ho smiled on us, as rolled 

from wing to wing, 
Down all our line, a deafening shout: God 

save our lord the king! 
" And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full 

well bo may — 
For never I saw promise yet of such a bloody 

fray— 



860 1H)KM8 OF AMBITIOX. 


Press whore yo see my white plume shine 


But wo of the religion have borno us best in 


amidst the ranks of war, 


fight ; 


And bo your orithmmio to-day the hohuet of 


And tlie good lord of Kosny hath ta'cn the 


Navarre." 


cornet white — 




Our own true ilaximiliau the cornet white 


Iliirrali! the foes arc moviug. Hark to the 


hath ta'en, 


mingled diu, 


The cornet white with crosses black, the flag 


Of fife, and steed, and li-unip, and drnm, and 


of false Lorraine. 


roaring: cnlvorin. 


Up witli it liigh; unfurl it wide^that all the 


'I'lio lloi-y dnko is prieking fast across Saint 


host may know 


Andre's plain, 


How God hath Innnblod the proud house 


Willi all the hiroliuf; chivalry of Gneldorsaud 


which wrought llis Church such woe. 


Almayne. 


Then on the gromid, while trumpets sound 


Nin\ liy the lips of those ye love, fair gentle- 


their loudest point of war. 


nion of Franco, 


Fling the red shreds, a footcloth meet for 


Charge for the golden lilies — upon then\ with 


Henry i>f Navarre. 


the lance ! 




A thousand spnrs are striking decii, a thou- 


Ho! maidens of Vienna; ho! matrons of 


sand spears in rest, 


Lucoruo — 


A thousand knights ai'o pressing oloso behind 


Weop, woep, and rend your hair for those who 


the snow-white crest ; 


never shall return. 


And in they hurst, and on they rushed, while, 


Ho ! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican 


like a guiding star, 


pistoles, 


Amidst the thickest caruago blazed the bel- 


That Antwerp moid'Cs may sing a nuiss for thy 


n\et of Na\arre. 


poor spearmen's soids. 




Ho ! gallant nobles of the league, look that 


Now, God he praised, the day is ours: Ma- 
yeunc hath turned his roiu ; 


your arms be bright ; 
Ho! burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch 
and ward to-niglit; 


It'Auniale hath cried for quarter; the Flem- 


ish count is slain ; 


For our t!od hath crushed the tyrant, our 


Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds bo- 






God hath raised the slave, 


fore a Biscay galo ; 


And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the 


The tiold is heaped with bleeding steeds, and 


valor of tho bravo. 


flags, and cloven nuul. 


Then glory to llis holy name, from whom all 


And theit we thought on vengeance, and, all 


glories are ; 


along onr van, 
Kcmomber Saint Bartholomew ! was passed 


And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry 
of Navarro ! 


from man to man. 






Lord Maoaulay. 


Bat out spake gentle Henry — "No French- 




man is my foe : 




Pown, down, with every foreigner, but let 






your brethren go " — 




Oh ! was there ever such a kuiglit, in friend- 


Gn'E A ROUSE. 


ship or in war, 




As our sovereign lord. King Henry, the sol- 


I. 


dier of Navarre ? 






Kino Cn.vnT.E9, and who Tl do him right 


Right well fouglit all the Frenchmen who 


now ! 


fought for France to-day ; 


King Charles, and who 's ripe for light now ? 


And many a lordly. banner God gave them 


Give a rouse : here "s iu hell's despite now, 


for a prey. 


King Charles ! 



NASEBY. 



357 



Who gave rric tlie (,'ooils tlmt wont sirioo? 
Who raised tno tho Ijouso tlmt HiUik onoc? 
Who Iifl[ic(l mc to gold I spent nineo? 
Who found mo in wine you drank once? 
Kiwj Charles, and who HI do him right now f 
King Charles, and whoh ripe for Jlght now? 
Give a rotise : here '« in heWs desjdle now, 
King Charles ! 



To wlioni used my hoy Georgo quaff' elso, 
By the old fool's sido that hegot him? 
For whom did lio dicor and laugh else, 
While Noll's damned troopers sliot him ? 
King Charles, and who HI do him, right now ? 
King Charles, and who''s rijie for fight now ? 
Oive a rouse : here '« in helVs despite now, 
King Charles I 

liOIIKllT HltOWNlSO. 



NASEBY. 

Oil! whereforo como ye liirfh in trium[ih 
from tlio north, 

With your hands, and your feet, and your rai- 
ment all red? 

And whereforo doth y(jur rout send forth a 
joyous shout? 

And whence bo tho grapes of tho wine-ijress 
that ye tread? 

Oh 1 evil was tlio root, and bitter was the 

fruit. 
And crimson was the juice of the vintage that 

we trod ; 
For we trariiided on the throng of the haughty 

and the strong. 
Who sate in tho liigh places and slew the 

saints of God. 

It was about the noon of a glorious day of 

June, 
That we saw their banners dance and their 

cuirasses shine, 
And the man of blood was there, with his 

long cssenced hair, 
And Aslley, and Sir Marmaduke, and ltii|iert 

of the lihine. 



Like a servant of llio Lord, with his bible and 
his sword, 

Tho general rode along us to form us foi- llie 
light; 

When a murmuring sound broke out, and 
swelled into a shout 

Among tho godless horsemen uimju the ty- 
rant's right. 

And hark! like the roar ol'Ibe billows on tho 

shore, 
Tho cry of battle rises along their charging 

line: 
For God! for the cause! for tho Church! for 

tho laws ! 
For Charles, king of England, and Itupcrt of 

tho Ilbine! 

The furious Gennan comes, with his clarions 
and his drums. 

His bravoes of Alsatia and jiages of White- 
hall; 

They are bursting on our flanks! Grasp your 
l)ikesl Close your raidvs ! 

Fur Kupert never comes, but to compier, or 
to fall. 

They are here — they rush on — wo are bro- 
ken — we are gone — 

Our left is borne before them like stubble on 
tho blast. 

Lord, put forth thy might! O Lord, defend 
tho right! 

Stand back to back, in God's uanjo! and fight 
it to the last ! 

Stout Skippen hiith a wound — tho centre hath 

given ground. 
Hark! hark! what means the tramiiling of 

horsemen on our rear? 
Whoso banner do I see, boys? ' Tis he ! thank 

God I 'tis lie, boys! 
Bear up another minute! Bravo Oliver is 

here ! 

Their heads all stooping low, their points iJl 

in a row: 
Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a delugo 

on the dikes. 



358 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranl^s of I And she of the seven liills shall mourn her 



tlie accurst, 
And at a shock have scattered the forest of 
Ms pikes. 

Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe nook 

to hide 
Their coward heads, predestined to rot on 

Temple Bar ; 
And he — he turns ! he flies ! shame on those 

cruel eyes 
That bore to look on torture, and dare not 

look on "war ! 

Ho, comrades ! scour the plain ; and ere ye 

strip the slain. 
First give another stab to make your search 

secure ; 
Then shake from sleeves and pockets their 

broad-pieces and lockets, 
The tokens of the wanton, the plunder of the 

poor. 

Fools! your doublets shone with gold, and 
your hearts were gay and bold, 

When you kissed your lily hands to yom' le- 
raans to-day ; 

^Vnd to-morrow shall the fox from her cham- 
bers in the rocks 

Lead forth her tawny cubs to howl above the 
prey. 

Whore be yom- tongues, that late mocked at 
heaven, and hell, and fate? 

And the fingers that once were so busy with 
your blades? 

Your perfumed satin clothes, your catches 
and your oatlis ? 

Your stage-plays and your sonnets, your dia- 
monds and your spades? 



Down! down! for ever down, with the mitre 
and the crown ! 

With the Belial of the court, and the Mam- 
mon of the Pope ! 

There is woe in Oxford halls, there is wail in 
Durham's st;ills ; 

The Jesuit smites his bosom, the bishop rends 
his cope. 



children's ills, 
And tremble when she thinks on the edge of 

England's sword ; 
And the kings of earth in fear shall shudder 

when they hear 
Wliat. the hand of God hath wrought for the 

houses and the word! 

Lord Macaflay. 



AN nOPvATIAN ODE, 
TipoN Cromwell's eettten feom Ireland. 

Tde forward youth that woidd appear. 
Must now forsake his Muses dear ; 

Nor in the shadows sing 

His niunbers languishing. 

'Tis time to leave the books in dust. 
And oil the unused armor's rust ; 

Removing from the wall 

The corslet of the hall. 



So restless Cromwell could not cease 
In the inglorious arts of peace, 

But through adventurous war 

Urged his active star ; 

And like the three-forked lightning, first 
Breaking the clouds where it was nurst. 

Did thorough his own side 

His fiery way divide. 

For 't is all one to courage high, 
The emulous, or enemy ; 

And, with such, to enclose 

Is more than to oppose. 

Then burning through the air he went, 
And palaces and temples rent ; 
And Ca?sar's head at last 
Did through his laurels blast. 



AN HORATIAN ODE. 359 


'Tia madness to resist or blame 


This was that memorable hour. 


The face of angry heaven's flame ; 


Which first assured the forced power; 


And, if we would speak true, 


So, when they did design 


Much to the man is due, 


The Capitol's first line. 


Who, from his private gardens, where 


A bleeding head, where they begun. 


He lived reserved and austere. 


Did fright the architects to run ; 


(As if his highest plot 


And yet in that the state 


To plant the bergamot,) 


Foresaw its happy fate. 


Could by industrious valor climb 


And now the Irish are ashamed 


To ruin the great work of time. 


To see themselves in one year tamed ; 


And cast the kingdoms old 


So much one man can do. 


Into another mould ! 


That does both act and know. 


Though justice against fate complain. 


They can afiirm his praises best. 


And plead the ancient rights in vain — 


And have, thougli overcome, confest 


But those do hold or break. 


How good he is, how just, 


As men are strong or weak. 


And fit for highest trust: 


Nature, that hateth emptiness. 


Nor yet grown stiffer by command, 


Allows of penetration less, 


But still in the republic's hand, 


And therefore must make room 


How fit he is to sway 


Where greater spirits come. 


That can so well obey. 


What field of all the civil war. 


He to the commons' feet presents 


Where his were not the deepest scar? 


A kingdom for his first year's rents, 


And Hampton shows what part 


And, what he may, forbears 


lie bad of wiser art : 


His fame to make it theirs : 


Where, twining subtle fears with hope. 


And has his sword and spoils ungirt, 


He wove a net of such a scope 


To lay them at the public's skirt. 


That Charles himself might chase 


So when the falcon high 


To Carisbrook's narrow case ; 


Falls heavy from the sky. 


That thence the royal actor borne, 


She, having killed, no more does search 


The tragic scaffold might adorn. 


But on the next green bough to perch ; 


While round the armed bands 


Where, when he first does lure. 


Did clap their bloody hands, 


The falconer has her sure. 


He nothing common did or mean 


What may not then our isle presume, 


Upon that memorable scene ; 


While victory bis crest does plume? 


But with his keener eye 


What may not others fear 


The axe's edge did try : 


If thus he crowns each year? 


Nor called the gods, with vulgar spite. 


As Oassar be, ere long, to Gaul ; 


To vindicate his helpless right ; 


To Italy an Hannibal ; 


But bowed his comely head 


And to all states not free 


Down, as upon a bed. 


Shall climacteric be. 

1 



3G0 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



The Pict no shelter now shall find 
"Within his parti-colored mind; 
But from this valor sad 
Shrink underneath the plaid, 

Happy, if in the tufted brake 
The English hunter him mistaie, 

Nor lay his hounds in near 

The Caledonian deer. 

But thou, the war's and fortune's son, 

March indefatigably on ; 
And, for the last etfect. 
Still keep the sword erect ! 

Besides the force it has to fright 

The spirits of the shady night, 
The same arts that did gain 
A power, must it maintain. 

Andrew Marvell. 



SOCKETS. 

TO THE LOED GEXERiL CROMWELL. 

CiiOMWELL, our chief of men, who through a 

cloud 
Not of war on.y, but detractions rude. 
Guided by fiiith and matchless fortitude, 
To peace and truth thy glorious way hast 

ploughed. 
And on the neck of crowned fortune proud 
Ilast reared God's trophies, and his work 

pursued. 
While Darwen stream witli blood of Scots 

imbrued, 
And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud, 
And "Worcester's laureat wreath. Yet much 

remains 
To conquer still ; peace hath her victories 
No less renowned th.m war. New foes arise 
Threatening to bind our souls with secular 

chains: 
Help us to save free conscience from the 

paw 
Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their 

maw. 



ON THE DETRACTION WIUCU FOLLOWED UPON 
MT WEITLN'G CERTAIN TREATISES. 

I DID but prompt the age to quit their clogs 
By the known rules of ancient liberty, 
"When straight a barbarous noise environs 
me 
Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and 

dogs: 
As when those hinds that were transformed 
to frogs 
Railed at Latona's twin-born progeny, 
"Wliich after held the sun and moon in 
fee. 
But this is got by casting pearl to hogs, 
That bawl for freedom in their senseless 
mood. 
And stiU revolt when truth woidd set them 

free. 
License they mean when they cry Liberty; 
For who loves that must first be wise and 
good; 
But from that mark how far they rove we 
see. 
For all this waste of wealth, and loss of 
blood. 



TO CTBIAO SKINNER. 

Cyeiac, this three years day these eyes, tbo' 
clear 
To outward view of blemish or of spot, 
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot ; 
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear 
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the 
year. 
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not 
Against heaven's hand or will, nor bate a 

jot 
Of heart or hope ; but still bear up and 
steer 
Eight onward. "What supports me, dost thou 
ask? 
The conscience, friend, t' have lost them 

overplied 
In liberty's defence, my noble task. 
Of which all Europe rings from side to side. 
This thought miglit lead me through the 

world's vain mask. 
Content though blind, had I no better guide. 
John Milton. 



THE COVENANTERS' BATTLE-CHANT. 361 


- 


The shouting has ceased, 


WUEN- BANKERS ARE WAVING. 


And the flashing of cannon ! 




I looked from the turret 


I. 


For crescent and pennon : 


When banners are waving, 


As flax touched by tire, 


And lances a- pushing ; 


As hail in the river, 


"Wlien captains are shouting, 


They were smote, they were fiillen. 


And war-horses rushing ; 


And had melted for ever. 


Wlien cannon are roaring, 


Anonymous, 


And liot bullets flying. 
He that would honor win, 




* 


ilust not fear dying. 




II. 


THE COVENANTERS' BATTLE-CHANT. 


Though shafts fly so thick 




That it seems to be snowing; 


To battle ! to battle ! 


Though streamlets with blood 


To slaughter and strife ! 


Iforc than water are flowing ; 


For a sad, broken covenant 


Though with sabre and bullet 


We barter poor life. 


Our bravest are dying. 


The great God of .Judah 


"We speak of revenge, but 


Shall smite with our hand. 


We ne'er speak of flying. 


And break down the idols 


Ill 


That cumber the land. 


Come, stand to it, heroes ! 


Uplift every voice 


The heathen are coming; 


In prayer, and in song ; 


Horsemen are round the walls, 


Remember the battle 


Riding and running; 


Is not to the strong ; — 


Maidens and matrons all 


Lo, the Ammonites thicken ! 


Arm 1 arm I are crying , 


And onward they come. 


From petards the wildfire's 


To the vain noise of trumpet, 


Flashing and flying. 


Of cymbal, and drum. 

They haste to the onslaught, 




The trumpets from turrets high 


With hagbut and spear ; 


Loudly are braying ; 


They lust for a banquet 


The steeds for the onset 


That 's deathful and dear. 


Are snorting and neighing ; 


Now horseman and footman 


As waves in the ocean. 


Sweep down the hill-side ; 


The dark plumes are dancing ; 


They come, like fierce Pharaohs, 


As stars in the blue sky. 


To die in their pride ! 


The helmets are glancing. 




Their ladders are planting, 


See, long plume and pennon 


Their sabres are sweeping ; 


Stream gay in the air ! 


Now swords from our sheaths 


They are given us for slaughter, - 


By the thousand are leaping ; 


Shall God's people spare? 


Like the flash of the levin 


Nay, nay ; lop them off — 


Ere men hearken thunder, 


Friend, father, and son ; 


Swords gleam, and the steel caps 


All earth is athirst till 


Are cloven asunder. 


The good work be done. 



862 POEMS OF AMBITION. 


Brace tiglit every buckler, 


And fiir up in heaven, near tlie white sunny 


And lift high the sword ! 


cloud. 


For bitini:; must blades be 


The song of the lark was melodious and 


That fight for the Lord. 


loud ; 


Keuieuibor, remember, 


And in Gloumuir's wild solitude, lengthened 


How saints' blood was shed. 


and deep. 


As free as the rain, and 


Were the whistling of plovers and bleating 


Homes desolate made ! 


of sheep. 


Among thom ! — .imong them ! 


And Velhvood's sweet valley breathed music 


Unhnried bones cry : 


and gladness — 


Avenge us, — or, like us, 


The fresh meadow blooms hung in beauty 


Faith's true martyrs die I 


and redness ; 


How, hew down the sjjoilers ! 


Its daughters were happy to hail the return- 


Slay on, and spare none ; 


ing, 


Then shout forth in gladness, 


And drink the delight of July's sweet morn- 


Ueaven's battle is won ! 


ing. 


'WlIUAU MoTnEBTTELL. 






But, oh! there were hearts cherished far other 




feelings, 




Illumed by the light of prophetic reveal- 




ing? ; 


THE OAMERONIAN'S DTITLAM. 


Who drank from the scenery of beauty but 




sorrow. 


1 X a dream of tlie night I was wafted away 
To tlie muirland of mist, where the martyrs 


For they knew that tlieir blood would bedew 
it to-morrow. 


lay; 




M'here Cameron's sword and his bible are 


' Twas the few faithfid ones who with Cam- 


seen, 


eron were lying 


Engraved on the stone where the heather 


Concealed 'mong tlie mist whore the heath- 


grows green. 


fowl was crying ; 




For the horsemen of Earlshall around them 


' Twas a dream of those ages of darkness and 
blood 


were hovering. 
And their bridle reins rung through the thin 


AVlien the minister's home was the mountain 


misty covering, 


!ind wood ; 




■Wlion in Wellwood's dark v.alloy the stand- 


Their faces grew pale, .and their swords were 


ard of Zion, 


unsheathed, 


All bloody and torn, 'mong the heather was 


But the vengeance that darkened their brow 


lying. 


w.as unbreathed ; 




■With eyes turned to heaven in calm resigna- 


Twas morning; and summer's young sun 
from thi» east 


tion. 
They sang their last song to the God of sal- 


Lay in loving repose on the green mountain's 


v.ation. 


breast ; 




On Wardlaw and Cairntable the clear shin- 


The hills with the deep mournful music were 


ing dew 


ringing. 


Glistened there 'mong the heath bells and 


The curlew and plover in concert were sing- 


mountain flowers bine. 


in? : 



THE BONNETS OF BONNIE DUNDEE. 



363 



liut the melody died 'mid dei-ision and laugh- 
ter, 

As tliL' liost of UH^'odly ruslied ou to the 
slaiightei'. 

Though in mist, and in darkness, and tiro 

they were shrouded. 
Yet the souls of tlio righteous were calm and 

unclouded ; 
Their dark eyes Ihwlied lightning, as, firm 

and unbending, 
Tliey stood like the rock which the thunder 

is rending. 

The muskets were flashing, the blue swords 

were gleaming, 
Tlie helmets were cleft, and the red blood 

was streaming, 
The heavens grew dark, and the thunder was 

rolling, 
Wlicn in Wellwoud's dark muu-lands the 

mighty were falling. 

Wlion the righteous had fallen, and the com- 
bat was ended, 

A chariot of fire through the dark cloud de- 
scended ; 

Its drivers were angels on horses of white- 
ness. 

And its burning wheels turned upon axles of 
briglituess. 



A seraph unfolded its doors bright and shin- 

All dazzling like gold of the seventh refin- 
ing, 
And the souls that carae forth out of great 

tribulation. 
Have mounted the chariots and steeds of 
salvation. 

On the arcli of the rainbow the chariot is 
gliding, 

Tlirougli the path of the tliunder tlio horse- 
men are riding — 

Glide swiftly, briglit spirits ! the prize is be- 
fore ye — 

A crown never fading, a kingdom of glory ! 

James IIyslop. 



THE BONNETS OF BONNIE DUNDEE. 

To the lords of convention 't was Claverhouse 

who spoke, 
" Ere the king's crown shall fall there are 

crowns to be broke ; 

So let each cavalier who loves honor and me 

Come follow the bonnets of l)onnio Dundee ! " 

Come fill lip my ciij), come Jill iq) my can ; 

Come saddle your lioraes, mid call vp your 

men; 
Come open the Westport and let vs gang 

free, 
And it 's room for the loniiets ofhonnie 
Dundee ! 

D\mdee he is mounted, he rides up the street, 
Tlie l)ells are rung backward, the drums they 

are beat ; 
But the provost, douce man, said, " .Just e'en 

let him be. 
The gudo toun is well quit of tluit deil of 
Dundee 1 " 
Come Jill vp my cup, come fill vp my can ; 
Come saddle your horses, and call up your 

men ; 
Come open the Westport and let us gang 

free. 
And it '« room J'or the honnets of honnie 
Dundee ! 

As he rode doim the sanctified bends of the 

Bow 
Ilk carliue was flyting and shaking lier pow ; 
But the young i)lants of grace they looked 

cowthie and slee, 
Thinking, Luck to thy bonnet, tliou bonnio 
Dundee! 
Come Jill up my cup, come Jill xip my can; 
Come saddle your horses, cmd call up your 

men; 
Come open the Westport and let us gang 

free, 
And it '« room for the honnets of honnie 
Dundee ! 

With sour-featured whigs the grass-market 

was fhranged 
As if half the west had set tryst to be lianged ; 



361 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



There was spite in each look, there was fear 

ia each eo, 
As they wiitchcil for the bonnets of bonuie 
Dumlec. 
Come fill up my ciqy, come fill up my can ; 
Come saddle your horses, and cull up your 

men; 
Come open the Westport and let us gang 

fine. 
And it 's room fior the bonnets of l/onnie 
Dundee! 



These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits ivnd had 

spears. 
And lang-hafted gullies to kill cavaliers ; 
But they shrunk to close-heads, and the cause- 
way was free 
At the toss of the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, cotnefill tip my can ; 
Come saddle your Jtorses, and call up your 

men ; 
Come open the Westport and let vs gang 

firee, 
And it '« room fior the bonnets of bonnie 
Dundee! 



lie spurred to the foot of the proud castle 

rock, 
And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke : 
■' Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa 

words or three, 
For the love of the bonnet of boanie 
Dundee." 
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can; 
Come saddle your horses, and call up your 

men; 
Come open the Westport and Ut us gang 

firee. 
And it 's room for the bonnets of bonnie 
Dundee ! 



The Gordon demands of him which way he 
goes — 

" Where'er shall direct me the shade of Mont- 
rose ! 

Yonr grace in short space shall hoar tidings 
of me. 

Or that low lies the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. 



Comefill up my cup, come fill up my can; 
Come saddle your horses, and call up your 

men ; 
Come open tJte Westport and let us gang 

firee. 
And it 's room for the bonnets ofi bonnie 

Dundee ! 

" There lu-e hills beyond Pentland and lands 

beyond Forth ; 
If there 's lords in the Lowlands, there 's chiefs 

in the north ; 
There are wild Duniewassals three thousand 

times three 
Will cry ' Iloigh ! ' for the bonnet of bounie 
Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, comefill up my can ; 
Come saddle your horses, and call up your 

men ; 
Come open the Westport and let us gang 

firee. 
And it 's room fior tlie bonnets of bonnie 
Dundee ! 

" There 's brass on the target of barkened 

bull-hide, 
There 's steel in the scabbard that dangles be- 
side ; 
The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall 

flash free. 
At a toss of the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. 
Comefill up my cup, comefill up my can ; 
Come saddle your horses, and call up your 

men ; 
Come open tlie Westport and let us gang 

firee. 
And it '» room fior the bonnets ofi bonnie 
Dundee ! 

" Away to the hUls, to the caves, to the rocks; 
Ei'e I own an usurper I '11 couch with the fox ; 
And tremble, false whigs, in the midst of 

your glee, 
You have not seen the last of my bonnet and 
nie." 
Comefill up my cup, comefill up my can ; 
Comesaddle your horses, andcallupyour 

men ; 
Come open the Westport and let us gang 

firee. 
And it 's roo/n fior the bonnets ofi bonnie 
Dundee ! 



HERE 'S TO THE KING, SIR! 



365 



lie waved liis proud band, and the tnunpets 

■ were blown. 
The kettle-drums clashed, and the horsemen 

rode on, 
Till on Ravelston's cbfis and on Clermiston's 

lea 
Died away the wild war-notes of bonnie Dun- 
dee. 
Come fill up my cup, come fill wp my can ; 
Come saddle the hones, and call up the 

men ; 
Come open your doors and let me gaefree, 
For it 's up with the bonnets of bonnie 

Dundee! 

SiE Waltee Scott. 



LOCHABER NO MORE. 

Farewell to Lochaber! and farewell, my 

Jean, 
Where beartsorao with thee I hae niony day 

been! 
For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more. 
We '11 maybe retm-n to Lochaber no more I 
These tears that I shed they rn-o a' for my dear, 
And no for the dangers attending on war, 
Though borne on rough seas to a far bloody 

shore. 
Maybe to return to Lochaber no more. 

Th<:)ugh hurricanes rise, and rise every wind, 
They'll ne'er make a tempest like that in my 

mind; 
Though loudest of thunder on louder waves 

roar, 
TJiat 's naething like leaving my love on the 

shore. 
To leave thee behind me my heart is sair 

pained ; 
By ease that's inglorious no fame can bo 

gained ; 
And Ijeauty and love 's the reward of the 

brave. 
And I must deserve it before I can crave. 

Tliuu glory, my Jeany, maun plead my ex- 
cuse; 
Since honor commands me, how can I refuse? 
Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee. 
And without thy favor I 'd better not be. 



I gae then, my lass, to win honor and fume, 

And if I should luck to come gloriously hame, 

I '11 bring a heart to thee with love running 

o'er, 

And then I '11 leave thee and Lochaber no 

more. 

Allan Ramsay. 



HERE'S TO THE KING, SIRl 

Heee 'a to the king, sir ! 
Ye ken wha I mean, sir — 
And to every honest man 
That will do 't again ! 

Fill, fill your lumpers high ; 
Brain, drain your glasses dry ; 
Out upon him !^fi,e ! oh, fie ! — 
That loinna do 't again. 

Here 's to the chieftains 
Of the gallant Highland clans ! 
They hae done it mair nor ance. 
And will do 't again. 

Fill, fill your bum2>ers high ; 
Drain, drain your glasses dry ; 
Out upon him'.^fie! oh, fie! — 
That winna do H again. 

When you hear the trumpet's sound 
Tuttie taittie to the drums, 
Up wi' swords and down wi' guns, 
And to the loons again ! 

Fill, fill your bumpers liigh ; 
Drain, drain your glasses dry ; 
Out upon him!— fie! oli,fi^! — 
That loimia do H again. 

Here' s to the king o' Swede ! 
Fresh laurels crown his head ! 
Shame fa' every sneaking blade 
That winna do 't again I 
Fill, fill your bumpers liigh ; 
Drain, drain your glasses dry ; 
Out upon liim l—fie ! oli,fi,e ! — 
Tliat winna do 't again. 

But to make a' things right now, 
He that drinks mami fight too, 
To show his heart's upright too, 
And that he '11 do 't again 1 



360 I'OEMS OF 


AMBITION. 


Fill, fill your lumpen high; 




Drain, drain your ijlasscs dry ; 


THE GALLANT GRAHAIIS. 


Out upon him .'—fie J oh, fie! — 




That winna do H again. 


To wear the blue I think it best, 


AiONVSIODS. 


Of a' the colors that I see ; 




And I '11 weal' it for the gallant Grahams 




That ai-e banished frae their ain countrie. 


CnAELIE IS MY DARLING. 




'T WAS on a Momloy inorniug 


I '11 crown them east, I '11 crown them west. 


Richt ciu'ly in the year, 


The bravest lads that e'er I saw ; 


That. Chai-lie cam' to oui' toun, 


They bore the gree in free fighting. 


The young chevalier. 


And ne'er were slack their swords to draw. 


And Charlie ?ie''s my darling, 




My darling, my darling ; 




Charlie he '« my darling. 


They wan the day wi' Wallace wight ; 


The young chevalier! 


They were the lords 0' the south countrie; 




Cheer up your hearts, bravo cavahers, 


As he was walking up the street, 


Till the gallant Grahams como o'er tlie 


The city for to view. 


sea. 


Oh, there he spied a bonnie lass 




The window looking througli. 




And Charlie heh my darling, 


At the Gouk head, where their camp was 


My darling, my darling ; 


set, 


Cliarlie he '« my darling, 


They rade the white horse and tlio gray, 


The young chevalier! 


A' glancing in their plated armor, 




As the gowd shines in a summer's dav. 


Say lieht's ho jumped up the stair, 


" 


And tirled at the pin ; 




And wha sae ready as liersel' 


But woo to Hacket, and Strachan baith. 


To let the laddie iu? 


And ever an ill death may they die. 


And Charlie lie '« my darling. 


For they beti-ayed the gallant Grahams, 


My darling, my darling ; 


That aye were ti'ue to majesty. 


Cliarlie he''s my darling, 




The young chevalier! 


Now faro ye wcel, sweet Eunerdale, 


He set his Jenny on his knee, 


Baith kith and km that I could name ; 


All in his Highland dress; 


Oh, I would sell my silken snood 


For brawly weol he kenned the way 


To see the gallant Griiluims come hame. 


To please a bonnie lass. 


Anoxvmous. 


And Charlie he 's my darling. 




' 


My darling, my darlings- 




Charlie he '4 7ny darling, 


KENMURE'S ON ANT) AWA. 


The young chevalier! 




It 's up yon heathery mountain, 


On, Komuure 's on and awa, 'WOlie ! 


And down you seroggy glen, 


Oh, Ivenmure 's on and awa ! 


Wo daurna gang n-niilking, 


And Kenmure's lord 's the bravest lord 


For Charlie and his men. 


That ever (Jalloway saw. 


And Charlie he '« my darling, • 




My darling, my darling ; 


Success to Koninure's baud, Willie 1 


Charlie he '< my darling, 


Success to Kemnnre's band ; 


The young chevalier ! 


There 's no a heart that feara a Whig 


AXOKTMOUS. 


That rides by Kenmure's hand. 



LOCIIIEL'S 


WARNING. 367 


Here 's Konmuro's liealth in wine, Willie I 


Here 's freedom to him that wad read. 


Hero's Kenniure's liciilth in wine; 


Here 's freedom to him that wad write! 


Tliero ne'er was a coward o' Konin\iro's 


There 's nane ever feared tliat the truth should 


blude, 


bo heard 


Nor yet o' Gordon's line. 


But they wham the truth wad indite. 


Oh, Kenninro's lads are men, Willie! 


Hero 's a health to them that 's awa. 


Oh, Kenniure's lads are men ; 


And here 's to them that's awa; 


Their hearts and swords are metal true— 


Hero 's Maitland and Wycombe, and wha 


And that their faes shall ken. 


does na like 'em 




We '11 build in a hole 0' the wa'. 


They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie! 


Here's tinimcr that's red at the heart, 


They '11 live or die wi' fame; 


Hero 's fruit that 's sound at the core ! 


But soon, wi' sounding victorie, 


May ho that would turn the bufl" and blue coat 


May Kenranrc's lord come hame. 


Be turned to the hack 0' the door. 


Here 's him that 's far awa, Willie! 


Here 's a health to them that 's awa, 


Here 's him that 's far awa ; 


And hero 's to them that 's awa ; 


And here 's the flower that I love best — 


Hero's Chieftain il'Lood, a chieftain worth 


The rose tliat's like the snaw. 


gowd, 


KOBERT liUBNH. 


Though bred amang mountains 0' snaw ! 




Here's friends on haith sides 0' the Forth, 
And friends on bailli sides 0' the Tweed ; 






And wha would betray old Albion's rights, 
May tiicy never eat of licr bread ! 


HEEE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S 


AWA. 






IloitKiiT Burns. 


IIfre'r (1 health to tliGin thfit 'a tiwn 




And here 's to them that '3 awa ; 




And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause, 


LOGHIEL'S WARNING. 


May never guid Inek ho their fa' 1 




It 's guid to he merry and wise, 


WiZAKD — LooniEL. 


It's guid to be honest and true. 




It 's guid to support Caledonia's cause. 


WIZAHD. 


And bide by the bulf and the blue. 


LooniEL, Lochiel I beware of the day 




When the Lowlands shall meet thoo in battle 


Here 's a health to tliem that 's awa. 


array ! 


And here's to them that's awa; 


For a field of the de.ad rushes red on my sight. 


Here 's a liealth to Charlie, the chief 0' the 


And the clans of CuUoden are scattered in 


elan, 


fight. 


Altho' tliat his band be sma'. 


They rally, they bleed, lor their kingdom and 


May liberty meet wi' success 1 


crown ; 


May prudence i)rotect lier fra evil ! 


Woe, woe to the riders that trample them 


May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist, 


down I 


And wa»der their way to the devil ! 


Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the 

slain. 
And their hoof-beaton bosoms are trod to tlie 


Here 's a health to them that 's awa, 


And here 's to them that 's awa ; 


jilain. 


Here 's a health to Tammie, the Norland lad- 


But hark I tlirough the fast-flashing lightning 


die, 


of war 


That lives at the lug 0' the law! 


What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ? 



SOS 



r E M S OF A M B 1 T I N. 



'T is thiue, oh Glomilliu ! whose brido shall 

await, 
Like a lovo-lightixl watch-fire, a\\ uightatthc 

gate. 
A stood oonios at moniiiii;: uo rider is there; 
Hut its bridle is red with the sign of despmr. 
Wooii, Alliiu! to doatli and captivity lod — 
(.'h woop! but tliy tears cannot nnnibor tlio 

dead ; 
For a merciless sword on Cnllodon shall wave, 
Cullodeu that reeks with tlie blood of the 

brave. 

LOCUIEL. 

Go, preacli to the coward, tliou death-telling 

seer ! 
Or, if gory CuUoden so dreadful appear, 
Praw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight 
Tliis mantle, to cover tlio phantoms of fright. 



Hal laugh'st tliou, Lochiel, my vision to 

scorn i 
Trend bird of the momilain, thy phune shall 

be torn! 
k>ay, ruslied the bold eagle exultingly forth 
From liis homo iu the dark rolling clouds of 

the north ? 
Lo ! the death-shot of focmen ontspeeding, he 

rodo 
Compaiiionless, bearing destruction abroad; 
Ihit down lot him stoop from liis liavoc on 

high! 
Ah I home let him speed — for the spoiler is 

nigh. 
Wliy Hames the far suimuit? Why shoot to 

the blast 
Those embers, like stars from the firmament 

cast? 
'T is the fire-sliowor of ruin, :dl dreadfully 

driven 
From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of 

lieavon. 
I'll, crested LochioII the peerless in might, 
Whose banners arise on the battlements' 

height, 
Heaven's lire is aroimd llioe, to Hast and to 

burn; 
Keturn (o lliv dwelling! all lonelv return! 



For the blackness of ashes shsdl mark where 

it stood, 
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing 

brood. 



False wizanl, avaunt ! 1 have marshalled my 

clan ; 
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are 

one ! 
Thoy are true to the last of their blood auil 

their breath, 
And like reapers descend to the harvest of 

death. 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the 

shock 1 
Lot him dash his proud foam like a wave on 

the rock! 
Hut woe to liis kindred, and woe to his cause, 
Wlien .Vlbin her claymore indignantly draws; 
■When her bonneted chiettaius to victory 

crowd, 
Clauronald the dauntless, and Moray the 

proud, 
-\.ll plaidod and plumed in their tttrtan ai-ray — 



I.ochiel, Lochiel 1 bervar* of the day ; 

For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal. 
But man cimuot co\or what tiod would re- 

vciil ; 
'T is the sunset of life gives me mystical lore. 
And coming events cast their shadows before. 
I tell thee, CulKxlen's dread echoes shall ring 
With the bloodhounds that iKirk for thy fugi- 
tive king. 
Lo ! anointed by heaven with the vials of 

wrath. 
Behold, whore he tiies on his desolate path ! 
Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from 

my sight ; 
Rise, rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his 

tlight! 
'T is linished. Their thunders ai'o huslied on 

tlie moors; 
CuUoden is lost, and my country deplores. 
But wliero is the iron-boimd prisoner ? 

where? 
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 



PIBUOOU OF DONUIL DIIU. 



860 



Say, mounts lio tlio occiiii-wiivo, ljunislicd, 

lorlorn, 
Liko a lirrili rroiii ]\h couiifry cant blooding 

and ii)['n'i 
Al] 110 1 for a darker departure is near; 
The war-drum \h muffled and Idack i.s the Ijier; 
His deatli-liell is tolling. Oh! mercy, dispel 
YoM sif,'lit, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! 
liit'e flutters convulsed in his quivering limlis, 
And his hlood-strcaming nostril in agony 

swims. 
Accursed bo the fagots that blaze at his feet, 
Where his heart shall bo tlirown cro it ceases 

to beat. 
With the smoke of its ashes to poison tlio 

gale 

LoaniEL. 
Down, sootless insulterl I trust not the 

tale ! 
For never sliall Albin a destiny meet 
So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat. 
Though my perishing ranks should be strewed 

in their gore, 
Like ocean- weeds heaped nn the surf-beaten 

shore, 
Locliiel, uritaintcjl by flight or by chains, 
While the kindling of life in iiis bosom re- 
mains, 
Shall vict<jr exult, or in death bo laid low. 
With his back to the field, and his feet to the 

foe ! 
And, leaving in battle no blot on his name, 
Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed 

of fame. 

TUOMAH CAMi-UULL. 



BOEDER BALLAD. 

Makch, march, Ettrick and Treviotdalc ! 
Why the de'il dinna ye march forward in 
order ? 
March, march, Eskdalo and Liddesdale ! 
All the Blue Bonnets are over the Border ! 
Many a banner spread 
Flutters above your heail. 
Many a crest that is famous in story! — 
Mount and make ready, then, 
Sons of the mountain glen. 
Fight for the queen and our old Scottish 
glory ! 

25 



Oomo from the hills where your hirscls aro 
grazing; 
Oomo from the gleu of Ihe buck and Hie 
roe; 
Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing ; 
Como with the buckler, tin; lance, and the 
bow. 

Trumiiets aro sounding ; 
Wai'-steeds are bounding; 
Stand to your arms, and march in good order, 
England shall many a day 
Tell of tlio bloody fray, 
When the Blue Bonnets came over the IJorder. 
HiK Walticr Hcott. 



PIBROOII OF DONUIL DIIU. 

Pmiiooii of Donuil Dim, 

Pibroch of Donuil, 
Wake thy wild voice anew 

Huininon Olan-Oonuil I 
Come away, come away — 

Hark to the summons! 
Oomo in your war array, 

Gentles and commons. 

Como from deep glen, and 

From mountain so rocky ; 
The war-|)ipe and ])ennon 

Are at Invcrhxdiy. 
Come every hill-plaid, and 

True heart that wears ono ; 
Como every steel blade, and 

Strong hand that bears one. 

Leave untondcd the herd, 

The flock without shelter; 
Leave tho corjiso uninterred, 

Tho bride at the altar ; 
Leave the deer, leave the steer, 

Leave nets and barges: 
Come witli your figliting gear. 

Broadswords and targes. 

Come as the winds come when 

Forests aro rended ; 
Oomo as tho waves como when 

Navies are stranded! 



370 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



Taster come, faster come, 

Faster and faster — 
Chief, vassal, page, and groom, 

Tenant and master! 

Fast they come, fast they come — 

See how tliey gather ! ■ 
Wide waves the eagle plume,' 

Blended with heather. 
Cast yom- plaids, draw your blades. 

Forward each man set! 
Pibroch of Donuil Dim, 

Kneel for the onset ! 

SiK Walter Scott. 



WAE 'S ME FOE PEINCE CHAKLIE. 

A WEE bird came to our ha' door; 

He warbled sweet and clearly ; 
And aye the o'ercome o' his sang 

Was " Wae 's me for Prince Charlie ! " 
Oh ! when I heard the bonny, bonny bird. 

The tears came drapping rarely ; 
I took my bonnet afi' my head, 

For weel I lo'ed Prince Charlie. 

Quoth I : " My bird, my bonnie, bonnie bird, 

Is that a tale yo borrow ! 
Or is 't some words ye 've learned by rote. 

Or a lilt o' dool and sorrow ? " 
" Oh ! no, no, no ! " the wee bird sang, 

" I 've flown sin' morning early ^ 
But sic a day o' wind and ruin ! — 

Oh I wae 's me for Prince Charlie ! 

On hills that are by right his ain 

lie roams a lonely stranger; 
On ilka hand ho 's pressed by want. 

On ilka side by danger. 
Yestreen I met him in the glen. 

My heart near bursted fairly; 
For sadly changed indeed was he — 

Ob ! wae 's me for Prince Charlie ! 

Dark night came on ; the tempest howled 

Out owre the hills and valleys ; 
And wharo was 't that your prince lay down, 

Whase hame should be a palace? 
lie rowed him in a Ilighland plaid, 

Which covered him but sparely. 
And slept beneath abush o' broom — 

Oh ! wae 's me for Prince Chai'lie ! " 



But now the bird saw some red coats. 

And he shook his wings wi' anger : 
" Oh ! this is noa land for me — 

I '11 tarry Jiere nae langer." 
A whUe he hovered on the wing. 

Ere he departed faii'ly ; 
But weel I mind the farewell strain, 

'T was " Wae 's me for Prince Charlie ! " 
William Glen. 



HAME, HAME, HAME! 

Hame, hame, hame ! oh hame I fain would bo ! 

Oh liame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie ! 

When the flower is i' the bud and the leaf is 
on the tree, 

The lark shall sing me hame to my ain coun- 
trie. 

Hame, hame, hame ! oh hnmc I fain icouM lie ! 

Oh hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! 

The green leaf o' loyaltie 's beginning now to 

fa'; 
The bonnie white rose, it is withering an' a' ; 
But we "11 water it wi' the bluid of usurping 

tyrimnie. 
And fresh it shall blaw in my ain countrie! 
Hame, hame, hame ! oh hame I fain won Id be I 
Oh hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! 

Oh there 's nocht now frae ruin my countrie 
can save. 

But the keys o' kind heaven to open the grave. 

That a' the noble martyrs who died for loy- 
altie 

May ri.se again and fight for their ain coimtrie. 

Hame, hame, hame ! oh hame I fain would he ! 

Oh hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! 

The great now are gone wha attempted to 
save. 

The green gra.ss is growing abuno their 
grave ; 

Yet the sun through the mist seems to prom- 
ise to me, 

"I'll shine on ye yet in your ain countrie." 

Hame, hame, hame ! oh hame I fain would he ! 

Oh hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie/ 
Allan CuiTNiNGHAii. 



THE BROADSWORDS OF SCOTLAND. 



S7I 



MY AIN COUNTREE. 

The sun rises bright in France, 

And fair sets he ; 
But lie has tint the blythe bJinli lie had 

In my ain covmtree. 
Oh gladness comes to many, 

But sorrow comes to me, 
As I look o'er the wide ocean 

To my aiu countree. 

Oh it 's nae my ain ruin 

That saddens aye my e'e, 
But the love I left in Galloway, 

^'i' bonnie bairnies three. 
My hamely hearth burnt bonnie, 

An' smiled my fair Marie : 
I 've left my heart behind me 

In my ain countree. 

The bud comes back to summer, 

And the blossom to the bee ; 
But I '11 win back — oh never, 

To my ain countree. 
I 'm leal to the high heaven, 

Which will be leal to me, 
An' there I '11 meet ye a' sune 

Frae my ain countree. 

Allan CuNNlNcnAM. 



THE BROADSWORDS OF SCOTLAND. 

Now there 's peace on the shore, now there 's 

calm on the sea. 
Fill a glass to the heroes whose swords kept 

us free, 
Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose, and 
Dundee. 
Oh, the hroadewordg of old Scotland! 
And oh, the old Scottish broadswords ! 

Old Sir Ralph Abercroniby, the good and tlw 

brave — 
Let him flee from our board, let him sleep 

with the slave, 
Whose libation comes slow while we honor 
his grave. 
Oh, the broadswords of old Scotland ! 
And oh, the old Scottish broadswords! 



Though he died not, like him, amid victory's 

roar, 
Though disaster and gloom wove his shroud 

on the shore. 
Not the less wo remember the spirit of Moore. 
Oh, tJie broadswords of old Scotland! 
And oil, the old Scottish broadsioords ! 

Yea, a place with the fallen the living shall 

claim ; 
We'll entwine in one wreath every glorious 

name. 
The Gordon, the Ramsay, the Hope, and the 
Graham, 
All the broadswords of old Scotland! 
And oh, tlie old Scottisli broadswords ! 

Count the rocks of the Spey, count the groves 

of the Forth, 
Count the stars in the clear, cloudless heaven 

of the north; 
Then go blazon their nmnbers, their names, 
and their worth. 
All the broadswords of old Scotland! 
And oh, the old Scottish broadmoords ! 

The highest in splendor, the humblest in 

place, 
Stand united in glory, as kindred in race. 
For the private is brother in blood to his Grace. 

Oh, the broadmoords of old Scotland! 

And oh, the old Scottish broadsrevrds ! 

Then sacred to each and to all let it be, 

Fill a glass to the heroes whose swords kept 

us free, 
Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose, and 
Dundee. 
Oh, the broadsinords of old Scotland ! 
And o!i, t!ie old Scottish broadswords ! 
John Gibbon LooEnABT. 



SONG. 



As by the shore, at break of day, 
A vanquished chief expiring lay, 
Upon the sands, with broken sword. 

He traced his farewell to the free ; 
And, there, the last unfinished word 

He dying wrote, was " Liberty ! " 



37U POEMS OF 


AMBITION. 


At night a sea-bird shrieked the knell 




Of him who tluis for freedom fell ; 


PEACE TO THE SLUMBERERS, 


Tlie words he wrote, ere evening came, 




Were covered by the sounding sea ; — 


Peace to the slumberers ! 


So pass away the cause and name 


They lie on the battle-plain, 


Of him who dies for liberty ! 


With no shroud to cover them ; 


TuoMAS Moore. 


The dew and the summer riun 




And all that sweep over them. 




Peace to the slumberers ! 




THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH 
TAEA'S HALLS. 


Vain was their bravery ! 

The fallen oak lies where it lay 
Across the wintry river ; 


Tub harp tliat once through Tara's halls 

The soul of music shed. 
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, 


But brave hearts, once swept away, 
Are gone, alas ! forever. 
Vain was their bravery ! 


As if tliat soul were fled. 
So sleeps tlie jiride of former tlays. 

So glory's thrill is o'er. 
And hearts that once beat high for praise. 

Now feel that pulse no more. 


Woe to the conqueror ! 

Our limbs shall lie as cold as theirs 
Of whom his sword bereft us. 

Ere we forget the deep arreai's 
Of vengeance they have left us! 


No more to chiefs and ladies bright 
The harp of Tara swells ; 


Woe to the conqueror ! 

Thomas Mooee. 


Tlie chord alone that breaks at night 




Its tale of ruin tells. 




' 


Thus freedom now so seldom wakes. 




The only throb she gives 
Is when some heart indignant breaks 


SHAN VAN VOCUT. 


To show that still she lives. 


Oh I the French are on the say, 


Thomas Mooee. 


Says the Shan Van Vocht ; 




The French are on the say. 




Says the Slum Vsui Vocht ! 
Oh! the French are in the hay; 




ODE. 


They'll be hero without delay. 




And the Orange will decay. 


How sleep the brave, who sink to rest 


Says the Shan Van Vocht. 


By all their country's wishes blessed! 


Oh ! the French are in the hap, 


When spring, with dewy fingers cold, 


Theifll he here hy Ireah of day, 


Kcturns to deck their hallowed mould, 
Slie there shall dress a sweeter sod 


And the Orange irill decay, 
Says the Shan Van Vocht. 


Th.on fancy's feet have ever trod. 


And where will they have their camp ? 


By fairy hands their knell is rung; 


Says the Shan Van Vocht ; 


By forms unseen their dirge is sung; 


Where will they have their camp? 


There honor comes, a pilgrim gray, 


Says the Shan Van Vocht, 


To bless the turf that wraps their clay; 


On the Currach of Kildare ; 


And freedom shaU awhUe repair. 


The boys they will be there 


To dwell a weeping hermit there! 


With their pikes in good repair, 


■Whliam Collins. 


Says the Shan Van Vocht. 



GOD SAVE KING. 373 


To the Currach of Kildare 




Tlie hoys they will repair, 


GOD SAVE THE KING. 


And Lord Edward will he there, 




Saija the Shan Van Vocht. 


God save our gracious king ! 




Long live our noble kingi 




God save the king ! 


Then what will the yeomen do? 


Send him victorious. 


Says the Shan Van Vocht ; 


Happy and glorious, 


"What will the yeomen do ? 


Long to reign over us — 


Says the Shan Van Vocht; 


God save the king ! 


Wliat should the yeomen do, 




But throw oft' the red and blue, 


Lord our God, arise ! 


And swear that they '11 be true 


Scatter his enemies, 


To the Shan Van Vocht. 


And make them fiill , 


What ahotild the yeoman do, 


Confound their politics, 


But throw off the Red and Blue, 


Frustrate their knavish tricks; 


And swear that they HI he true 


On him our hopes wo fi.\, 


To the Shan Van Vocht! 


God save us all ! 




Thy choicest gifts in store 


And what color will they wear? 


On him be pleased to pour ; 


Says the Shan Van Vocht ; 


Long may he reign. 


What color will they wear? 


May he defend our laws, 


Says the Shan Van Vocht ; 


And ever give us cause, 


What color sliould Tic seen, 


To sing with heart and voice — 


Where our fathers' homes have been. 


God save the king ! 


But our own immortal green? 






Anonymous. 


Says the Shan Van Vocht. 




What color should he seen, 

Where our fathers' homes have been. 






But our own immortal green f 




Says the Shan Van Vocht. 






HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD 




NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX. 


And will Ireland then be free? 




Says the Shan Van Vocht ; 


I BPriANO to the stirrup, and Joris and he : 


Will Ireland then be free? 


I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all 


Says the Shan Van Vocht ! 


three ; 


Yes ! Ireland shall be free. 


"Good speed! " cried the watch as the gate- 


From the centre to the sea ; 


bolts undrew. 


Then hurra ! for liberty ! 


" Speed ! " echoed the wall to us galloping 


Says the Slum Van Vocht. 


through. 


Tes ! Ireland shall he free. 


Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to 


From the centre to the sea ; 


rest, 


Then hurra ! for liherty ! 


And into the midnight we galloped abreast. 


Says the Shan Van Vocht. 




Anontmotjs. 


Not a word to each other ; we kept the great 




pace — 




Neck by neck, stride by stride, never chang- 
ing our place ; 





374 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, 
TIu'u sliortened each stii-nip and set the 

piqno right, 
r.obiiclded the check-strap, chained slacker 

the bit, 
Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. 

'T was a nioonset at starting ; bnt while wo 

drew near 
Lokcren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned 

clear ; 
At Boom a great yellow star came out to see ; 
At 1 lutVeld 't was morning as plain as could be ; 
And from Meoheln church-steeple ■vvc heard 

the halt'-cliime — 
So Joris broke silence with " Yet there is 

thno ! " 

At Aerschot up leaped of a sudden the sun. 
And against him the cattle stood black every 

one. 
To stare through the mist at us galloping past ; 
And I saw my stout galloper lioland at last, 
With resohite shoulders, each butting away 
The haze, as some blutf river headland its 

spray; 

And his low head and crest, just one sharp 

ear bent hack 
For my voice, and the other pricked out on 

his track ; 
And one eye's black iutelligeucc, — ever that 

glance 
O'er its white edge at me, his own master, 

askance ; 
And the thick heavy spume-flakes, which ayo 

and anon 
His tierce lips shook upward in galloping on. 

By Ilasselt Pirck groaned ; and cried Joris, 

" Stay s-pvu- ! 
Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault 's not 

in her ; 
We '11 remember at Aix " — for one hoard the 

quick wheeze 
Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and 

staggering knees. 
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the 

flank. 
As down on her haunches she sluiddored and 

sank. 



So wo were left galloping, Joris and I, 

Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the 
sky; 

The broad sun above laughed a. pitiless langh ; 

'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stub- 
ble like cball"; 

Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang 
white, 

And "Gallop" gasped Joris, " for Aix is in 
sight ! " 

" How they '11 greet us ! " — and .all in a mo- 
ment his roan 

Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a 
stone ; 

And there was my Roland to hear the whole 
weight 

Of the news which alone coidd save Aix from 
her fate, 

With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the 
brim. 

And with circles of red tin- his eye-sockets' 
rim. 

Then I cast loose my butf-coat, each holster 

let tall, 
Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and 

all, 
Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his 

ear. 
Called my Rol.and his pet-name, my horse 

without peer — 
Clapped my hands, laughed and sung, any 

noise, bad or good. 
Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and 

stood. 

And all I remember is friends flocking round. 

As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on 
the ground ; 

And no voice but was praising this Roland 
of mine. 

As I poured down his throat our last meas- 
ure of wine. 

Which (tlio bm-gesses voted by common con- 
sent) 

Was no more than his due who brought good 
news from Ghent. 

Robert Buownino. 



INDIAN DEATH-SONG. 



876 



INDLVN DEATH-SONG. 

TiiK Sim sets in night, and tlio stars aluui tlie 

day; 
Bnt gloi'y remains when tlicir lights fade 

away. 
Begin, you tormentors 1 your throats arc in 

vain. 
Fur the sons of Alknomook will never eom- 

plain. 

Komcrabcr the ai-rows ho shot from his bow ; 
Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid 

low! 
AVliy 80 slow ? do you wait till I slirinlc from 

the pain ? 
No ! tho son of Alknomook shall never com- 

[jlain. 

Reraemljer tlie wood where in ambush wo 

lay, 

And tho scalps which wo bore from your 
nation away. 

Now tlie flame rises fast, yon exult in iny 
pain ; 

Bnt tlie son of Alknomook can never com- 
plain. 

I go to the Land where my fatlier is gone ; 
Ilis ghost sliall rejoice in the fame of his son. 
Death comes, like a friend, to relieve me from 

jiaiii ; 
And thy son, O Alknomook I has scorned to 

complain. 

Anne IIunteu. 



INDIAN DEATII-SONG. 

On tlio mat he 's sitting there — 

See ! he sits upright — 
With the same look tliat he ware 

When he saw the light. 

But where now the hand's clenched 
weight ? 

Where the breath he drew, 
That to the Great Spirit late 

Forth the pipe-smoke blew ? 



Where the eyes that, falcon-keou, 

Marked the reindeer pass. 
By tho dew upon the green. 

By tlio waving grass? 

These the limbs that, unconfined, 
Bounded throiigli the snow. 

Like tho stag that's twcnty-tyncd. 
Like tho mountain rod 

These the arms that, stout and tense, 

Did tho bow-string twang ! 
See, the life is parted hence! 

See, how loose they hang! 

Well for him I he 's gone liis ways, 
AVhero are no more snows ; 

Whore the fields are decked with maizo 
That unplanted grows ; — . 

Where with beasts of chase each wood. 

Where with birds each tree, 
Where with fish is every flood 
Stocked full pleasantly. 

lie above with spirits feeds; — 

We, alone and dim, 
Left to celebrate his deeds. 

And to bury him. 

Bring the hwt sad offerings hither; 

Chant the dcatli-lament ; 
All inter, with him together, 

That can him content. 

' Neath his head the hatchet hide 

Tliat he swung so strong ; 
And tho bear's liairf set beside. 

For tho way is long ; 

Then the kinfe — sharp let it be- 
That from foeman's crown. 

Quick, with dexterous cuts but three, 
Skin and tuft brought down ; 

Paints, to smear his frame about. 

Set within his h"and. 
That he redly may shine out 
In the spirits' land, -'"^i 

Feedkrick Sr.iiiLLEK. (Gennan.) 
Translation of N. L. Feotiii.vouam. 



37G 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM 
FATHERS IN NEW-ENGLAND. 

" Look now :ibroad — auother raco has filli^d 
Those populous bordors — wide the wood recedes, 
And towns shoot up, .tud fertile realms are tilled ; 
The land is full of harvests and green meads." 

Bryant. 



The breaking waves daslied high, 
On a stern and rock-bound coast, 

And the woods against a stormy sky 
Theii- giant brandies tossed ; 

And the lieavy night hung dark, 

The hills and waters o'er, 
When a band of exiles moored their bark 

On the wild New-England shore. 

Not as the conqueror comes, 

Tliey, the true-hearted, came; 
Not with the roll of the stirring drums, 

And the trumpet that sings of fame; 

Not as the flying come, 

In silence and in fear ; — 
fhey shook the depths of the desert gloom 

With their hymns of lofty cheer. 

Amidst the storm they sang. 
And the stars heard, and the sea; 

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods 
rang 
To the anthem of the free. 

The ocean eagle soared 

From his nest by the white wave's foam ; 
j\jid the rocking pines of the forest roared — 

This was their welcome home. 

There were men with hoary hair 

Amidst that pilgrim band : 
Wliy had they come to wither there. 

Away from their childhood's land ? 

There was woman's feai'less eye. 

Lit by her deep love's truth ; 
There was manhood's brow serenely high, 

And the fiery heart of youth. 



What sought they thus afar? 

Brigiit jewels of the mine? 
The wealtli of seas, the spoils of war ? — 

They sought a faith's pure shrine ! 

Ay, call it holy ground. 

The soil where first they trod ; — 
They have left unstained what there they 
found — 
Freedom to worship God. 

Felicia Hemanb. 



ON THE PROSPECT OF PLANTING 
ARTS AND LEARNING IN 

AMERICA. 

The Muse, disgusted at an age and clime 
Barren of every glorious theme, 

In distant lands now waits a better time, 
Producing subjects worthy fame ; 

In liajipy climes, where from the genial sun 
And virgin earth such scenes ensue, 

The force of art by nature seems outdone. 
And fancied beauties by the true ; 

In happy climes the seat of innocence, 
AVhere nature guides and virtue rules, 

Where men shall not impose for truth and 
sense, 
The pedantry of courts and scliools. 

There shall be sung another golden age. 

The rise of empire and of arts. 
The good and great uprising epic rage. 

The wisest heads and noblest hearts. 

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay ; 

Such as she bred when fresh and young, 
When heavenly flame did animate her clay. 

By future poets shall be sung. 

Westward the course of empire take its way ; 

The four first acts abeady past, 
A fifth shall close tlie drama with the day ; 

Time's noblest oflspring is the last. 

George Berkeluy. 



SONG OF MARION'S MEN. 



ail 



OAEMEN BELLICOSUM. 

In their ragged regimentals 
Stood the old continentals, 

Yielding not, 
When the grenadiers were lunging. 
And like hail fell the plunging 
Cannon-shot ; 
When the files 
Of the isles, 
From the smoky night encampment, bore the 
banner of the rampant 
Unicorn, 
And grummer, grnramer, grummer rolled the 
roll of the drummer. 
Through the morn ! 

Then with eyes to the front all. 
And with guns horizontal. 

Stood our sires ; 
And the balls whistled deadly. 
And in streams flashing redly 
Blazed the fires ; 
As the roar 
On the shore. 
Swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the 
green-sodded acres 
Of the plain ; 
And louder, louder, louder, cracked the 
black gunpowder. 
Cracking amain I 

Now like smiths at their forges 
Worked the red St. George's 

Cannoniers ; 
And the " villainous saltpetre " 
Eung a fierce, discordant metre 
Round their ears ; 
As the swift 
Storm-drift, 
With hot sweeping anger, came the horse- 
guards' clangor 
On our flanks. 
Then higher, higher, higher, burned the old- 
fashioned fire 
Through the ranks ! 

Then the old-fashioned colonel 
Galloped through the white infernal 
Powder-cloud ; 



And his broad sword was swinging. 
And his brazen throat was ringing 
Trumpet loud. 
Then the blue 
Bullets flew. 
And the trooper-jackets redden at the touch 
of the leaden 
Rifle-breath ; 
And rounder, rounder, rounder, roared the 
iron sis-pounder. 
Hurling death ! 

Gur IIuMpnEET McMaster. 



SONG OF MiVRION'S MEN. 

OuE band is few, but true and tried. 

Our leader frank and bold ; 
The British soldier trembles 

When Marion's name is told. 
Our fortress is the good greenwood, 

Our tent the cypress-tree ; 
We know the forest round us. 

As seamen know the sea; 
We know its walls of thorny vines, 

Its glades of reedy grass. 
Its safe and silent islands 

Within the dai'k morass. 

Wo to the Enghsh soldiery 

That little dread us near 1 
On them shall light at midnight 

A strange and sudden fear ; 
When, waking to their tents on fire, 

They grasp their arms in vain, 
And they who stand to face us 

Are beat to earth again ; 
And they who fly in terror, deem 

A mighty host behind. 
And hear the tramp of thousands 

Upon the hollow wind. 

Then sweet the hour that brings release 

From danger and from toil ; 
We talk the battle over. 

And share the battle's spoil. 
The woodlands ring with laugh and shout. 

As if a hunt were up. 
And woodland flowers are gathered 

To crown the soldier's cup. 



S18 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



■yVith merry songs we mock the wind 

That iu the phio-top grieves, 
And slvmihcr long and sweetly 

Ou beds of oaken leaves. 

Well knows the fair and friendly moon 

The band that Marion leads — 
The glitter of their rifles, 

The scampering of their steeds. 
'T is life to guide the fiery barb 

Across the moonlight plain ; 
'T is life to feel the night-wind 

That lifts his tossing mane. 
A moment in the British camp — 

A moment — and away ! 
Back to the pathless forest, 

Before the peep of day. 

Grave men there are by broad Santee, 

Grave men with hoary hairs ; 
Their hearts are all with Marion, 

Tor Marion ai-e their prayers. 
And lovely ladies greet our baud 

■\Vith kindliest welcoming. 
With smiles like those of summer, 

And tears like those of spring. 
For them wo wear these trusty arms. 

And lay them down no more 
Till we have driven the Briton, 

For ever, from our shore. 

■\VlLLIAM ClTLLEN BilTANT. 



THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNEE. 

On! say, can you see by the dawn's early 
light 

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's 
last gleaming — 

Whose broad stripes and bright stars through 
tilt? perilous fight. 

O'er the rampai-ts we watched, were so gal- 
lantly streaming! 

And tlje rocket's red glare, the bombs burst- 
ing in .lir 

Gave proof through the night that onr flag 
was stiU there ; 

Oh say, does that star-spangled banner yet 
wave 

O'er the land of the free, and the homo of 
the brave ? 



On that shore, dimly seen through the mists 
of the deep. 

Where the foe's haughty host in di-ead silence 
reposes. 

What is that which the breeze, o'er the tow- 
ering steep. 

As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now dis- 
closes ? 

Now it catches the gleam of the morning's 
first beam. 

In full glory reflected, now shines on the 
stream ; 

'T is the star-spangled banner; oh, long may 
it wave 

O'er the land of the free, and the home of the 
brave ! 

And where is that band who so vauntingly 
swore 

That the havoc of war and the battle's con- 
fusion 

A home and a country should leave us no 
more? 

Their blood has washed out tlieir fold foot- 
steps' pollution. 

No refuge could save the hirelmg and slave 

From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the 
grave ; 

And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth 
wave 

O'er the land of the ft'ee, and the home of the 
brave. 

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall 
stand 

Between tlieir loved homes and the war's 
desolation ! 

Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven- 
rescued land 

Praise the power that hath made and pro- 
served us a nation. 

Then conquer we must, for our cause it is 
just; 

And this be our motto — " In God is our 
trust "— 

And the star-spangled banner in triumph 
shall wave 

O'er the land of the free, and the home of the 
brave. 

Feanois Scott Key. 



THE AMERICAN FLAG. 



379 



TIIE AMERICAN FLAG. 

I. 
When freedom from her mountain height 

Unfurled her standard to the air, 
She tore tlie azure robe of niglit, 

And set the stars of glory there ; 
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 
The milky baldric of the skies, 
And striped its pure, celestial white 
With streakings of the morning light; 
Then from his mansion in the sun 
She called her eagle bearer down, 
And gave into his mighty hand 
The symbol of her chosen land. 



Majestic monarch of the cloud ! 

"Who rear'st aloft thy regal form. 
To hear the tempest-trumpings loud. 
And see the lightning lances driven, 

When strive the warriors of the storm, 
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven — 
Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given 

To guard the banner of the free, 
To hover in the sulphur smoke, 
To ward away the battle-stroke. 
And bid its blendings shine afar. 
Like rainbows on the cloud of war. 

The harbingers of victory ! 

III. 
Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly. 

The sign of hope and triumph high. 
When speaks the signal trumpet tone. 

And the long line comes gleaming on ; 
Ere yet the life-blood, wann and wet, 

Has dimmed the glistening bayonet, 
Each soldier eye shall bi-ightly turn 

To where thy sky-born glories burn, 
And, as his springing steps advance, 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 
And when the cannon-mouthings huid 

Heave in wild wreathes the battle-shroud, 
And gory sabres rise and fall, 
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, 

Then shall thy meteor-glances glow. 
And cowering foes shall sink beneath 

Each gallant arm that strikes below 
That lovely messenger of death. 



Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 

Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave ; 
When death, careering on the g:de. 

Sweeps darkly round the l)ellied sail, 
And frighted waves rush wildly back 

Before the broadside's reeling rack. 
Each dying wanderer of the sea 

Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
And smile to see thy splendors fly 
In triumph o'er his closing eye. 



Flag of the free heai't's hope and home, 

By angel hands to valor given; 
Thy stars iiave lit the welkin dome, 

And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
For ever float that standard sheet! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us. 
With freedom's soil beneath our feet. 

And freedom's banner streaming o'er us ? 
JosKi'n KoDMAN Draki:. 



■ MOTUEIi OF A MIGHTY RACE. 

O MOTiiEE of a mighty race, 
Yot lovely in thy youthful grace ! 
The elder dames, thy haughty peers, 
Adunro and hate thy blooming years; 

With words of shame 
And taunts of scorn tliey join thy name. 

For on thy cheeks the glow is spread 
That tints thy morning hills with red; 
Thy step — the wild deer's rustling feet 
Within thy woods are not more fleet ; 

Thy hopeful eye 
Is bright as thine own sunny sky. 

Ay, let them rail — those hauglity ones, 
While safe thou dwellest with thy sons! 
They do not know how loved thou art, 
IIow many a fond and fearless heart 

Would rise to throw 
Its life between thee and the foe. 

They know not, in their hate and pride, 
What virtues with thy children bide — 



380 POEMS OF 


AMBITION. 


How true, how good, thy graceful maids 


Yet, on her rocks, and on her sands, 


Make bright, like flowers, tlie valley shades; 


And wintry hills, the school-house stands ; 


What generous men 


And what her rugged soul denies 


Spring, like thine oaks, by hill and glen ; 


The harvest of the mind supplies. 


"What cordial welcomes greet the gnest 


The riches of the commonwealth 


By thy lone rivers of the west ; 


Are free, strong minds, and hearts of health ; 


How faith is kept, and truth revered. 


And more to her than gold or grain 


And man is loved, and God is feared, 


The cunning hand and cultured brain. 


In woodland homes. 




And where the ocean border foams. 


For well she keeps her ancient stock. 




The stubborn strength of Pilgrim Pvock ; 


There 's freedom at thy gates, and rest 


And still maintains, with milder laws. 


For earth's down-troddeu and opprest. 


And clearer light, the good old cause ! 


A shelter for the hunted head. 




For the starved laborer toil and bread. 


Nor heeds the sceptic's puny hands. 


Power, at thy bounds, 


Wliile near her school the church-spire 


Stops, and calls back his baffled hounds. 


stands ; 




Nor fears the blinded bigot's rule. 


fair young mother ! on thy brow 


While near her church-spire stands the 


Shall sit a nobler grace than now. 


school. 


Deep m the brightness of thy skies, 


John Gheesleaf WmTTraE. 


The thronging years in glory rise. 




And, as they fleet. 
Drop strength and riches at thy feet. 






Tliine eye, with every coming hour, 


THE BATTLE-FIELD. 


Shall brighten, and thy form shall tower ; 


OxcE this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, 


And when thy sisters, elder born. 


Were trampled by a hurrying crowd. 


Would brand thy name with words of scorn. 


And fiery hearts and armed hands 


Before thine eye 


Encomitered in the battle-cloud. 


Upon their lips the taunt shall die. 




William Cullen Bryant. 


Ah ! never shall the land forget 




How gushed the life-blood of her brave — 




Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet, 






Upon the soil they fought to save. 


OUB STATE. 






Now all is calm, and fresh, and still; 


The sonth-land boasts its teeming cane. 


Alone the chirp of flitting iiird. 


The prairied west its heavy grain. 


And talk of childi-en on the hill. 


And sunset's radiant gates imfold 


iVnd bell of wandering kine are heard. 


On rising marts and sands of gold ! 






No sojenm host goes trailing by 


Rough, bleak and hard, our little state 


The black-mouthed gun and staggering 


Is scant of soil, of limits strait ; 


wain ; 


' Her yellow sands are sands alone. 


Men start not .it the battle-cry — 


Her only mines are ice and stone ! 


Oh, be it never heard again ! 


From autumn frost to April rain. 


Soon rested those who fought ; but then 


Too long her winter woods complain ; 


Wlio minglest in the harder strife 


From budding flower to iiilling leaf. 


For truths which men receive not now, 


Her summer time is all too brief. 


Thy warfare only ends with life. 



BARBARA FRIETCHIE. 



ysi 



A friendless warfai-e ! lingering long 
Through weary day and weary year ; 

A wild and niany-weaponed throng 
Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear. 

Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, 
And blench not at thy chosen lot; 

The timid good may stand aloof, 
The sage may frown — yet faint thou not. 

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast. 
The foul and liissing bolt of scorn ; 

For with thy side shall dwell, at last. 
The victory of endurance born. 

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again — 
The eternal years of God are hers ; 

But error, wounded, writhes in pain, 
Aud dies among his worshippers. 

Tea, though thou lie upon the dust. 
When they who helped thee flee in fear. 

Die fuU of hope and manly trust, 
Like those who fell in battle here ! 

Another hand thy sword shall wield, 
^inother hand the standard wave. 

Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed 
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave. 

"WiLLIAil CUXLEN BkTANT. 



MONTEREY. 
We were not many — we who stood 

Before the iron sleet that day ; 
Yet many a gallant spirit would 
Give half his years if but ho could 

Have been with us at Monterey. 

Now here, now there, the shot it hailed 

In deadly drifts of flery spray. 
Yet not a single soldier quailed 
When wounded comrades round them wailed 

Their dying shout at Monterey. 

And on — still on our column kept 

Through walls of flame its withering way ; 
Where fell the dead, the liraig stept. 
Still charging on the guns which swept 
The slippery streets of Monterey. 

The foe himself recoiled aghast. 

When, striking where he strongest lay. 
We swooped his flanking batteries past. 
And braving full their murderous blast. 
Stormed home the towers of Monterey. 



Our banners on those tiu'rets wave. 

And there our evening bugles play ; 
Where orange boughs above theii- grave, 
Keep green the memory of the brave 
Who fought and feU at Monterey. 

We are not many — we who pressed 

Beside the brave who fell that day ; 
But who of us has not confessed 
He 'd rather sliaj-e their warrior rest 
Than not have been at Monterey ? 

Ghaslbs Fenno IIoffsian. 



BARBARA FRIETCHIE. 

Up from the meadows rich with corn, 
Clear in the cool September morn, 

The clustered spires of Frederick stand 
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. 

Round about them orchards sweep, 
Apple and peach-tree fmited deep, 

Fair as a garden of the Lord 

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde ; 

On that pleasant morn of the early fall 
When Lee marched over the mountain wall, — 

Over the mountains, winding down. 
Horse and foot into Frederick town. 

Forty flags with then- sliver stars, 
Forty flags with their crimson bars, 

Flapped in the morning wind ; the sun 
Of noon looked down, and saw not one. 

Up rose old Barbara Frietohle then. 
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten ; 

Bravest of all in Frederick town, 

She took up the flag the men hauled down ; 

In her attic-window the staff she set, 
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 

Up the street came the rebel tread, 
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. 

Under his slouched hat left and right 
He glanced : the old flag met his sight. 

" Halt ! " — the dust-brown ranks stood fast ; 
" Fire ! "—out blazed the rifle-blast. 

It shivered the window, pane and sash ; 
It rent the banner with seam and gash. 



882 POEMS OF 


AMBITION. 


Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff 


Down the long dusky line 


Dame Barbai'a snatched the silken scarf; 


Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine; 


She leaned far out on the window-sill, 
And shook it forth -with a royal will. 

" Shoot, if yon must, this old grey head. 


And the bright bayonet. 
Bristling and firmly set. 
Flashed with a purpose grand. 
Long ere the sharp command 


But spai-e your country's flag," she said. 


Of the fierce rolling drum 


A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, 


Told them their time had come, 


Over the face of the leader came ; 


Told them what work was sent 


The nobler natnro within him stirred 


For the black regiment. 


To life at that woman's deed and word : 


" Now," the flag-sergeant cried, 


" Wlio touches a hair of yon grey head 
Dies like a dog! March on! " ho said. 

All day long through Frederick street 
Sounded the treaS of marching feet ; 


"Though death and hell betide, 

Let the whole nation see 

If we are fit to be 

Free in this land ; or bound 

Down, like the whining hound — 


All day long that free flag tost 


Bound with red stripes of pain 


Over the heads of the rebel host. 


In our cold chains again ! " 


Ever its torn folds rose and fell 

On the loyal winds that loved it well ; 


Oh ! what a shout there went 
From the black regiment! 


And through the hill-gaps sunset light 
Shone over it with a warm good-night, 

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, 

And the rebel rides ou his raids no more. 


"Charge! " Trump and drum awoke; 
Onward the bondmen broke ; 
Bayonet and saI)re-stroke 
Vainly opposed their rush. 
Through the wild battle's crush, 


Honor to her ! and let a tear 


With but one thought aflush. 


Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. 


Driving their lords like chaif. 


Over Barbara Frietchie's grave. 
Flag of freedom and union, wave ! 

Peace, and order, and beauty draw 


In the guns' mouths they laugh ; 
Or at the slippery brands 
Leaping with open hands, 
Down they tear man and horse, 


Round tliy symbol of light and law ; 


Down in their awful course ; 


And ever the stars above look down 
On thy stars below in Frederick town ! 

Jons Greenleat WHrmEB. 


Trampling with bloody heel 
Over the crashing steel ; — 
All their eyes forward bent. 




Rushed the black regiment. 

" Freedom ! " their battle-cry — 
" Freedom ! or leave to die ! " 


THE BLACK REGIMENT. 


MAY 2TTn, 18C3. 


Ah ! and they meant the word, 


Dakk as the clouds of even. 


Not as with us 'tis heard, 


Ranked in the western heaven. 


Not a mere party shout ; 


Waiting the breath that lifts 


They gave their spirits out, 


All the dead mass, and drifts 


Trusted the end to God, 


Tempest and falling brand 


And on the gory sod 


Over a ruined land ; — 


Rolled in triumphant blood. 


So still and orderly. 


Glad to strike one fi-ee blow. 


Arm to arm, kneo to knee, 


Whether for weal or woe ; 


Waiting the greilt event, 


Glad to breathe one free breath, 


Stands the black regiment. 


Though on the lips of death ; 



INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP. 



383 



Pi^ajing — alas ! in vain ! — 
That they might fall again, 
So they could once more see 
That burst to liberty! 
This was what " freedom " lent 
To the black regiment. 

Hundreds on hundreds fell ; 
But they are resting well ; 
Scourges and shackles strong 
Never shall do them wrong. 
Oh, to the living few, 
Soldiers, be just and true I 
Hail them as comrades tried ; 
Fight with them side by side ; 
Never, in tield or tent. 
Scorn the black regiment ! 

George Hen&t Bokeb. 



INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP. 



You know we French stormed Katisbon : 

A mile or so away, 
On a little mound, Napoleon 

Stood on our storming-day ; 
With neck out-thrnst, you fancy how, 

Legs wide, arms locked behind. 
As if to balance the prone brow, 

Oppressive with its mind. 



Just as perhaps he mused, " My plans 

That soar, to earth may fall. 
Let once my army-leader Lannes 

Waver at yonder wall," — 
Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew 

A I'idcr, bound on bound 
Full-galloping ; nor bridle drew 

Until ho reached the mound. 



Then ofi" there flung in smiling joy. 

And bold himself erect 
By just his horse's mane, a boy : 

You hardly could suspect — 
(So tight he kept his lips compressed, 

Scarce any blood came through) 
You looked twice ere you saw his breast 

Was all but shot in two. 



" Well," cried he, " Emperor, by God's grace 

We 'vo got you Ratisbon ! 
The marshal 's in the market-place. 

And you '11 be there anon 
To see your flag-bird tlap liis vans 

Where I, to heart's desire. 
Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed ; his 
plans 

Soared up again like fire. 



The chief's eye flashed ; but presently 

Softened itself, as sheathes 
A film the mother eagle's eye 

When her bruised eaglet breathes: 
" You 're wounded ! " " Nay," his soldier's 
pride 

Touched to the quick, he said : 
" I 'ra killed, sire ! " And, his chief beside. 

Smiling, the boy fell dead. 

KoBERT Browning. 



HOUENLINDEN. 

On Linden, when the sun was low, 
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, 
And dark as winter was the flow 
Of Isor, rolling rapidly. 

But Linden saw another sight 
When the drum beat, at dead of night, 
Commanding fires of death to light 
The darkness of her scenery. 

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed. 
Each horseman drew his battle-blade. 
And furious every cljargcr neighed 
To join the dreadful revelry. 

Then shook the hills with thunder riven ; 
Then ruslied the steeds to battle driven ; 
And, louder than the bolts of heaven. 
Far flashed the red artillery. 

But redder yet those fires shall glow 
On Linden's hills of crimsoned snow. 
And bloodier yet shall be the flow 
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 

'T is morn ; but scarce yon level sun 
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, 



384 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



Where ftu-ious Frauk and fiery nun 
Shout in their sulphurous canopy. 

Tlie combat deepens. On, ye brave, 
Who rush to glory or the grave ! 
Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave. 
And charge with all thy chivalry ! 

Few, few shall part where many meet ! 
The snow shaU be their winding-sheet ; 
And every turf beneath their feet 
SliaU be a soldier's sepulchre. 

Thomas Ca&ipbbli.. 



THE CnAPvG*^ OF THE LIGHT BRIG- 
ADE AT BALAKLAVA. 

Half a league, half a league. 

Half a league onward, 
AU in the vaUey of death. 

Rode the six hundred. 

Into the valley of death 

Rode the sis hundred ; 
For up came an order which 

Some one had blundered. 
" Forwai'd, the light brigade ! 
Take the guns 1 " Nolan said : 
Into the valley of death, 

Rode the six hundred. 

"Forward the light brigade 1 " 
No man was there dismayed — 
Not though the soldier knew 

Some one had blundered : 
Theirs not to make reply. 
Theirs not to reason why. 
Theirs but to do and die — 
Into the valley of death. 

Rode the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon in front of them. 

Volleyed and thundered. 
Stormed at vrith shot and shell. 
Boldly they rode and well ; 
Into the jaws of death, 
Into the mouth of Iioll, 

Rode the six hundred. 

Flashed all their sabres bare. 
Flashed all at once in air. 



Sabring the gunners there. 
Charging an army, while 

AH the world wondered. 
Plunged in the battery smoke. 
With many a desp'rate stroke 
The Russian line they broke ; 
Then they rode back, but not — 

Not the sis himdi-ed. 

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them. 
Cannon behind them, 

Volleyed and thundered. 
Stormed at with shot and shell. 
While horse and hero fell, 
Those that had fought so well 
Came from the jaws of death. 
Back from the mouth of hell, 
AU that was left of them, 

Left of six hundred. 

Wlien Mu their glory fade? 
Oh the wild charge they made ! 

All the world wondered. 
Honor the charge they made ! 
Honor the light brigade. 

Noble sis hundred I 

Alfred Tennyson. 



YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND : 

A NAVAL ODE. 
I. 

Te mariners of England 1 

That guard our native seas ; 

Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, 

The battle aud the breeze ! 

Tour glorious standard launch again, 

To match another foe ! 

And sweep through the deep 

While the stormy winds do blow ; 

While the battle rages loud and long. 

And the stormy winds do blow. 

II. 

The spirits of your fathers 

ShaU start from every wave ! — 

For the deck it was their field of fame, 

And ocean was their grave. 

Where Blake and mighty Nelson feU 

Your manly hearts shaU glow, 



BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. 385 


As ye sweep through the deep 


It was ten of April morn by the chime. 


While the stormy -winds do blow — 


As they drifted on their path 


While the battle rages loud and long, 


There was silence deep as death ; 


And the stormy winds do blow. 


And the boldest held his breath 


iii< 


For a time. 


Britannia needs no bulwarks, 


HI. 


No towers along the steep ; 


But the might of England flushed 


ller march is o'er the mountain- wave, 


To anticipate the scene ; 


Her home is on the deep. 


And her van the fleeter rushed 


With thunders from her native oak 


O'er the deadly space between. 


She quells the floods below, 


" Hearts of oak ! " our captain cried ; when 


As they roar on the shore 


each gun 


When the stormy winds do blow — 


From its adamantine lips 


When the battle rages loud and long, 


Spread a death-shade round the ships. 


And the stormy winds do blow. 


Like the hurricane eclipse 




Of the sun. 


IV. 

The meteor flag of England 


IV. 


Shall yet terrific burn, 


Again ! again ! again ! 


Till danger's troubled night depart. 


And the havock did not slack. 


And the star of peace retul-n. 


TiU a feeble cheer the Dane 


Then, then, ye ocean-warrioVs ! 


To our cheering sent us back ; 


Our song and feast shall flow 


Their .shots along the deep slowly boom — 


To the fame of your name, 


Then ceased — and all is wail, 


When the storm has ceased to blow- 


As they strike the shattered sail, 


When the fiery fight is heard no more. 


Or, in conflagration pale, 


And the storm has ceased to blow. 


Light the gloom. 


THOUAa 0A1I7BEI.U 


V. 




Out spoke the victor then. 

As he hailed them o'er the wave : 




BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. 


" Ye are brothers ! ye are men ! 




And we conquer but to save ; 


I. 


So peace instead of death let us bring ; 


Of Nelson and the north 


But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, 


Sing the glorious day's renown, 


With the crews, at England's feet, 


When to battle fierce came forth 


4nd make submission meet 


All the might of Denmark's crown, 


To our king." 


And her arms along the deep proudly 




shone ; 


VI. 


By each gun the lighted brand 


Then Denmark blessed our chief. 


In a bold determined hand, 


That he gave her wounds repose ; 


And tlie prince of all the land 


And the sounds of joy and grief 


Led them on. 


From her people wUdly rose, 


II. 


As death withdrew his shades from the 

day. 
While the sun looked smiling bright 


Like leviathans afloat 


Lay their bulwarks on the brine ; 


O'er a wide and woeful sight. 


While the sign of battle flew 


Where the flres of funeral light 


On the lofty British line — 
26 


Died away. 



380 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



Now joy, old England, raise ! 
For the tidings of thy might, 
By the festal cities' blaze, 
Whilst the wine-cup shines in light ; 
And yet, amidst that joy and uproar. 
Let us think of them that sleep 
Full many a fathom deep. 
By thy wild and stormy steep, 
Elsinore ! 

Till. 

Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride 

Once so faithful and so true. 

On the deck of fame that died, 

With the gallant good Kion — 

Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their 

grave ! 
While the billow mournful rolls. 
And the mermaid's song condoles. 
Singing glory to the souls 
Of the brave ! 

Thomas Campbell. 



THE SEA FIGHT. 

AS aOLD BT AN ANCIENT MAEINEE. 

An, yes — the fight ! Well, messmates, well, 
I served on board that Ninety-eight; 

Yet what I saw I loathe to tell. 
To-night, be sure a crushing weight 

Upon my sleeping breast — a hell 
Of dread will sit. At any rate, 

Though land-locked here, a watch I '11 keep — 

Grog cheers us still. Who cares for sleep ? 

That Ninety-eight I sailed on board ; 

Along the Frenchman's coast we flew ; 
Right aft the rising tempest roared ; 

A noble first-rate hove in view ; 
And soon high in the gale there soared 

Her streained-out bunting — ^red, white, 
blue! 
We cleared for fight, and landward bore. 
To get between the chase and shore. 

Masters, I cannot spin a yarn 
Twice laid with words of silken stuft". 

A fact 's a fact ; and ye may larn 
The rights o' this, though wild and rough 



My words may loom. 'T is your consarn. 
Not mine, to understand. Enough ; — 
We neared the Frenchman where he lay, 
And as we neared, he blazed away. 

We tacked, hove to ; we filled, we wore ; 

Did all that seamansliip could do 
To rake him aft, or by the fore — 

Now rounded ofij and now broached to ; 
And now our starboard broadside bore. 

And showers of iron through and through 
His vast hull hissed ; our larboard then 
Swept from his three-fold decks his men. 

As we, like a huge serpent, toiled. 
And wound about, through that wUd se.o, 

The Frenchman each manoeuvi-e foiled — 
'Vantage to neither there could be. 

Whilst thus the waves between us boiled, 
We both resolved right manfully 

To fight it side by side ; — ^began 

Then the fierce strife of man to man. 

Gun bellows forth to gun, and pain. 

Rings out her wild, delirious scream ! 
Redoubling thunders shake the main ; 

Loud crashing, falls the shot-rent beam. 
The timbers with the broadsides strain ; 

The slippery decks send up a steam 
From hot and living blood — and high 
And shrill is heard the death-pang cry. 

The shredded limb, the splintered bone, 
Th' uustitfened corpse, now block the way ! 

Who now can hear the dying groan ? 
The trumpet of the judgment d.ay, 

Had it pealed forth its mighty tone. 

We should not then have heard, — to say 

Would be rank sin ; but this I tell. 

That could alone our madness quell. 

Upon the fore-castle I fought 

As captain of the for'ad gun. 
A scattering shot the carriage caught I 

What mother then had known her son 
Of those who stood around ? — distraught. 

And smeared with gore, about they run. 
Then fall, and writhe, and howling die ! 
But one escaped — that one was I ! 



CASABIANCA. 



387 



Night darkened round, and the storm pealed, 

To windward of ug lay the foe. 
As he to leeward over keeled, 

He could not fight his guns below ; 
So just was going to strike — when reeled 

Our vessel, as if some vast blow 
From an Almighty hand had rent 
Tlie huge ship from her element. 

Then howled the thunder. Tumult then 
Had stunned herself to silence. Round 

Were scattered lightning-blasted men ! 
Our mainmast went. All stifled, drowned. 

Arose the Frenchman's shout. Again 
The bolt burst on us, and we found 

Our masts all gone — our decks all riven : 

■ — Man's war mocka faintly that of heaven ! 

Just then — nay, messmates, laugh not now — 

As I, amazed, one minute stood 
Amidst that rout ; I know not how — 

'T was silence all — the raving flood. 
The guns that pealed from stem to bow, 

And God's own thunder — nothing could 
I then of all that tumult hear. 

Or see aught of that scene of fear. 

My aged mother at her door 
Sat mildly o'er her humming wheel ; 

The cottage, orchard, and the moor — 
I saw them plainly all. I'll kneel. 

And swear I saw them 1 Oh, they wore 
A look all peace. Could I but feel 

Again that bliss that then I felt. 

That made my heart, like childhood's, melt ! 

The blessed tear was on my cheek, 

She smiled with that old smUe I know : 

" Turn to me, mother, turn and speak," 
Was on my quivering lips — when lo 1 

All vanished, and a dark, red streak 
G laved wild and vivid from the foe. 

That flashed upon the blood-stained water — 

For fore and aft the flames had caught her. 

She struck and hailed us. On us fast 
All burning, helplessly, she came — 

Near, and more near ; and not a mast 
Had we to help us from that flame. 

'Twas then the bravest stood aghast — 
'Twas then the wicked, on the name 

(With danger and with guUt appalled,) 

Of God, too long neglected, called. 



Th' eddying flames with ravening tongue 
Now on our ship's dark bulwarks dash— 

We almost touched — when ocean rung 
Down to its depths with one loud crash 1 

In heaven's top vault one instant hung 
The vast, intense, and blinding flash ! 

Then all was darkness, stillness, dread — 

The wave moaned o'er the valiant dead. 

She 's gone 1 blown up ! that giillant ^l' 
And though she left us in a plight, 

We floated still ; long were, I know, 
And hard, the labors of that night 

To clear the wreck. At length in tow 
A frigate took us, when 't was light ; 

And soon an English port we gained — 

A hulk all battered and blood-stained. 

So many slain — so many drowned! 

I like not of that fight to tell. 
Come, let the cheerful grog go round ! 

Messmates, I 've done. A spell, ho, spell- 
Though a pressed man, I '11 still be found 

To do a seaman's duty well. 
I wish our brother landsmen knew 
One half we jolly tars go through. 

Anonymodb. 



CASABIANCA, 

The boy stood on the burning deck 
Whence all but he had fled ; 

The flame that lit the battle's wreck 
Shone round him o'er the dead. 

Yet beautiful and bright he stood, 

As born to rule the storm ; 
A creature of heroic blood, 

A proud, though child-like form. 

The flames rolled on — he would not go 

Without his father's word ; 
That father, faint in death below. 

His voice no longer heard. 

He called aloud — " Say, father, say. 

If yet my task is done ? " 
He knew not that the chieftain lay 

Unconscious of his son. 



S8S 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



'■ Speak, father ! " once again he cried, 

" If I may yet be gouo ! " 
And but tlio boomiug shots replied, 

And fust the flames rolled on. 

Upon his brow ho felt their breath, 

And in his waving hair. 
And looked from that lone post of death 

In jfill, yet brave despair. 

^uted but once more aloud, 
ly father ! nmst I stay ? " 
AVluIe o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, 
The wreathing fires made way. 

They wrajit the ship in splendor wild, 

'J'hey caught the tliig ou high. 
And streamed above the gallant child. 

Like banners in the sky. 

There came a burst of thimder sound — 

The boy — oh ! where was he ? 
Ask of the winds that far around 

M'ith fi-agmonts strewed the sea! — 

With mast, and liohn, and pennon fair. 
That well had borne their part — 

But the noblest thing tliat perished there 
Was that yoimg, faithful heart ! 

Felicia Dorothea Hemans. 



SONG OF THE GREEK POET. 

The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece! 

Where burning Sappho loved and sung. 
Where grew the arts of war and peace — 

Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung! 
Eternal summer gil ' ihera yet ; 
But all, except the -an, is set. 

Tlie Soian and the Teian muse, 
The hero's hai'p, the lover's lute, 

Have found the fame your shores refuse ; 
Their jilace of birth alone is mute 

To sounds which echo further west 

Than your sires' " Islands of the Blest." 

The mountains look on Marathon, 
And Marathon looks on the sea : 

And musing there au hour alone, 

I dreamed that Greece might still be free; 

For standing on the Persians' grave, 

I could not deem mvself a slave. 



A king sat on the rocky brow 

Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis ; 

And ships, by thousands, lay below. 
And men in nations — all were his ! 

He counted them fit bre.ok of day — 

And wlien the sun set, where were they ? 

And whereare they ? and where art thou 
My country ? On thy voiceless shore 

The heroic lay is tuneless now — 
The heroic bosom beats no more ! 

And must thy lyre, so long divine, 

Degenerate into hands like mine ? 

'Tis something, in the dearth of fame. 
Though linked among a fettered race. 

To feel at least a patriot's shame, 
Even as I sing, suft'use my face ; 

For what is left the poet here ? 

For Greeks a blush — for Greece a tear. 

Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? 

Must we but blush '. — Our fathers bled. 
Earth ! render back from out thy breast 

A remnant of our Sp.artan dead ! 
Of the three hundred gr.ant but three. 
To make a new ThermopylsB ! 

What! silent still ? and silent all ? 

Ah no ! — the voices of the dead 
Sound like a distant torrent's tidl. 

And answer, "Let one living head, 
But one, arise — we come, we come ! " 
'T is but the living who are dumb. 

In vain — in vain ; strike other chords ; 

Fill liigli the cup with Saniian wine ! 
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, 

And shed the blood of Scio's vine ! 
Hark ! rising to the ignoble call. 
How answers each bold Bacchanal! 

You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, ' 
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ? 

Of two such lessons, why forget 
The nobler and the numlier one ? 

You have the letters Cadmus gave — 

Think ye ho meant them for a slave ? 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 

We will not think of themes like these ! 
It made Anacroon's song di%ine ; 

He served — but served Polycrates — 



MARCO BOZZARIS. 



389 



A tyrant ; but onr masters then 
Were still at least our countrymen. 

The tyrant of the Oliersonese 

"Was freedom's best and bravest friend ; 
That tyrant was Miltiades ! 

Oh that the present hour would lend 
Another despot of the kind ! 
Such chains as his were sure to bind. 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine I 
On Suli's rock, aiMl Parga's shore, 

Exists the remnant of a line 

Such as the Doric mothers bore ; 

And there perhaps some seed is sown 

The neracleidan blood might own. 

Trust not for freedom to the Franks — 
They have a king who buys and sells; 

In native swords, and native ranks, 
The only hope of courage dwells; 

But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, 

Would break yoiu- shield, however broad. 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 

Our virgins dance beneath the shade— 
I see their glorious black eyes shine ; 

But gazing on each glowing maid, 
My own the burning tear-drop laves. 
To think such breasts must suckle slaves. 

Place me on Sunium's marbled steep. 
Where nothing, save the waves arul I, 

May hear our mutual murmurs sweeji ; 
There, swan-like, let me sing and die. 

A land of slaves shall ne'er bo mine — 

Dash down yon cup of Samian wine I 

Lord Bykon. 



MARCO BOZZARIS. 

At midnight, in his guarded tent. 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
When Greece, her knee in supplianco bent. 

Should tremble at his power. 
In dreams, tlirough camp and court, lie bore 
The trophies of a conqueror ; 

In dreams his song of triumph heard ; 
Then wore his monarch's signet-ring — 
Tlien pressed that monarch's throne — a king; 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing. 

As Eden's garden bird. 



At midnight, in the forest shades, 

Bozzaris ranged his Sulioto band — 
True as the steel of their tried blades, 

Heroes in heart and hand. 
There had the Persian's thousands stood. 
There had the glad etu-tli drunk their blood. 

On old PlataJa's day ; 
And now there breathed that haunted air 
The sons of sires who conquered there. 
With arms to strike, and soul to dare. 

As quick, as far, as they. 



An hour passed on — the Turk awoke : 

That bright dream was his last ; 
Ho woke — to hear his sentries shriek, 

"To arms! they come! the Greek I tUi 
Greek I " 
Ho woke — to die mi<lst flame, and smoke. 
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke. 

And death-shots falling thick and fast 
As lightnings from the mountain-cloud*, 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band : 
" Strike — till the last armed foe expires; 
Strike — for your altars and your fires ; 
Strike — for the green graves of your sires ; 
God — and your native land ! " 



They fought — like bravo men, long and well ; 

They jiiled that ground with Mot^lem slain; 
They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 
His few surviving comrades saw 
His smile when rang their proud hurrah, 

And the red field was won ; 
Then saw in death his eyelids close 
Calmly, as to a night's repose. 

Like flowers at set of sun. 



Come to the bridal chamber, death. 
Come to the mother's, when she feels. 

For the first time, lier first-born's breath ; 
Come when the blessed seals 

That close the pestilence are broke, 

And crowded cities wail its stroke ; 

Come in consumption's ghastly form. 

The earthquake-shock, the ocean-slorm ; 

Come when the heart beats high and ^•arm, 



390 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



With banquet-song, and danco, and wine; 
And thou art torriblo — tlie tear, 
I'ho groan, the knell, the pall, the biei- ; 
And all wo know, or dream, or fear 

Of agony, are thine. 



I>ut to the hero, when his sword 

Has won the battle for the free, 
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word ; 
And in its hollow tones are heard 

The thanks of millions yet to be. 
Come, when his task of fame is wrought — 
Come, with her huirol-leaf, l>lood-liought — 

Come in her crowning hour — and then 
Thy sunken eye's unearthly light 
To him is welcome as the sight 

Of sky and stars to prisoned men ; 
Thy grasp is welcome as the hand 
Of brother in a foreign land ; 
Thy summons welcome as the cry 
That told the Indian isles were nigh 

To the world-seeking Genoese, 
When the land-wind, from woods of palm, 
And orange-groves, and fields of balm, 

Blew o'er the llaytian seas. 



IJozzaris ! with the storied bravo 

Greece nnrtured in her glory's time, 
Rest thee — there is no prouder grave. 

Even in her own proud clime. 
She wore no funeral weeds for thee. 

Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume, 
Like torn branch from death's leafless tree. 
In sorrow's pomp and pageantry, 

The heartless luxury of the tomb. 
l?nt she remembei's thee as one 
Long loved, and for a season gone. 
For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed, 
Tier marble wrought, her music breathed ; 
For thee she rings the birth-day bells ; 
Of thee her babes' first lisping tells; 
For thine lier evening prayer is said 
At palace couch, and cottage bed; 
Iler soldier, closing with the foe, 
Gives for thy sake'a deadlier blow ; 
Ilis plighted maiden, when she fears 
For him, the joy of her young years. 
Thinks of thv fate, and checks her tears. 



And she, the mother of thy boys. 
Though in her eye and faded cheek 
Is read the grief slie will not speak, 

The memory of her buried joys — 
And even she who gave thee birth. 
Will, by her pilgrim-circled hearth, 

Talk of thy doom without a sigh ; 
For thou art freedom's now, and fame's — 
One of the few, the immortal names 

That were not born to die. 

Fitz-Gree.ne IIallkok. 



TUE MEMORY OF THE DEAD. 

Wno fears to speak of Ninety-eight? 

Who blushes at the name ? 
When cowards mock the patriot's fate. 

Who hangs his head for shame? 
lie 's all a knave, or half a slave, 

Who slights his countrj' thus; 
But a true man, like you, man. 

Will fill your glass with us. 

We drink the memory of the brave, 

The faithful and the few- 
Pome lie far ofi" beyond the wave — 

Some sleep in li-eland, too ; 
All, all are gone — but still lives on 

The fame of those who died — 
iUl true men, like you, men, 

Remember them with pride. 

Some on the shores of distant lands 

Their weju-y hearts have laid. 
And by the stranger's heedless hands 

Their lonely graves were made ; 
But, though their clay he far away 

Beyond the xVtlantic foam — 
In true men, like you, men, 

Their spirit's still at home. 

The dust of some is Irish earth ; 

Among their own they rest; 
And the same laud that gave them birth 

Has cauglit them to her breast ; 
And we will pray that from their clay 

Full many a race may start 
Of true men, like you, men, 

To act as brave a part. 



SONNETS. 



391 



Tliey rose iu dark and evil days 

To right their native land ; 
They kindled hero a livmg blaze 

That nothing shall withstand. 
Alas I that might can vanquish right — 

They fell and passed away ; 
But true men, like yoTi, men, 

Are plenty hero to-day. 

Then here 's their memory — may it be 

For us a guiding light, 
To cheer our strife for liberty, 

And teach us to unite. 
Through good and ill, be Ireland's still, 

Tljougli sad as theirs your fate; 
And true men, be you, men. 

Like those of Ninety-eight ! 

John Kells Inobam. 



AN ODE. 

What constitutes a state ? 
Not high raised battlement or labored mound. 

Thick wall or moated gate ; 
Not cities proud with spires and turrets 
crowned ; 

Not bays and broad-armed ports. 
Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies 
ride; 

Not starred and spangled courts. 
Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to 
pride. 

No : — men, high-minded men. 
With powers as far above dull brutes endued 

In forest, brake, or den. 
As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude — 

Men who their duties know. 
But know their rights, and, knowing, dare 
maintain, 

Prevent the long-aimed blow. 
And crush the tjTant while they rend the 
chain ; 

These constitute a state ; 
And sovereign law, that state's collected will. 

O'er thrones and globes elate, 
Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill. 

Smit by her sacred frown, 
Tlie fiend, dissension, like a vapor sinks ; 

And e'en the all-dazzling crown 
I lides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks. 



Such was this heaven-loved isle. 
Than Lesbos fairer and the Cretan shore ! 

No more shall freedom smile ? 
Shall Britons languish, and be men no more ? 

Since all must life resign. 
Those sweet rewards which decorate the brave 

'T is folly to decline, 
And steal inglorious to the silent grave. 

Sm William .Jokes. 



SONNETS. 

LONDON, 1802. 

Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour; 
England hatli need of thee. She is a fen 
Of stagnant waters. Altar, sword, and pen. 
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower. 
Have forfeited their ancient English dower 
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; 
Oh, raise us up, return to us again. 
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power ! 
Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart; 
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the 

sea; 
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free. 
So didst thou travel on life's common way 
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart 
The lowhest duties on herself did lay. 



TO TOUSSAINT L'OUVEETTIEE. 

ToussAiNT, the most unhappy man of men! 
Whether the whistling rustic tend his plough 
Within thy hearing, or thy head be now 
PiUowed in some deep dungeon's earless den — 
O miserable chieftain ! wliere and when 
Wilt thou find patience? Yet die not; do 

thou 
Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow. 
Though fallen thyself, never to rise again. 
Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left be- 
hind 
Powers that will work for thee — air, earth, 

and skies. 
There's not a breathing of the common wind 
That will forget thee. Thou hast great allies ; 
Thy friends are exultations, agonies. 
And love, and man's unconquerable mind. 
William Wobdswoetil 



392 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



OX A BUST OF DANTE. 

See, from this counterfeit of him 
Whom Ariio shall remember long, 
How stern of lineament, how grim, 
The father was of Tuscan song ! 
There but the bui-ning sense of wrong, 
Perpetual care, and scorn, abide — 
Small friendship for the lordly throng. 
Distrust of all the world beside. 

Faithful if this wan image be. 

No dream his life "was — but a fight ; 

Could any Beatrice see 

A lover in that anchorite ? 

To that cold Ghibeline's gloomy sight 

Who could have guessed the visions came 

Of beauty, veiled with heavenly light, 

In cii-cles of eternal flame ? 

The lips as Cuinso's cavern close, 
Tlie cheeks with fast and sorrow thin, 
The rigid front, almost morose. 
But for the patient hope within. 
Declare a life whose course hath been 
Unsullied still, though still severe. 
Which, througb the wavering days of sin. 
Kept itself icy-chaste and clear. 

Not wholly such his hagg.ard look 
When wandering once, forlorn, he strayed, 
With no companion save his book, 
To Corvo's hushed monastic shade ; 
Where, as the Benedictine laid 
His palm upon the pilgrim guest. 
The single boon for which be prayed 
The convent's charity was rest. 

Peace dwells not here — this rugged face 
Betrays no spirit of repose ; 
The sullen warrior sole we trace, 
The marble man of many woes. 
Such was his mien when first arose 
The thought of that strange tale divine- 
When hell he peopled with his foes. 
The scourge of many a guUty line. 

War to the last he waged with all 
The tyrant canker-worms of earth ; 
Baron and duke, in hold and hall, 
Cursed the dark hour that gave him birth; 



He used Eome's harlot for his mirth ; 
Plucked bare hypocrisy and crime ; 
But valiant souls of knightly worth 
Transmitted to the rolls of time. 

O time ! whose verdicts mock our own, 
The only righteous judge art thou ; 
That poor, old exile, sad and lone, 
Is Latiura's other Virgil now. 
Before his name the nations bow ; 
His words are parcel of mankind. 
Deep in whose hearts, as on bis brow. 
The marks have sunk of Dante's mind. 

TuoMAS William Paesons. 



ON A SERMON AGAINST GLORY. 

Come then, tell me, sage divine. 

Is it an offence to own 
That our bosoms e'er incline 

Toward immortal glory's throne? 
For with me nor pomp, nor pleasure, 
Bourbon's might, Braganza's treasure. 
So can fancy's dream rejoice. 
So conciliate reason's choice. 
As one approving word of her impartial voice. 

If to spurn at noble praise 

Bo the passport to thy heaven. 

Follow thou those gloomy ways — 

No such law to me was given ; 

Nor, I trust, shall I deplore me. 

Faring like my friends before me ; 

Nor an holier place desire 

Than Timoleon's arras acquire, 

And Tully's curide chair, and Milton's golden 

l}Te. 

Mark Akenside. 



EXCELSIOR. 

The shades of night were falling fast, 
As through an Alpine village passed 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
A banner with the strange device — 
Excelsior ! 

His brow was sad ; his eye beneath 
Flashed like a fiiulchion from its sheath ; 
And like a silver clarion rung 
The accents of that unknown tongue — 
Excelsior ! 



EXCELSIOR. 



393 



In happy homeg he saw the light 
Of household fires gleam warm and hright : 
Above, the spectral glaciers shone, 
And from his lips escaped a groan — 
Excelsior ! 

" Try not the pass," the old man said : 
" Dark lowers the tempest overhead ; 
The roaring torrent is deep and ■\vide ! " 
And loud that clarion voice replied, 
Excelsior ! 

" Oh stay," the maiden said, " and rest 
Thy weary head upon this breast! " 
A tear stood in his bright blue eye. 
But still he answered, with a sigh, 
Excelsior ! 

" Beware the pine-tree's withered branch ! 
Beware the awful avalanche! " 



This was the peasant's last good-night : 
A voice replied, far up the height. 
Excelsior ! 

At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of Saint Bernard 
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
A voice cried, through the startled air, 
Excelsior] 

A traveller, by the faithful hound. 
Half-buried in the snow was found, 
Still grasping in his hand of ice 
Tliat banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 

There in the twilight cold and gray, 
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, 
And from the sky, serene and far, 
A voice fell, like a falling star — 
Excelsior I 
Henry Wadswobth Longfellow. 



PAKT VI. 
POEMS OF COMEDY 



Oh > never wear a brow of care, or frown with rueful gravity, 
For wit's the child of wisdom, and good humor is the twin; 

>fo need to play the Pharisee, or groan at man's depravity, 
Let one man be a good man, and let all be fair withm. 

Speak sober truths with smiling lips; the bitter wrap in sweetness- 
Sound sense in seeming nonsense, as the grain is hid m chafl ; 

And fear not that the lesson e'er may seem to lack completeness- 
A man may say a wise thing, though he say it with a laugh. 

" A soft word oft turns wrath aside," (so says the great instructor,) 

A smile disarms resentment, and a jest drives gloom away ; 
A cheerful laugh to anger is a magical conductor. 

The deadly flash averting, quickly changing night to day 
Then, is not he the wisest man who rids ^'s brow of w™kles 

Who bears his load with merry heart, and hghtens 't by half- 
Whose pleasant tones ring in the ear, as mirthful music tinkles, 

And whose words are tfue and telling, though they echo in a laugh > 

So temper life's work-weariness with timely relaxation ; 

Most witless wight of all is he who never plays the tool , 
The heart grows g'ray before the head, when sunk - sad Prostration ; 

Its winter knows no Christmas, with its glowing log of Yule. 
Why weep, faint-hearted and forlorn, when evil comes to try us? 

The fount of hope wells ever nigh-'t will cheer us if we quaa ; 
And, when the gloomy phantom of despondency stands by us, 

Let us. in calm defiance, exorcise it with a laugh! 

' AieoHTjiocs. 



POEMS OF 


COMEDY. 


THE HEIR OF LINNE. 


"My gold is gone, my money is spent, 




My land now take it unto thee : 


PART FIRST. 


Give me the gold, good John o' Scales, 




And thine for aye my land shall bo." 


Lithe and listen, gentlemen ; 




To sing a song I will begin : 




It is of a lord of fair Scotland, 


Then John ho did him to record draw. 


Wliicli was the unthrifty heir of Linne. 


And John ho gave him a god's-ponny ; 




But for every pound that John agreed. 


Ills fatlicr was a right good lord, 


The land, I wis, was well worth three. 


His mother a lady of high degree ; 




But they, alas ! were dead him fro. 


lie told liim the gold upon the board ; 


And he loved keeping company. 


He was right glad the laud to win : 


To spend the day with merry cheer, 


" The land is mine, the gold is thine, 
And now I '11 bo the lord of Linne." 


To drink and revel every night, 




To card and dice from even to morn. 




It was, I ween, his heart's delight. 


Thus be hath sold his land so broad ; 




Both hill and holt, and moor and fen, 


To ride, to run, to rant, to roar. 


All but a poor and lonesome lodge. 


To always spend and never spare. 


That stood far off in a lonely glen. 


I wot, an ho were the king himself, 




Of gold and fee he might be bare. 


For so ho to his father hight : 


So fares the untlirifty lieir of Linne, 


" My son, when I am gone," said he, 


Till all his gold is gone and spent ; 


" Then thou wilt spend thy land so broad. 


And he maun sell his lands so broad, 


And thou wilt spend thy gold so free ; 


Ilis house, and lands, and all his rent. 






" But swear me now upon the rood. 


His father had a keen steward. 


That lonesome lodge thou 'It never spend ; 


And John o' Scales was called he ; 


For when all the world doth frown on thee. 


But John is become a gentleman, 


Thou there shalt find a faithful friend." 


And John has got both gold and fee. 




Says, "Welcome, welcome, lord of Linne; 


The heir of Linne is full of gold ; 


Let nought disturb thy heavy cheer ; 


And, " Come with mo, my friends," said he ; 


If thou wilt sell thy lands so broad. 


" Let 's drink, and rant, and merry make. 


Good store of gold I '11 give thee here." 


And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee." 



sas 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



They ranted, drank, and merry made. 

Till all hi3 gold it waxed thin ; 
And then liis friends they slunk away ; 

They left the unthrifty heir of Linne. 

He had never a penny left in his purse, 

Never a penny left but three ; 
The one was brass, the other was lead. 

And t' other it was white money. 

' Now well-a-way ! " said the heir of Linne, 

" Now well-a-way, and woe is me ! 
For when I was the lord of Linne, 
I never wanted gold nor fee. 

" But many a trusty friend have I, 
And why should I feel dole or care ? 

I '11 borrow of them all by turns, 
So need I not be ever bare." 

But one, I wis, was not at home ; 

Another had paid his gold away ; 
Another called him thriftless loon, 

And sharply bade him wend his way 

" Now well-a-way ! " said the heir of Linne, 
" Now well-a-way, and woe is me ! 

For when I had my land so broad. 
On lue they lived right merrily. 

"To beg my bread from door to door, 
I wis, it were a burning shame : 

To rob and steal it were a sin : 
To work my limbs I cannot frame. 

" Now I '11 away to the lonesome lodge, 
For there my father bade mo wend : 

■When all the world should frown on me, 
I there should find a trusty friend." 



PAKT SECOND. 

Away then hied the heir of Linne, 
O'er hill and holt, and moor and fen, 

Until he came to the lonesome lodge. 
That stood so low in a lonely glen. 

He looked up, he looked down. 
In hope some comfort for to win ; 

But bare and lothely were the walls : 

"Here's sorry cheer!" quoth the heir of 
Linne. 



The httle window, dim and dark, 
Was hung with ivy, brier, and yew ; 

No shimmering sun here ever shone ; 
No halesome breeze here ever blew. 

No chair, no table, he mote spy. 
No cheerful hearth, no welcome bed. 

Nought save a rope with a running noose. 
That dangling hung up o'er his head. 

And over it, in broad letters. 

These words were written, so plain to sec : 
" Ah ! graceless wretch, hath spent thy all. 

And brought thyself to penury ? 

" All this my boding mind misgave, 
I therefore left this trusty friend : 

Now let it shield thy foul disgrace. 
And all thy shame and sorrows end." 

Sorely vexed with this rebuke. 

Sorely vexed was the heir of Linne ; 

His heart, I wis, was near to burst, 
TVith guUt and sorrow, shame and sin. 

Never a word spake the heir of Linne, 
Never a word he spake but three : 

" This is a trusty friend indeed. 
And is right welcome unto me." 

Then round his neck the cord he drew. 
And sprung aloft with his body ; 

When lo ! the ceiling burst in twain. 
And to the ground came tumbling he. 

Astonished lay the heir of Linne, 
Nor knew if he were live or dead ; 

At length he looked and saw a bill. 
And in it a key of gold so rod. 

He took tlie bill and looked it ou ; 

Straight good comfort found lie there: 
It told him of a hole in the wall 

In which there stood three chests in-fere. 

Two were full of the beaten gold ; 

The third was full of white money 
And over them, in broad letters. 

These words were written so plain to see : 



THE HEIR OF LINNE. 



399 



" Once more, my son, I set thee clear ; 

Amend thy life and follies past; 
For, but thou amend thee of thy life. 

That rope must be thy end at last." 

" And let it be," said the heir of Linne; 

" And let it be, but if I amend : 
For here I will make mine avow. 

This reado shall guide me to the end." 

Away then went the heir of Linne, 
Away he went with merry cheer; 

I wis he neither stint nor stayed. 

Till John o' the Scales' house he came near. 

And when he came to John o' the Scales, 
Up at the spere then looked he ; 

There sat three lords at the board's end, 
AVcre drinking of the wine so free. 

Tlien np bespoke the heir of Linne ; 

To John o' the Scales then could he : 
" I pray thee now, good John o' the Scales, 

One forty pence for to lend me." 

"Away, away, thou thriftless loon! 

Away, away ! this may not be : 
For a curse be on my head," he said, 

" If ever I lend thee one penny." 

Tlien bespoke the heir of Linne, 

To John o' the Scales' wife then spake he : 
" Madam, some alms on me bestow, 

I pray, for sweet Saint Charity." 

" Away, away, thou thriftless loon ! 

I swear thou gettest no alms of me ; 
For if we should hang any losel here. 

The first we would begin with thee." 

Tlicn up bespoke a good fellow 

"Which sat at John o' the Scales his board : 
Said, " Turn again, thou heir of Linne ; 

Some time thou was a well good lord : 

" Some time a good fellow thou hast been. 
And sparedst not thy gold and fee ; 

Therefore I '11 lend thee forty pence. 
And other forty if need be. 



" And ever I pray thee, John o' the Scales, 

To let him sit in thy company ; 
For well I wot thou hadst bis land, 

And a good bargain it was to thee." 

Then up bespoke him John o' the Scales, 
All woode he answered him again : 

" Now a curse be on my head," he said, 
" But I did lose by that bargain. 

" And here I proffer thee, heir of Linne, 
Before these lords so fair and free, 

Thou shalt have 't back again better cheap, 
By a hundred merks, than I had it of thee." 

"I draw you to record, lords," he said; 

"With that he gave him a god's-penny : 
"Now, by my ftiy," said the hen- of Linne, 

" And here, good John, is thy money." 

And he pulled forth the bags of gold, 
And laid them down upon the board ; 

All wo-begone was John o' the Scales, 
So vexed he could say never a word. 

lie told him forth the good red gold, 
He told it forth with miokle din ; 

"The gold is thine, the land is mine, 
And now I 'm again the lord of Linne ! " 

Says, " Have thou here, thou good fellow ; 

Forty pence thou didst lend me ; 
Now I 'm again the lord of Linne, 

And forty pounds I will give thee." 

" Now well-a-way ! " quoth Joan o' the Scales , 
" Now well-a-way, and wo is my life ! 

Yesterday I was lady of Linne, 

Now I 'm but John o' the Scales his wife." 

" Now fare-lhee-weU," said the heir of Linuc, 
"Farewell, good John o' the Scales," said 
he; 
" When next I want to sell my land, 
Good John o' the Scales, I 'U come to thee." 

Anonymous. 



400 POEMS OF 


COMEDY. 




This being done, he did engage 


THE DKAGOX OF WANTLEY. 


To hew the dragon down ; 




But first he went new ai-mor to 


Or.n stories tell how Hercules 


Bespeak at Sheffield town ; 


A (Irajrou slew at Lerna, 


With spikes all about, not within but without. 


With seven beads and fourteen eyes, 


Of steel so sharp and strong. 


To see and well diseern-a ; 


Both behind and before, legs, arms, and all 


But ho had a cluh this dragon to di-ub, 


o'er. 


Or he ne'er had done it, I warrant ye ; 


Some five or six inches long. 


But More, of iloro-hall, with nothing at all, 




lie slow the dragon of WantJej. 






Had you but seen him in this dress. 


This dragon had two furious wings, 


How fierce he looked, and how big. 


Each one npon each shoulder ; 


Y'ou would have thought him for to be 


With a sting in his tail as long as a flail. 


Some Egyptian porcupig : 


Which made hiui bolder and bolder. 


He friglited all, cats, dogs, and all, 


lie had long claws, and in bis jaws 


Each cow, each horse, and each hog ; 


Four .and forty teeth of iron ; 


For fear they did flee, for they took bun to be 


With a hide as tough as any buff, 


Some strange, outlandish hedge-hog. 


Which did liim round environ. 




Have you not heard how tlio Trojan horse 


To see tliis fight all people then 


Held seventy men in his belly ? 


Got up on trees and houses. 


Tliis dragon was not quite so big, 


On churches some, and chimneys too ; 


But very near, I '11 tell yo ; 


But these put on their trousers, 


Devoured he poor children three, 


Xot to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose, 


That could not with him grapple ; 


To make him strong and mighty. 


And at one sup he ate them up, 


He drank, by the talo, six pots of ale, 


.\s one would eat an apple. 


AiiA a quart of aqua-vita\ 


All sorts of cattle this dragon would eat, 


It is not strength that always wins. 


Some say ho ate up trees. 


For wit doth strength excel ; 


And that the forests sure he woiild 


Which made our cunning champion 


Devour up by degrees ; 


Creep down into a well. 


For Ikhisos and churches were to him geese 


Where he did think this dragon wo\ild drink. 


and turkeys ; 


And so he did in truth ; 


He ato all and left none behind, 


And as he stooped low, he rose up and cried. 


But some stones, de;ir Jack, that ho could not 


boh! 


crack. 


And kicked him in tlie mouth. 


Which on the hills you will find. 




H.ird by a furious knight there dwelt ; 


Oh ! quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh. 


Men, women, girls, and boys, 


.iVnd turned six tunes together. 


Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging. 


Sobbing and tearing, cm-smg and swearing 


And made a hideous noise. 


Out of his throat of leather. 


Oh, save us all. More of Jlore-hall, 


More of More-ball, oh thou rascal I 


Thou peerless knight of these woods ; 


Would I had seen thee never ! 


Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us 


With the thing at thy foot thou hast pricked 


a rag on. 


my throat. 


We '11 give theo all our goods. 


And I'm quite undone forever! 



GOOD 


ALE. 401 


Murder, murder 1 the dragon cried, 


Then doth she trowl to me the bowl. 


Alack, alack, for grief! 


Even as a malt-worm should ; 


Had you but missed tliat place, you coidd 


And saith, " Sweetheart, I took my part 


Have done me no mischief. 


Of this jolly good .ilo and old." 


Then ]iis head lie shakod, trembled, and 


Bach and side go hare, go hare ; 


((uaked. 


Both foot and hand go cold ; 


And <lii\vii he lay and cried ; 


But, helly, Ood send thee good ale 


First on one knee, then on back tumbled he, 


enough, 


So groaned, and kicked, and died. 


Whether it he new or old ! 


Old Ballad. (English.) 




VcTBioil of COVENTEY PaTMOKB. 






Now let them drink till they nod and 




wink. 
Even as good fellows should do ; 


' 




They shall not miss to have the bliss 


GOOD ALE. 


Good ale doth Ijring men to; 




And all poor souls that have scoured 


I CANNOT eat but little meat — 


bowls. 


My stomach is not good ; 


Or have them lustily trowled. 


But sure, 1 tliink that I can drink 


God save the lives of them and their 


Witli him tliat wears a hood. 


wives. 


Thou^jh I go liare, take yo no care; 


Whether they bo young or old ] 


I am nothing a-cold — 


Bach and side go hare, go hare ; 


I stuff' my skin so full within 


Both foot andliand go cold; 


Of jolly good ale and old. 


But, helly, Ood send thee good ale 


Bach and side <jo Jore, rjo hare ; 


enough. 


Both foot and hand go cold ; 


Whether it he new or old ! 


But^ lielly, Ood send thee good ale 


John Still. 


enough, 




Whether It he new or old ! 
I love no roast but a nut-brown toast. 






And a crab laid in the fire ; 


TQE JOVIAL BEGGAK. 


A little bread shall do me stead — 




Mucli bread I not desire. 


There was a jovial beggar, 


No frost nor snow, nor wind, I trow. 


He had a wooden leg, 


Can hurt me if I wold — 


Lame froiri bis cradle, 


I am so wrapt, and thorowly lapt 


And forced for to beg. 


Of jolly good ale and old. 


And a-hegging we will go, 


Bach and side go hare, go hare ; 


Will go, tcill go, 


Both foot and hand go cold; 


And a-hegging we will go. 


But, hellji, Ood send thee good ale 




enough. 




Whether it he new or old! 


A hag for his oatmeal, 




Another for his salt, 




And a long pair of crutches. 


And Tyb, my wife, that as her lit'o 


To sliow that ho can halt. 


Loveth well good ale to seek. 


And a-hegging we will go, 


Full oft drinks slie, till you may see 


Will go, will go, 


The tears run down her cheek ; 


And a-hegging we will go. 


27 





402 



rOEMS OF COMEDY. 



A bag for bis wheat, 

Auother Ibr his rye, 
And a little bottle by his side, 
To drink when he 's a-dry. 
And a-hegging ice will go, 

Will go, will go, 
And a-begging tre tcill go. 

Seven years I begged 

For my old master Wilde, 
lie taught me how to beg 
When I was but a child. 

ATid a-begging ire will go. 

Will go, will go, 
And a begging we will go. 

I begged for my master, 

And got him store of pelf, 
But goodness now be praised, 
I 'm begging for myself. 

And a-begging we will go. 

Will go, will go. 
And a-begging we will go. 

In a hollow tree 

I live, aud pay no rent, 

Providence provides for me. 

And I am well content. 

Ami a-begging we will go. 

Will go, will go. 
And a-begging ice will go. 

Of all the occupations 

A beggar's is the best. 
For whenever he 's a- weary. 
He can lay him down to rest. 
And a-begging we will go. 

Will go, tcill go. 
And a-begging we will go, 

I fear no plots against me, 

I live in open cell ; 
Then who would be a king, lads. 
When the beggar lives so well ? 
And a-begging )ce will go, 

Will go, will go. 
And a-begging we will go. 

AXONYMOUS. 



TAEE THY 



OLD CLOAIvE 
THEE. 



^IBOUT 



TiiM winter we.ather — it waxeth cold, 

And frost doth Iroese on every hill ; 
And Boreas blows his blastes so cold 

That all iir cattell are like to spill. 
Bell, my wife, who loves no strife, 

Shee sayd unto me quietlye, 
Eise up, aud save cowe Crnmbocke's life — 

Man, put thy old cloake about thee. 



O Bell, why dost thou flyte and scorne ? 

Thou kenst my clo.ike is very thin ; 
It is so bare and o%erworne 

A cricke he thereon can not renn. 
Then lie no longer borrowe or lend 

For once lie new apparelled be ; 
To morrow He to towne, and spend, 

For He have a new cloake about me. 



Cow Crumbocke is a very good cow — 

She has been alwayes true to the payle ; 
She has helped us to butter and cheese, 1 
trow. 

And other things she will not fayle ; 
I wold be loth to see her pine ; 

Good husbande, counsel take of me — 
It is not for us to go so fine ; 

Man, take thy old cloake about thee. 

HE. 

My cloake, it was a very good cloake — 

It hath been alwayes true to the weare; 
But now it is not worth a groat ; 

I have had it four and-forty yeare. 
Sometime it was of cloth in graine ; 

'Tis now but a sigh clout as you may see ; 
It will neither hold nor winde nor raine — 

And He have a new cloake abont me. 



It is four-and-forty yeeres ago 

Since the one of us the other did ken ; 
And we have had betwixt us towe 

Of children cither nine or ten ; 



MALBROUCK. 



403 



We have brought them up to women and 
men — 

In the fere of God I trowe they be ; 
And why wilt thou thyself misken— 

Man, take thy old cloake about thee. 



O Bell, my wife, why dost thou floute ? 

Now is now, and then was then; 
Seekc now aU the world throughout, 

Thou kenst not elowncs from gentlemen ; 
Tlioy are clad in blacke, greene, yeUowe, or 
gray, 

So far above their own degree — 
Once in my life lie do as they, 

For lie have a new cloake about me. 



King Stephen was a wortliy peere — 

Ilis breeches cost him but a crowne ; 
Tie held them sixpence all too deere. 

Therefore he called the tailor loon. 
He was a wight of high renowne, 

And thou'se but of a low degree- 
It 's pride tliat puts tliis countrye downe ; 

Man, take thy old cloake about thee. 



Bell, my wife, she loves not strife, 

Yet she will lead me if she can ; 
And oft to live a quiet life 

I 'm forced to yield tliough I be good-man. 
It 's not for a man with a woman to threepe, 

Unless he first give o'er tlie plea; 
As we began sae will we leave. 

And He tak my old cloake about me. 

Anontmocs. 



MALBROUCK. 

Malbrouck, the prince of commanders. 
Is gone to the war in Flanders; 
His fame is Tdje Alexander's ; 

But wlien will he come home ? 

Perhaps at Trinity feast ; or 
Perhaps he may come at Easter. 
Egad ! he had better make haste, or 
We fear he may never come. 



For Trinity feast is over, 
And has brought no news from Dover ; 
And Easter is past, moreover. 
And Malbrouck still delays. 

Milady in her watch-tower 
Spends many a pensive hour, 
Not knowing why or how her 

Dear lord from England stays. 

While sitting quite forlorn in 
That tower, she spies returning 
A page clad in deep mourning. 
With fainting steps and slow. 

" O page, prythee, come faster ! 

What news do you bring of your master? 

I fear there issome disaster — 

Your looks are so full of woe." 

" The news I bring, fair lady," 
With sorrowful accent said he, 
" Is one you are not ready 
So soon, alas ' to hear. 

" But since to speak I 'm hurried," 
Added tljis page quite flurried, 
"Malbrouck is dead and buried 1 " 
— And here he shed a tear. 

" He 's dead ! he 's dead as a herring ! 
For I beheld his herring, 
And four officers transferring 

His corpse away from the field. 

" One officer carried his sabre ; 
And he carried it not without labor, 
Much envying his next neighbor, 
Who only bore a shield. 

" The third was helraet-bearer — 
That helmet which on its wearei" 
Filled all who saw with terror, 
And covered a hero's brains. 

" Now, having got so far, I 
Find, that— by the Lord Harry ! — 
The fourth is left nothing to carry ; — 
So there the thing remains." 

Anontmods. (French.) 
Translation of Fatitee Pkout. 



404 



rOEMS OF COMEDY. 



TOE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER. 

As old song niailo by an aged old pate, 

Of an old worsliipfiil gentleman who had a 

great estate, 
That kept a brave old house at a bountiful 

rate, 
And an old porter to relieve tlio jioor at his 
gate; 

Like an old courtier of the gueen''s, 
And the quein''a old courtier. 

Witli an old lady, whose anger one word as- 
suages ; 

Tliey every iiuarter paid their old servants 
their wages, 

And never knew what belonged to coachmen, 
footmen, nor pages, 

But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats 
and badges ; 
LUe an old courtier of the quee/i''s. 
And the queen^s old courtier. 

AVitli an old study tilled full of learned old 

books ; 
"With an old reverend chaphiin— you might 

know him by his looks ; 
AVith an old buttery hatch worn quite oft' the 

hooks ; 
And an old kitchen that maintained half a 

dozen old cooks ; 

Lile an old courtier of the queens, 
And the queen''s old courtier. 

■With an old hall, hung about with pikes, guns, 
and bows, 

"With old swords and bucklers, that had borne 
many shrewd blows ; 

And an old frieze coat, to cover his worship's 
trunk hose, 

And a cup of old sherry, to comfort his cop- 
per nose ; 

Lil-c an old courtier of the queens, 
And the queen^s old courtier. 

"With a good old fashion, when Christmas was 

conio, 
To call in all his old neighbors with bagpipe 

and drum ; 



"With good cheer enough to furnish every old 

room. 
And old liipior able to make a cat speak, and 
man dumb ; 

Like an old courtier of the queeii's, 
And the queen's old courtier. 

"With ail old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel 
of hounds. 

That never hawked, nor hunted, but in his 
own grounds ; 

Who, like a wise man, kept himself within 
his own bounds, 

iUul when ho dyed, gave every child a thou- 
sand good pounds ; 

Like an old courtier of the queen's, 
And the queen's old courtier. 

But to his eldest sou his house and land lie 

assigned, 
Charging him m his will to keep the old 

bountiful mind — 
To be good to his old tenants, and to his 

neighbors be kind : 
But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how 

he was inclined. 

Like a young courtier of the hing's, 
And the king's young courtier. 

Like a lloiirishing young gallant, newly come 
to his land, 

"Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his 
command ; 

And takes up a thousand pound upon his fa- 
ther's land ; 

And gets dnmk in a tavern, till he can nei- 
ther go nor stand ; 
Like a young courtier of the king's. 
And the king's young courtier. 

"With a new-fangled lady, that is dainty, nice, 

and spare, 
Who never knew what belonged to good 

housekeeping or care ; 
"Who buys gaudy-colored fans to play with 

wanton air, 
And seven or eight different dressings of other 

women's hair ; 

Like a young courtier of the hing's, 
And the king's young courtier. 



AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG. 



405 



With a new-fasliioned ball, built wbero tbe 

old one stood, 
Ilung round with new pictnrcs, tbat do tbo 

poor no good ; 
AVitb a fine marble cbiinney, wberein burns 

neither coal nor wood ; 
And a new smooth sbovelboard, whereon no 

victuals ne'er stood ; 

Lil'o a young courtier of the Mng^s, 
And the Tiiiufs young courtier. 

With a new study, stnft fell of pamphlets and 
plays ; 

And a new chaplain, that swears faster than 
he prays ; 

With a new buttery hatch, that opens once 
in four or live days. 

And a new French cook, to devise fine kick- 
shaws, and toys ; 

Lihe a young courtier of the Mng'e, 
And the hinges young courtier. 

With a new fashion when Cliristnias is draw- 
ing on — 

On a new journey to London straight we all 
must be gone, 

And leave none to keep house, but our new 
porter Jolm, 

Wlio relie\es the poor with a thump on the 
back with a stone ; 
Lihe a young courtier of the l-ing^s, 
And the king's young courtier. 



With a new gentleman usher, whose carriage 
is complete ; 

With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to 
carry up the meat ; 

With a waiting gentlewoman, whose dressing 
is very neat — 

Who, when her lady has dined, lets the ser- 
vants not eat ; 

Lihe a young courtier of the Jcing's, 
And the king's young courtier. 



With new titles of honor bought with his 

father's old gold, 
For which sundry of his ancestors' old manors 

are sold : 



And this is the course most of our new gal- 
lants hold, 
Which makes that good housekeeping is now 
grown so cold 

Among theyoung courtiers of the king, 
Or the king's young courtiers. 

Anonymous. 



AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A 
MAD DOG. 

Good people all, of every sort, 

Give ear unto my song ; 
And if you find it wond'rous shoil; 

It cannot hold you long. 

In Islington there was a man. 
Of whom the world might say 

That still a godly race he ran 
AVIiene'er he went to pray. 

A kind and gentle heart he had. 

To comfort friends and foes ; 
The naked every day he clad, 

AVheu ho jiut on his clothes. 

And in that town a dog was found, 

As many dogs there be, 
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and liound, 

And curs of low degree. 

This dog and man at first were friends ; 

But when a pique began. 
The dog, to gain his private ends, 

AVent mad, and bit tbe man. 

Around from all the neighboring streets 
Tlie wandering neighbors ran. 

And swore the dog bad lost his wits. 
To bite so good a man. 

The wound it seemed both sore and sad 

To every Christian eye : 
And while they swore the dog was mad. 

They swore the man would die. 

But soon a wonder came to light. 
That showed the rogues they lied : 

The man recovered of the bite, 
The dog it was that died. 

OirvnB Goldsmith. 



406 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. 

AN EEEOI-COMICAL POEM. 

Nolueraui, Beliodn, tuos violare capillos; 
s?edjuvat hoc precibus me tribiiisse tuis. — Ma^t. 

CANTO I. 

What dire offence from amorous causes 

springs, 
What mighty contests rise from trivial things, 
I sing — This verse to Cwyl, muse ! is due ; 
This, e'en Belinda may vouchsafe to view : 
Slight is the subject, but not so tlie praise. 
If she inspire, and ho approve my lays. 

Say what strange motive, goddess! could 

compel 
A well-hrod lord t' assault a gentle belle? 
Oh, say what stranger cause, yet unexplored, 
Could make a gentle belle reject a lord ? 
In tasks so bold can little men engage. 
And in sot"! bosoms dwell sucli mighty rage? 
Sol through white curtains shot a timorous 

ray, 
And ope'd those eyes tliat must eclipse the 

day. 
Xow lap-dogs give themselves the rousing 

shake, 
And sleepless lovers just at twelve awake; 
Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knocked the 

ground, 
And the pressed watch returned a silver 

sound. 
Belinda still her downy pillow prest — 
Her guardian sylph prolonged the balmy rest ; 
'T was he had summoned to her silent bed 
The morning-dream that hovered o'er her 

head : 
A youth more glittering than a birthnight 

beau, 
(That e'en in slumber caused her cheek to 

glow.) 
Seemed to her ear his winning lips to lay. 
And thus in whispers said, or seemed to say : 
" Fairest of mortals, thou distinguished care 
Of thousand bright inhabitants of air I 
If e'er one vision touched thy infant thought 
Of all the nurse and aU the priest have 

taught. 
Of airy elves by moonlight-shadows seen, 
The silver token, and the circled green : 



Or virgin^ visited by angel powers 

With golden crowns and wreaths of heavenly 

flowers — 
Hear and believe ! thy own importance 

know, 
Xor bound thy narrow views to things below. 
Some secret truths, from learned pride con- 
cealed, 
To maids alone and children are revealed; 
What tliough no credit doubting wits may 

give ? 
The fair and innocent shall still believe. 
Know, then, unnumbered spirits round thee 

fly— 
The light militia of the lower sky; 
These, though unseen, are ever on the wing. 
Hang o'er the bos, .ind hover round the ring. 
Think what an equipage thou hast in air. 
And view with scorn two pages and a chair. 
As now your own, our beings were of old, 
And once enclosed in woman's beauteous 

mould ; 
Thence, by a soft transition, we repair 
From earthly vehicles to these of air. 
Think not, when woman's ti-ansient breath is 

fled. 
That all her vanities at once are dead ; 
Succeeding vanities she stiU regards. 
And, though she plays no more, o'erlooks the 

cards. 
Her joy in gilded chariots, when alive. 
And love of ombre, after death survive ; 
For when the lair in all their pride expire. 
To their first elements their souls retire; 
The sprites of fiery termagant in flame 
Mount up, and take a salamander's name; 
Soft yielding minds to water glide away. 
And sip, with nymphs, their elemental tea ; 
The graver prude sinks downward to a 

gnome 
In search of mischief still on earth to roam ; 
The light coquettes in sylphs aloft repair. 
And sport and flutter in the fields of air. 
"Know further yet; whoever fiiir and 

chaste 
Eejects mankind, is by some sylph embraced : 
For spirits,frced from mortal laws, with ease 
Assume what sexes and what shapes they 

please. 
What guards the purity of melting maids. 
In courtly balls and midnight masquerades. 



THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. 



407 



Sato from the treacherous friend, the daring 

spark, 
Tlie glance by day, the wliisper in tlie dark — 
Wlicu kind occasion prompts their warm de- 
sires, 
When music softens, and when dancing fires ? 
'T is but their sylph, the wise celestials know. 
Though honor is the word with men below. 
" Some nymphs there are, too conscious of 
their face. 
For life predestined to the gnome's embrace ; 
These swell their prospects and exalt their 

pride. 
When offers are disdained, and love denied; 
Then gay ideas crowd the vacant brain, 
While peers, and dukes, and all their sweep- 
ing train. 
And g.irters, stars, and coronets appear. 
And in soft sounds, ' Your grace,' salutes 

their ear. 
'T is these that early taint the female soul, 
Instruct the eyes of young coquettes to roll ; 
Teach infant cheeks a bidden blush to know. 
And little hearts to flutter at a beau. 

" Oft when the world imagine women 
stray. 
The sylphs through mystic mazes guide their 

way ; 
Through all the giddy chxlo they pursue, 
And old impertinence expel by new. 
What tender maid but must a victim fall 
To one man's treat, but for another's ball ? 
When riorio speaks, what virgin could with- 
stand. 
If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand ? 
With varying vanities from every part 
They sliift the moving toy -shop of their heart ; 
Where wigs with wigs, with sword-knots 

sword-knots strive. 
Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches 

drive. 
This erring mortals levity may call — ■ 
Oh, blind to truth ! the sylphs contrive it all. 
" Of these am I, who thy protection claim ; 
A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name. 
Late, as I ranged the crystal wilds of air. 
In the clear mirror of thy ruling star, 
I saw, alas ! some dread event impend, 
Ere to the main this morning's sun descend ; 
But heaven reveals not what, or how, or 
where : 



Warned by the sylph, O pious maid, beware ! 
This to disclose is all thy guardian can ; 
Beware of all, but most beware of man ! " 
He said ; when Shock, who thought she 

slept too long, 
Leaped up, and waked his mistress with his 

tongue. 
'T was then, Belinda, if report say true. 
Thy eyes first opened on a billet-doux; 
Wounds, charms, and ardors, were no sooner 

read. 
But all the vision vanished from thy head. 
And now, unveiled, the toilet stands dis- 
played. 
Each silver vase in mystic order laid. 
First, robed in white, the nymph intent 

adores, 
With head uncovered, the cosmetic powers. 
A lieavenly image in the glass appears — 
To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears; 
Th' inferior priestess, at her altar's side, 
Trembling begins the sacred rites of pride. 
Unnumbered treasures ope at once, and here 
The various offerings of the world appear: 
From each she nicely culls with curious toil. 
And decks the goddess with the glittering 

spoil. 
This casket India's glowing gems unlocks. 
And all Arabia breathes fi-om yonder box. 
The tortoise here, and elephant unite. 
Transformed to combs — the speckled, and the 

white. 
Here files of pins extend their shining rows ; 
Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billet-doux. 
Now awful beauty puts on all its arms ; 
The fair each moment rises in her charms. 
Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace, 
And calls forth all the wonders of her face ; 
Sees by degrees a purer blusli arise. 
And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes. 
The busy sylphs surround their darling care. 
These set the head, and these divide the hair; 
Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait tlje 

gown; 
And Betty 's praised for labors not her own. 

CANTO II. 

Not with more glories, in the ethereal plain, 
The sun first rises o'er the purpled main. 
Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams 
Launched on tlie bosom of the silver Thames. 



•108 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



Fair nymphs and wcll-ilresscJ youtlis around 
her shone, 

But every eyo was fixed on lier alone. 

tin her wliito breast a sparkUng cross she 
wore, 

AVhich Jews might kiss, and infidels adore; 

Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose — 

Quick as her eyes, and as unfixed as those; 

Favws to none, to all she smiles extends ; 

Ol't she rejects, hut never once offends. 

Kri^ht as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike ; 

And, like the sun, they shine on all alike. 

Yet graceful case, and sweetness void of 
jiride. 

Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to 
hide: 

If to her share some female errors fall, 

Look on her face, and you '11 forget them all. 
This nymph, to the destruction of man- 
kind, 

Xourislied two locks, which graceful hung 
behind 

In eipud curls, and well conspired to deck 

With shining ringlets the smooth, ivory neck. 

Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains. 

And mighty hearts are held in slender 
chains. 

AVith hairy springes we the birds betray ; 

Slight lines of hair surprise the finny prey ; 

Fair tresses man's imperial race insnare. 

And beauty draws us with a single hair. 
Til" adventurous baron the bright locks 
admired ; 

He saw, ho wished, and to the prize aspired. 

Resolved to win, ho meditates the way, 

Ky force to ravish, or by fraud betray ; 

For when s\iccess a lover's toil attends. 

Few ask if fraud or force attained his ends. 
For this, ore Phcebus rose, he had im- 
plored 

Propitious heaven, and every power adored ; 

Hut chielly love — to love an altar built, 

Of twelve vast French romances, neatly gilt. 

There lay three garters, half a pair of gloves, 

And all the trophies of his former loves; 

With tender billet-doux he lights the pyre, 

And breathes three amorous sighs to raise 
llio iuw 

Then prostrate falls, and begs with ardent 
eyes 

Soon to obtain, and long possess the prize. 



The powers gave ear, and granted half his 

prayer ; 
The rest tho winds dispersed in empty air. 
But now jjccnro tho painted vessel glides, 
Tho sunbeams trembling on the floating tides ; 
While melting music steals upon tho sky, 
And softened sounds along the waters die : 
Smooth flow tho waves, tho zephyrs gently 

play, 
Belinda smiled, and all the world w;is gay. 
All hut the syliili — with careful thoughts op- 

prest, 
Th' impending woe sat heavy on his breast. 
Ho summons straight his denizens of air ; 
The lucid squadrons round the sails repair; 
Soft o'er tho shrouds aerial whispers breathe. 
That seemed but zephyrs to the train be- 

ueath. 
Some to the sun their insect-wings unfold, 
AVaft on the breeze, or sink in clouds of gold. 
Transparent forms, too fine for mortal sight, 
Their fluid bodies half dissolved in light; 
Loose to the wind their airy garments flew- 
Tliin, gfitteriug textures of the filmy dew, 
Dipt in the richest tincture of the skies. 
Where light disports in ever-mingling dyes; 
While every beam new transient colors 

flings. 
Colors tliat change whene'er they wave 

their wings. 
Amid the circle, on tho gilded mast, 
Superior by the head, was Ariel placed; 
His purple pinions opening to the snn, 
Ho raised his azure wand, and thus begun : 
"Ye sylphs and sylphids, to yonr chief 

give oar ! 
Fays, fairies, genii, elves, and demons, hoar I 
Ye know tho spheres and various tasks as- 
signed 
By laws eternal to tho aeri.al kind : 
Some in the fields of purest ether play. 
And bask and ■whiten in the blaze of day ; 
Some guide the course of wandering orbs on 

^ligh. 
Or roll tho planets through the boundless 

sky ; 
Some, less refined, beneath the moon's pale 

light 
Pursue tho stars that shoot athwart the night. 
Or suck the mists in grosser air below, 
Or dip their pinions in the painted bow. 



TUE RAPE OF TUE LOOK. 



400 



Or brew fioroo tempests on tlio wintry main, 

Or i)'or tlio glebe distill tlio kindly riiiii ; 

Otliors, on oartli, o'er limniin riico preside, 

Wiitcb all Ibt'ir ways, and all tlioir actions 
j^'uido : 

Of these the cliii'l'lho ciu'o of nations own, 

And jiiiard with arms divine the liritish 
throne. 
"Onr Innnbhr proNiiiee is to It'nd the fair, 

Not a loss iilcasiiij^, though less glorionsi^are ; 

To save the powder from too rnde a Rale, 

N(n' let th' iini)risoned essenees exhale; 

To draw frush colors from the vernal flow- 
ers; 

To steal from rainbows, ere tlicy drop in 
showers, 

A brighter wasli ; to cnrl their waving hairs. 

Assist their blnslu's, and insjiiro their airs; 

Nay oft, in dreams, invention wo bestow. 

To change a flounce, or add a furbelow. 
" This day black omens threat the bright- 
est fair 

That e'er deserved a watrlifnl spirit's care ; 

ISomo dire disaster, or by foree or slight ; 

I{nt what, or where, the fates have wrapped 
ill night — 

Whetlier the nymph shall breal; Diana's law, 

Or some frail china jar receive a thiw ; 

Or stain her honor, or her new brocade ; 

Forget her [irayers, or miss a mas(]iierade; 

Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball; 

Or whether heaven has doomed that Shock 
must fall — 

Haste, then, ye spirUs 1 to your charge re- 
pair: J 

The fluttering fan be yjephyretta's care; 

The drops to thee, Brillniite, we consign; 

And, Moiiicntilla, let the watch be thine; 

])() thou, (Irispissa, tend her favorite lock; 

Ariel himself shall bo the guard of Shock. 
"To fifty chosen sylphs, of special note, 

We trust tlio important charge, tlio petti- 
coat — 

Oft have wo kiniwii tliat sevcii-luld fence to 
fail, 

Tliough still' with hoops, and armed with ribs 
of wlmlc — 

Form a strong lino about tho silver bound. 

And guard the wide circumference around. 
"Whatever si)irit, careless of his charge. 

His jiost iiegleets <ir leaves the fair at large, | 



Shall feel sharp vengeance soon o'crtake his 

sins. 
He stopiied in vials, or transfixed with jiins; 
Or plunged in hikes of bitter washes lie. 
Or wedged whole ages in a bodkin's eye; 
(liiiiiH and poinaliims shall bis filgbt rcjitrain, 
While clogged lio boats his silken wings in 

vain ; 
Or alum styptics with conli-aeting ]iower 
Shrink his thin essence like a rivaled flower; 
Or, as Ixioii fixed, the wretch shall feel 
The giddy motion of the whirling mill; 
In fumes of burning chocolate shall glow. 
And tremble at the sea that froths below! " 
lie spoke; the spirits from the sails ile- 

seeiid ; 
Some, orb in orb, around the nymph exlemi; 
Some tliread the mazy ringlets of her hair ; 
Some hang upon the pendants of her ear; 
With beating hearts the dire event they wail, 
Anxious, and trembling for the birth nl' lale. 

CANTO III. 

Close liy (hose meads, for ever crowned willi 

floWors, 
Where Thames with [iride surveys bis rising 

towers, 
Tlu'i-e stands a structure of majestic frame. 
Which from the neighboring iraiiiiiton takes 

its name. 
Here Britain's statesmen oil the lall furedooni 
Of foreign tyrants, and of nymphs at home; 
Here, thou, great Anna! whom three realms 

obey, 
Dost somotimes counsel lake — and soinelinie- 

tea. 
Hither the heroes and the nyni]ihs resort. 
To taste awliilo tho pleasures of a court; 
In various talk the instructive lio\irstliey past: 
Who gave tho ball, or paid the visit last ; 
Ono speaks the glory of the British queen ; 
And one describes a charniing Indian screen; 
A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes— 
At every word a repuljition dies; 
Snulf, or the fan, supply each [)ause of dial, 
With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that. 

Meanwhile, declining from the noon of day. 
The sun (diliipiely shoots bis burning ray ; 
The hungry judges soon the sentence sign, 
And wretelu^s hang that jurymen may dine; 



410 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



Tlu> iiioroliniit fVoin tho Exohaniio returns in 

IH'IU'O. 

Alul llio long labors of tho toilot cense. 
iH'liiKliV now, whom thirst of fame invites, 
liiuiis to encounter two adventurous knights 
At onihre singly to deciile their doom, 
And swells her hreast with eoiuiuests yet to 

eonie. 
Straight the Ihree bands invjiare in arms to 

Kaeh band the nmnber of tho sacred nine. 
iSoon as she spreads her hand, the aerial guard 
Descend, and sit on each important card : 
First Ariel iierclied upon a matadore, 
Then each according to tho rank they bore ; 
For sylphs, yet niindl'ul of their nnoiont race. 
Are. as when women, wondrous fond of place. 

Iiebold ; tour kings in mi\iesty revered, 
M'ilh hoary whiskers and a forky beard ; 
And four fair queens, whose hands sustain a 

llower. 
The expressive emblem of their sot'ter power ; 
Four knaves, in garbs succinct^ a trusty hand. 
Caps on their heads, and halberts in their 

hand ; 
.\nd parli-eolored troojis, a shining train, 
I^raw I'orlli to cond>at on the velvet plain. 
The skilful nymph reviews her force with 

care ; 
" T.ot spades bo trumps I " she said, and 

trumps they were. 
Now move to war her sable inatadorcs, 
In show like leaders of tho swarthy Mooi-s. 
Spadillio tirst, unconijuerable lord ! 
1-ed otV two captive trumps, and swept the 

board. 
As many more Manillio forced to yield, 
And marched a victor from the verdant field. 
Him Uasto followed, but his fate more hard 
tlained but one trump and one plebeian card. 
NVith his broad sabre next, a chief in years, 
The hoary nnyesty of spades appeal's, 
TiUs forth one manly log, to sight revealed. 
The rest his m.-xny-oolorod robe concealed. 
The rebel knave, who dares his prince en- 
gage. 
Proves the just victim of his royal rage. 
IVen mighty Pam, that kings and iiueens o'er- 

threw, 
And mowed down armies in the tights of 

loo. 



Sad chance of war I now destitute of aid, 
Falls undistinguished by tho victor spado! 

Thus far both nrmios to IJeliiula yield; 
Now to tho baron fate inclines tho field. 
His warlike amazon her host invades, 
The imperial consort of the crown of spades. 
The dub's black tyrant tirst her victim died, 
Spite of his haughty mien and barbarous 

pride: 
AVhat boots tho regal circle on his head. 
His giant limbs, in state unwieldy s|)read — 
That long behind ho trails his pompous robe. 
And, of all nuinarchs, only grasps the globe i 
The baron now his diamonds pours apace: 
The embroidered king who shows but half his 

face. 
And his refulgent queen, with powers com- 
bined, 
Of broken troops au easy conquest iind. 
Clubs, diamonds, hearts, in wild disorder 

seen, 
With throngs promiscuous strew the level 

green. 
Thus when dispersed a routed army runs. 
Of Asia's troops, and Afric's s;iblo sons — 
With like confusion ditl'erent nations fly, 
t>f various habit, and of various dye; 
The pierced battalions disunited fall 
In heaps on heaps — one fate o'orwbelmsthem 

all. 
Tho knave of diamonds tries his wily ni'fcs, 
.Vnd wins (oh, shameful chance!) the queoii 

of hearts. 
At this tho blood tlio virgin's chook forsook, 
A livid paleness spreads o'er all her look ; 
She sees, and trembles at tho approaching ill, 
Just in tho .jaws of ruin, and codille. 
And now (as oft in some distempered state) 
On one nice trick depends the general late: 
An aee of hearts steps forth ; tho king unseen 
Lurked in her hand, and mourned his captive 

queen ; 
lie springs to vengeance with an eager pace, 
And falls like thunder on tho prostrate ace. 
Tho nymph, exulting, fills with shouts the 

sky ; 
The walls, the woods, and long canals roi>ly. 
O thoughtless mortals! ever blind to fatt, 
Too soon dejected, and too soon elate I 
Sudden these honors shall be snatched aw.ay. 
And cursed for ever this victorious day. 



THE RATE OF THE LOOK. 



411 



For lo I tlio board with ciijiH and spoons is 
crowned; 
'I'lii' licrries crackle, and tlio mill tnrns rmmd ; 
On shining altars ot'japan tliey raise 
Tho silver lamp; the fiery spirits blaze; 
From silver sjiouts tho grutefid liquors glide, 
While China's earth receives the smoking tide. 
At onco they gratify their scont and taste. 
And lVe(|uent cni)3 prolong the rich repast. 
Straight hover round llie fair her airy band : 
Some, assliosiiiped, tho fuming liquor fanned ; 
Some o'er her lap thoir careful plumes dis- 
played, 
Trembling, and consciouBof the rich brocuilc. 
Cofl'eo (wliich makes tho politician wise. 
And SCO thriaigli all things with bis half-shut 

'•yes) 
Sent up in vapors lo the baron's brain 
New stratagems, the radiant look to gain. 
Ah cease, rash youth ! desist ere 't is too lato; 
Fear tliO just gods, and think of Scylla's fate ! 
Changed to a bird, and sent to flit in air, 
She deai-ly jiays for Nisus' injured hair! 
lint when to mischief mortals bend their 
will, 
How Boon they find fit instruments of ill 1 
.lust then, Clarissa drew with tem|iting grace 
A two-edged weapon from her shirung case: 
So ladies, in romance, assist their knight — 
Present tho sjicar and arm him for tho fight. 
He takes tho gift with reverence, and extends 
'I'he little engine on his fingers' ends; 
This just behind Belinda's neck he spread, 
As o'er tho fragrant steams she bonds her 

bead. 
Swift to the lock a thousand sprites repair, 
A thousand wings, by turns, blow back tho 

hair; 
,\nd tlirice they twitched the diamond in her 

ear; 
'i'bi-ic^e she looked back, and thrice tho foe 

drew near. 
Just in that instant, anxious Ariel sought 
Tho close recesses of the virgin's thought: 
As on the nosegay in her breast reclined, 
lie watched the ideas rising in her mind. 
Sudden ho viewed, in spite of all her art. 
An earlhly lover lurking at her heart. 
.Vnuized, confused, ho found bis power ex- 
pired, 
Resigned to fate, and with a sigh retired. 



Tho peer now spreads the glittering i'orfex 

wide, 
T' enclose tho lock ; now joins it, to divide. 
F'en then, before tho fiitul engine closed, 
A wretched sylph too fondly interposed ; 
Fate urged tho shears, and cut Ihc sylph in 

twain, 
(lint airy substance soon unites again;) 
The meeting points the sacred hair dissever 
From tho fiiir head, for over, and for over I 
Then (lashed tho living lightning from her 

eyes, 
,\nd screams of horror rend tho afirighted 

skies. 
Not louder shrieks to pitying Heaven are 

cast 
Whin biisliands, or when lapdogs, breathe 

their last.; 
Or when rich china vossel.s, fallen from high. 
In glittering dust and painted fragments lie! 
"I.ct wreaths of triumidi now my temples 

twine," 
The victor cried " the glorious prize is mine ! 
Wbilo fish in streams, or birds delight in air; 
Or in a coach and six tho iiritish fair; 
As long as Atalantis shall bo read. 
Or tho small pillow grace a lady's bed ; 
Wliile visits shall bo [laid on solemn days, 
When numerous wax-lights in bright order 

blaze ; 
While nymphs tako treats, or assignations 

give. 
So long my honor, nuMie, and ]ir,-iise sluill 

livel 
What time would spare, from stool receives 

its date ; 
And monuments, like men, submit to fate I 
Steel could tho labor of tho gods destroy. 
And strike to dust the imperial towers of 

Troy ; 
Steel could tho works of mortal pride con- 

founrl, 
Anil hew triumiihal arches to the ground. 
What wonder then, fair nymjili ! thy liairK 

should feel 
Tho conquering force of unresisted steel ? " 



CANTO IV. 

But anxious cares tho jjonsive nympb opprcst, 
And secret passions labored in her Ijnast. 



r 



412 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



Not youthful kings in battle seized alive ; 
Kot scornful virgins who tlicir cliarms survive ; 
Not ardent lovers robbed of all their bliss; 
Not ancient ladies when refused a kiss ; 
Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die ; 
Not Cynthia when her mautua's pinned 

awry, 
E'er felt such rage, resentment, and despair, 
As thou, sad virgin! for thy ravished hair. 
For, that sad moment, when the sylphs 
withdrew, 
And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew, 
LInibriel, a dusky, melancholy sprite. 
As ever sullied the fair face of light, 
Down to the central eartli, his proper scene. 
Repaired to search the gloomy cave of Spleen. 
Swift on his sooty pinions flits the gnome, 
And in a vapor reached the dismal dome. 
No cheerful breeze this sullen region knows; 
The dreaded east is all the wind that blows. 
Here in a grotto sheltered close from air, 
And screened in shades from day's detested 

glare, 
She sighs for ever on her pensive bed, 
Pain at her side, and Megrim at her head. 
Two handmaids wait the throne; alike in 
I>lace, 
But dift'ering far in figure and in face. 
Here stood Ill-nature, like an ancient maid, 
Iler wrinkled form in black and white ar- 
rayed; 
■With store of prayers for mornings, nights, 

and noons, 
ITer hand is filled ; her bosom with lampoons. 
There Aftectation with a sickly mien, 
Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen ; 
Practised to lisp, and hang the head aside, 
Faints into airs, and languisl)es with pride ; 
On tlie rich quilt sinks with becoming woe, 
AVrapt in a gown, for sickness, and for show — 
Tlio fair ones feel such maladies as these, 
When each new night-dress gives a new dis- 
ease. 
A constant vapor o'er the palace flies ; 
Strange idiantoms rising as the mists arise — 
Dreadful, as hermits' dreams iix haunted 

shades, 
Or bright, as visions of expiring maids. 
Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling 

spires, 
Palo spectres, gaping tombs, and purple fires; 



Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes, 
And crystal domes, and angels in machines. 
Unnumbered throngs on every side are 
seen. 
Of bodies changed to various forms by Spleen. 
Here living teapots stand, one arm held out. 
One bent — the handle this, and that the spout; 
A pipkin there, like Homer's tripod walks ; 
Ilere sighs ajar, and there a goose-pie talks; 
Men prove with child, as powerful fancy 

works ; 
And maids, turned bottles, call aloud for 
corks. 
Safe passed the gnome through this fantastic 
band, 
A branch of healing spleenwort in his hand. 
Then thus addressed the power — " UaU, way- 
ward queen 1 
Who rule the ses to fifty from fifteen; 
Parent of vapors and of female wit. 
Who give the hysteric or poetic fit. 
On various tempers act by various ways. 
Make some take physic, others scribble plays ; 
Who cause the proud their visits to delay, 
And send the godly in a pet to pray. 
A nymph there is that all your power dis- 
dains. 
And thousands more in equal mirth maintains. 
But oh ! if e'er thy gnome could spoil a grace, 
Or raise a pimple on a beauteous face. 
Like citron-waters matrons' cheeks inflame. 
Or change complexions at a losing game — 
If e'er with airy horns I planted heads, 
Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds, 
Or caused suspicion when no soul was rude. 
Or discomposed the headdress of a prude, 
Or e'er to costive lapdog gave disease. 
Which not the tears of brightest eyes could 

ease — 
Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin ; 
That single act gives half the world the 
spleen." 
The goddess, with a discontented air, 
Seems to reject him, though she grants his 

prayer. 
A wondrous bag with both her hands she 

binds, 
Like that when once LTlysses held the winds; 
There she collects the force of female lungs, 
Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war of 
tongues. 



THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. 



413 



A vial next she fills with fainting fears, 
Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears. 
The gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away, 
Spreads his hlack wings, and slowly mounts 

to day. 
Sunk in Thalestris' arms the nymph he 

found, 
Her eye dejected, and her hair unbound. 
Full o'er their heads the swelling bag he 

rent. 
And all the furies issued at the vent. 
Belinda burns with more than mortal ire, 
And fierce Thalestris faus the rising fire. 
" O wretched maid ! " she spread her hands 

and cried, 
("While Hampton's echoes, " "Wretched maid," 

replied,) 
" Was it for this you took such constant care 
The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare ? 
For this your locks in paper durance bound? 
For this with torturing irons wreathed 

around ? 
For this with fillets strained your tender 

head? 
And bravely bore the double loads of lead ? 
Gods ! shall the ravishor display your hair, 
"While the fops envy, and the ladies stare? 
Honor forbid 1 at whose unrivalled shrine 
Ease, pleasure, virtue, all our sex resign. 
Methinks already I your tears survey. 
Already hear the horrid things they say ; 
Already see you a degraded toast, 
And all your honor in a whisper lost ! 
lluw shall I, then, your hapless fame defend? 
'T will then bo infamy to seem your friend ! 
And shall this prize, the inestimable prize. 
Exposed through crystal to the gazing eyes. 
And heightened by the diamond's circling 

rays, 
On that rapacious hand for ever blaze ? 
Sooner shall grass in Hyde park circus grow. 
And wits take lodgings in the sound of Bow ; 
Sofjner let earth, air, sea, to chaos fall, 
Men, monkeys, lapdogs, parrots, perish all ! " 
She said; then, raging, to Sir Plume re- 
pairs. 
And bids her beau demand the precious hairs. 
Sir Plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain. 
And the nice conduct of a clouded cane, 
AVitli earnest eyes, and round, unthinking face, 
He first the snuff-box opened, then the case. 



And thus broke out — "My lord, why, what 

the devil ! 
Z — ds ! damn the lock ! 'fore Gad, you must 

bo civU ! 
Plague on 't 1 't is past a jest — nay, prithee, 

pox! 
Give her the hair." — Ho spoke, and rapped 

his box. 
"It grieves me much (replied the peer 

again) 
Who speaks so well should ever speak in 

vain ; 
But by this lock, this sacred lock, I swear, 
(Which never more shall join its parted hair ; 
Which never more its honors shall renew, 
Clipped from the lovely head where late it 

grew,) 
That, while my nostrils draw the vital air. 
This hand, which won it, shall for ever wear." 
He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph 

spread 
The long-contended honors of her head. 
But Umbricl, hateful gnome, forbears not 

so; 
He breaks the vial whence the sorrows flow. 
Then see ! the nymph in beauteous grief ap- 
pears, 
Her eyes half-languishing, half drowned in 

tears ; 
On her heaved bosom hung her drooping 

head. 
Which with a sigh she raised, and thus she 

said: 
" For ever cursed be this detested day, 
Which snatched my best, my favorite curl 

away ; 
Happy ! ah ten times happy had I been, 
If Hampton Court these eyes had never seen ! 
Yet am not I the first mistaken maid. 
By love of courts to numerous ills betrayed. 
Oh had I rather unadmired remained 
In some lone isle, or distant northern land ; 
Where the gilt chariot never marks the way. 
Where none learn ombre, none e'er taste 

bohea ! 
There kept my charms concealed from mortal 

eye, 
Like roses, that in deserts bloom and die. 
What moved my mind with youthful lords to 

roam? 
Oh had I stayed, and said my prayers at home ! 



414 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



'T was this the morning omens seemed to tell, 
Thrice from my trembling hand the patchbox 

fell; 
The tottering china shook without a wind, 
Nay, Poll sat mute, and Shock was most un- 
kind! 
A syliih, too, warned me of the threats of 

fate, 
In mystic visions, now believed too late I 
See the poor remnant of these slighted hairs ! 
Itly hands shall reud what e'en thy rapine 

spai'es : 
These in two sable ringlets taught to break. 
Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck ; 
The sister-lock now sits uncouth, alone, 
And in its fellow's fate foresees its own; 
Uncurled H bangs, the fatal shears demands. 
And tempts once more thy sacrilegious hands. 
Oh hadst thou, cruel ! been content to seize 
Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but these! " 

CANTO V. 

She said : the pitying audience melt in tears; 

But Fate and Jove had stopped the baron's 
cars. 

In vain Tbalestris with reproach assails. 

For who can move when fair Belinda fails? 

Not half so tixed the Trojan could remain, 

^Vhile Anna begged and Dido raged in vain. 

Then grave Clarissa graceful waved her fan ; 

Silence ensued, and thus the nymph began : 
" Say, why are beauties praised and hon- 
ored most, 

The wise man's passion, and the vain man's 
toast ? 

Why decked with all that land and sea afford? 

Why angels called, and angel-like adored? 

Why round our coaches crowd the white- 
gloved beaux ? 

Why bows the side-box from its inmost rows? 

How vain are all these glories, all our pains. 

Unless good sense preserve what beauty gains ; 

That men may say, when wo the front-box 
grace. 

Behold the first in virtue as in face ! 

Oh ! if to dance all night, and dress all day, 

Charmed the small-pox, or chased old age 
away. 

Who would not scorn what housewife's cares 
produce. 

Or who would learn one earthly thing of use? 



To patch, nay ogle, might become a saint ; 
Nor could it, sure, be such a sin to paint. 
But since, alas! frail beauty must decay; 
Curled or uncurled, since locks will turn to 

gray ; 
Since painted, or not painted, all shall fade, 
And she who scorns a man must die a maid ; 
What then remains, but well our power to 

use. 
And keep good humor still, whate'er we lose? 
And trust me, dear, good humor can prevail, 
When airs, and flights, and screams, and 

scolding fail. 
Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll — 
Charms strike the sight, b\it merit wins the 

soul." 
So spoke the dame, but no applause ensued ; 
Belinda frowned, Tbalestris called her prude. 
" To arms, to ai'ms ! " the fierce virago cries, 
And swift as lightning to the combat flies. 
All side in parties, and begin the attack ; 
Fans clap, silks rustle, and tough whalebones 

crack ; 
Heroes' and heroines' shouts confusedly rise, 
And bass and treble voices strike the skies. 
No common weapons in their hands are 

found — 
Like gods they fight, nor dread a mortal 

wound. 
So when bold Homer makes the gods en- 
gage, 
And heavenly breasts with human passions 

rage; 
'Gainst FaUas Mars; Latona Ilermes arms; 
And all Olympus rings with loud alarms ; 
Jove's thunder roars, heaven trembles all 

around, 
Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps re- 

soimd; 
Earth shakes her nodding towers, the ground 

gives way. 
And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day ! 
Triuiuph;mt Umbriel, on a sconce's height. 
Clapped his glad wings, and sat to view the 

fight; 
Propped on their bodkin-spears, the sprites 

survey 
The growing combat, or assist the fray. 
While through the press enraged Tbalestris 

flies. 
And scatters death around from botli her eyes, 



THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. 



416 



A beau and witling pcrisbed in the throng — • 
One died in metaphor, and one in song : 
" O cruel nymph ! a living death I bear,'' 
Cried Dapperwit, and sunk beside his chair. 
A mournful glance Sir Fopling upward cast, 
" Those eyes are made so killing " — was his 

last. 
Thus on Marauder's flowery margin lies 
The expiring swan, and as he sings he dies. 
When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa 
down, 
Chloe stepped in, and killed him with a frown ; 
She smiled to see the doughty hero slain. 
But at her smile the beau revived again. 

Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air, 
Weighs the men's wits against the lady's hair; 
The doubtful beam long nods from side to 

side; 
At length the wits mount up, the hairs sub- 
side. 
See, fierce Belinda on the baron flies, 
With more than usual lightning in her eyes; 
Nor feared the chief th' unequal fight to try. 
Who sought no more than on his foe to die. 
But this bold lord, with manly strength en- 
dued. 
She with one finger and a thumb subdued: 
Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew, 
A charge of snuff the wily virgin threw ; 
The gnomes direct, to every atom just, 
The pungent grains of titillating dust. 
Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'erflows. 
And the high dome reechoes to his nose. 
" Now meet thy fate ! " incensed Belinda 
cried. 
And drew a deadly bodkin from her side. 
(The same, his ancient personage to deck. 
Her great-great-grandsire wore about liis neck, 
In three seal-rings ; which after, melted 

down. 
Formed a vast buckle for his widow's gown; 
Her infant grandame's whistle next it grew — 
The bells she jingled, and the whistle blew ; 
Then in a bodkin graced her mother's hairs. 
Which long she wore, and now Belinda 
wears.) 
"Boast not my fall (he cried), insulting 
foe! 
Thou by some other shalt be laid as low ; 
Nor think to die dejects my lofty mind ; 
All that I dread is leaving you behind I 



Rather than so, ah let me still survive. 
And bum in Cupid's flames — but burn alive." 
" Restore the lock ! " she cries ; and all 

around 
" Restore the lock ! " the vaulted roofs re- 
bound. 
Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain 
Roared for the handkerchief that caused his 

pain. 
But see how oft ambitious aims are crossed. 
And chiefs contend till all the prize is lost ! 
The lock, obtained with guilt, and kc'i)t with 

pain. 
In every i)lace is sought, but sought in vain ; 
With such a prize no mortal must bo blest. 
So heaven decrees! with heaven who can 

contest ? 
Some thought it mounted to the lunar 

sphere. 
Since all things lost on earth are treasured 

there ; 
There heroes' wits are kept in ponderous 

vases, 
And beaux' in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases; 
There broken vows, and deathbed alms are 

found. 
And lovers' hearts with ends of ribbon bound. 
The courtier's promises, and sick men's 

prayers. 
The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, 
Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a fiea. 
Dried buttei-flies, and tomes of casuistry. 

But trust the Muse — she saw it upward rise. 
Though marked by none but quick poetic 

eyes: 
(So Rome's great founder to the heavens 

withdrew. 
To Proculus alone confessed in view ;) 
A sudden star, it shot through liquid air. 
And drew behind a radiant trail of hair. 
Not Berenice's locks first rose so bright, 
The heavens bespangling with dishevelled 

light. 
The sylphs behold it kindling as it flies. 
And, pleased, pursue its progress through the 

skies. 
This the beau monde shall from the Mall 

survey. 
And hail with music its propitious ray; 
This the blest lover shall for Venus take, 
And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake ; 



«B rOEMS OF 


COMEDY. 


'I'liis l';niM,l;.- hooii sliall view ill cloudless 


" I am a linendraper bold, 


■■.Kios 


As all the world doth know; 


\\ lu'ii iioxt lie loolis tlirouj,'h Cialiloo's e.vos; 


And my good iViend, tlio oaleudor. 


Ami lioiioo tlio egregious wiziu'd sliiill foro- 

ilooni 
'I'lu- I'lilo of l,ii\ii;J, iiiul tlio (i\\\ of Homo. 


■Will lend his liorso to go." 


Qnolh Mrs. (lilpin, "That's well said; 


'I'lioii I'Oiiso, briglil ii\miih! to iiiouni lliv 


.Vnd, for that wine is dear, 


ravisluHl liiiir, 


We will he furnished with our own. 


Wli'u'li ;ulils MOW fjlory to tlio sliiiiiii}; sphorol 


Whioh is both bright and olorn*." 


Nol 111! the tivssos Hint I'uir liciul oaii boast, 




."^liall draw suoli envy as the look you lost. 


.lolin ("lilpiii ki,ssod bis lovini; wife; 


For al'lor all llie uiiirdors of your oyo, 


C>'erioyed was he to tind 


AVluMi, after luilUoiis slain, yoursolf shall die; 


That, though on pleasure she was bent. 




AVIu'u llioso fair suns shall sot, as sot thoy 


She had a frugal mind. 


must. 




Ami all those trossos shall be laid iu-dust — 




r«^i>t 1.1 ^1 111 X A «^ 


The moniini; oamo, the ohaiso was brought, 
Knt yet was not allowed 


Uns look the Muse shall eonseorate to lame, 


And 'midst the stars iuseribe IWiuda'a uanio. 




To drive up to the door, lost all 


Ai.KXANPKii Tont 






i^honld say that she was proud. 
!^o Ihroo doors oil" the ohaise was stayed 




TIIK niVKKTlNt! lUSTOUY OF .lOUN 


Where they did all get in — 


(ill.riN, 


Six preoious souls anil all agog 




To dash through thiok and thin. 


SHOWINU HOW UK WKNT FAUrlllCU TUAK UK 




i\h:m>ki>, and oamk sapk home again. 


Smaok wont the whip, round wer. UiO 


John Ciiu>in was a citizen 


wheels — 


Of eredit and renown ; 


Were never folks so glad ; 


A trainband oaptaiu eke was he. 


The stones did rattle underneath. 




(M' famous London town. 


As if Oheapside were mad. 


John liilpin's spouse said to lier dear — 


John (.lilpin at his hoi-se's side 


" Though wedded we have been 


8oi/,od fast the tlowingmane. 




These twiee ten tedious years, yet W6 


And up he got, in haste to ride — 


Xo holiday have seen. 


Hut soon oame down again: 




" To-morrow is our wedding day, 


For saddletree searoe reaehed had lu. 




And we will then repair 


His journey to begin, 


Vnto the IVdl at Edmonton 


AVhoii, turning round his head, bo saw- 


.Ml in a eliaise and pair. 


Three oustomers oome in. 




" My sister, and my sister's ehild. 


t^o down bo oame: for loss of time. 


Myself, and ehildren throe. 


Although it grieved him sore. 


■Will till the ohaise ; .so you must ride 


Yet loss of penee, full well he knew, 


On horsebaek alter we." 


Would trouble him mueh more. 


lie soon replied, " I do admire 


'T was long before the cnstoraors 


Of womankind but one. 


Wore suited to their mind; 


And you are slie, luy dearest dear ; 


When Hetty, soreaming, oame down stairs — 


Thoivforc it sliall be done. 


«'Tho wine islets behind!" 



THE HISTORY OP JOHN GILPIN. 



417 



" Good lack I " quoth lie — " yet bring it iiio, 

My loatlicrn belt likewise, 
111 wliicli I boar my trusty sword 

Whfii I do exorcise." 

Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul I) 

Hiiil two stono bottles found, 
To hold the liquor that slio loved, 

AikI keep it safe and sound. 

ICucb liottlo had a curling ear, 
Through wliich the bolt ho drew, 

And liung a bottle on each side. 
To niako his balance true. 

Then over all, that ho might bo 

ICiiuiiqicd from toi> to too, 
His long rod cloak, well brushed and neat, 

IIo iimnfully did throw. 

Now sou hini mounted onco again 

Upon his nimble steed. 
Full slowly pacing o'er the stones, 

With caution and good hoed. 

IJiit liniling Hooii a smoother road 

iieiieath his well shod foot, 
The snorting beast began to trot. 

Which galled him in his seat. 

So, "Fair and softly," .John ho cried, 

lint .John ho cried in vain ; 
That trot became a gallop soon. 

In spito of curb and rein. 

80 stooping down, as needs he must 

Who cannot sit upright, 
lie grasped the mano with both his hands, 

And eke with all his might. 

His horse, who never in that sort 

Had handled been before, 
AV'hiit thing upon his back had got 

l)id wonder more and more. 

Away went (!il]jiii, neck or nought; 

Away went hat and wig; 
He little dreamt, when ho set out, 

Of running such a rig. 

Tho wind did blow — the cloak did fly. 

Like streamer long and gay ; 
Till, loop and button failing both. 

At last it flew away. 

28 



Then might all people well discern 

Tho bottles ho had slung — 
A bottle swinging at each side, 

As hath been said or sung. 

The dogs <lid bark, tho children scroumcd, 

Up flew tho windows all; 
And every soul cried out, " Well done ! " 

As loud as ho could bawl. 

Away went Gilpin — who hut ho? 

His fame soon spread around — 
"He carries weight! he rides a race! 

'Tis for a thousand pound!" 

And Hlill as fast as ho drew near, 

'Twas wonderful to view 
How in a trice tho turnpike men 

Their gates wide ojion tiirow. 

And now, as ho went bowing down 

His reeking head full low, 
The bottles twain behind his back 

Were shattered at a blow. 

Down ran the wine into the road. 

Most piteous to bo seen, 
Wliicli made his horse's flanks to smoko 

Am tliey had basted been. 

Hut still ho seemed to carry weight. 

With leathern girdlo braced ; 
For all might see the bottle necks 

Still dangling at his waist. 

Thus all through merry Islington 

These gandjols did ho play, 
Until ho camo unto tho Wash 

Of ICdmonton so gay ; 

And there he threw tlie wash about 

On both sides of tho way, 
Just like unto a trundling mop. 

Or a wild goose at play. 

At Edmonton his loving wife 

From tliO balcony sjjied 
Her tender husband, wondering much 

To see how ho did ride. 

" Stop, stop, .John Gilpin I here 'h the house, 

They all at onco did cry ; 
"The dinner waits, and wo are tired:" 

Said Gilpin— "So am I!" 



418 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



But yet his horse was not a Trhit 

Inclined to tarry there; 
For why ? — his owner liad a house 

Full ten miles off, at Ware. 

So like an arrow swift he flew, 

Shot hy an archer strong; 
So did he fly — which hrings me to 

The middle of my song. 

Away went Gilpin out of breath. 

And sore against his will, 
Till at his friend the calender's 

Ilis horse at last stood still. 

The calender, amazed to see 

His neighbor in such trim. 
Laid down his pipe, flow to the gate, 

And thus accosted hini : 

• " What news ? what news ? your tidings tell ; 

Tell me you must and shall — 
Say why bareheaded you are come. 
Or why you come at all? " 

Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, 

And loved a timely joke ; 
And thus unto the calender 

In merry guise he spoke : 

" I came because your horse would come ; 

And, if I well forebode, 
My hat and wig will soon bo here, 

They are upon the road." 

The calender, right glad to find 

His friend in merry pin. 
Returned him not a single word, 

But to the house went in ; 

Whence straight he came with hat and wig : 

A wig that flowed behind, 
A hat not much the worse for wear — 

Each comely in its kind. 

He held them up, and in his turn 

Thus showed his ready wit — 
" My head is twice as big as yours. 

They therefore needs must fit. 

" But let me scrape the dirt away 

Tliat hangs upon your tace ; 
Aiid stop aud eat, for well you may 

Be in a hungry case." 



Said John, " It is my wedding day, 
And all the world would stare 

If wife should dine at Edmonton, 
Aud I should dine at Ware." 

So turning to his horse, he said 

" I am in haste to dine ; 
' Twas for your pleasure you came here— 
You shall go back for mine." 

Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast, 

For which he paid full dear ! 
For, while he spake, a braying ass 

Did sing most loud and clear; 

Whereat his horse did snort, as he 

Had heard a lion roar. 
And galloped oft" with all his might, 

As he had done before. 

Away went Gilpin, and away 

Went Gilpm's hat and wig: 
Ho lost them sooner than at first. 

For why ? — they were too big. 

Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw 

Her husband posting down 
Into the country far away. 

She pulled out half a crown ; 

And thus unto the youth she said, 

That drove them to the Bell, 
" This shall be yours when you bring back 

My husband safe and well." 

The youth did ride, and soon did meet 

John coming back amain^ 
Whom in a trice he tried to stop. 

By catching at his rein ; 

But not performing what he meant. 

And gladly would have done, 
The frighted steed he frighted more. 

And made him faster run. 

Away went Gilpin, and away 

Went post-boy at his heels. 
The post-boy's horse right glad to miss 
The lumbering of the wheels. 

Six gentlemen upon the road. 

Thus seeing Gilpin fly, 
With post-boy scampering in the rear. 

They raised the hue and cry : 



SIR SIDNEY SUITU. 



419 



" Stop thief! stop thief !— a highwayman ! " 

Not one of them was mute ; 
Anil nil and eacli that passed that way 

Did join in tlie pursuit. 

And now the turnpike gates again 

Flow open in short space ; 
The toll-men thinking as hefore, 

That Gilpin rode a race. 

And so he did, and won it too, 

For he got tirst to town ; 
Nor stopped till where he had got up 

lie did again get down. 

Now let us sing, long live the king ! 

And Gilpin, long live he ; 
And when lie next doth ride abroad. 

May I be there to see ! 

WiLLTAM COWPER. 



AN ELEGY ON THE GLORY OF HER 
SEX, MRS. MARY BLAIZE. 

Good people all, with one accord 

Lament for Madame Blaize, 
Who never wanted a good word — 

From those who spoke her praise. 

The needy seldom passed her door, 

And always found her kind ; 
She freely lent to all the poor — 

Who left a pledge behind. 

She strove the neighborhood to please 
With manners wondrous winning ; 

And never followed wicked ways — 
Unless when she was sinning. 

At church, in silks and satin new, 
With hoop of monstrous size, 

She never slumbered in her pew — 
But when she shut her eyes. 

Tier love was sought, I do aver. 

By twenty beaux and more ; 
The king himself has followed her — 

When she has walked before. 

But now, her wealth and finery fled. 
Her hangers-on cut sliort all ; 



The doctors found, when she was dead — 
Her last disorder mortal. 

Let us lament in sorrow sore, 
For Kent street well may say, 

That had she lived a twelvemonth more. 
She had not died to-day. 

Oliver Goldsmith. 



SIR SIDNEY SMITH. 

Gentlefolks, in my time, I 've made many a 

rhyme. 
But the song I now trouble you with, 
Lays some claim to applause, and you '11 

grant it, because 
Tlie subject 's Sir Sidney Smith, it is ; 
The subject's Sir Sidney Smith. 

We all know Sir Sidney, a man of such kid- 
ney, 

He 'd fight every foe he could meet ; 

Give liim one ship for two, and without more 
ado. 

He 'd engage if he met a whole fleet, he 
would. 

He 'd engage if he met a whole fleet. 

Thus ho took every day, all that came in his 

way. 
Till fortune, that cliangeable elf, 
Ordered accidents so, that while taking the 

foe. 
Sir Sidney got taken himself, ho did. 
Sir Sidney got taken himself 

Ilis captors right glad of the prize they now 

had, 
Rejected each offer we bid, 
And swore he shoidd stay locked up till 

doomsday ; 
But he swore he 'd be d d if he did, ho 

did; 
But he swore ho 'd be hanged if ho did. 

So Sir Sid got away, and his jailer next day 
Cried " sacre, diable, morbleu, 
Mon prisonnier 'scape ; I 'ave got in von scrape, 
And I fear I must run away too, I must, 
I fear I must run away too ! " 



420 r K MS OF 


COMEDY. 


If Sir Siilney was wrong, why then blnckball 


You are a plackguard, sir? 


ray song, 


It is now six hundred 


E'en liis foes lie would scorn to deceive ; 


Coot long years, and more. 


His escape was but jnst, and confess it yon 


Since my glen was plundered." 


must, 




For it only was taking French leave, you 


V. 


know. 
It only was taking French leave. 


" Fat is tat you say? 


TUOMAS DUIDIN. 


1 )ar you cock your peaver ? 




I will teach you, sir. 




Fat is coot pehaviour ! 






You shall not exist 




For anotlier day more ; 


MASSAOKE OF THE MACPHEIISON. 






I will shot you, sir. 


I. 


Or stap you with my claymore ! " 


FiiAiRsnox swore a tend 




Against tlie clan JFTavish — 


VT. 


Marched into their land 


'■ I am fery glad 


'I'o Minrder and to raflsh ; 


To learn what you meutiou, 


For he did resolve 


Since I can prevent 


To extirpate the vipers, 


Any such intention." 


With fonr-and-twenty men, 


So Mliic-Mac-Motliusaleh 


And tive-and-thirty pipers. 


Gave some warlike howls, 




Trow his skhian-dhu. 


II. 


An' stuck it in his powels. 


KiU wlicn he had gone 




Halt-way down Strath-Oanaan, 


vn. 


Of his tighting tail 




Just three wore remainin'. 


In this fery way 


Thoy were nil ho had 


Tied ta faliant Fliairshon, 


To back him iu ta battle ; 


Who was always thought 


All the rest had gone 


A superior person. 


Otfto drive ta cattle. 


Fhairshon liad a son, 




Who nu^rried Noah's daughter, 


m. 


And nearly spoiled ta Hood 


I?y trinking up ta water — 


"Fery coot ! " cried Fhairshon — 




" So my clan disgraced is ; 


VIII. 


Lads, wo '11 need to tight 




reforo we touch ta peasties. 


Which he would have done, 


Hero 's >lhic-Mac-Mothusaleh 


I at least believe it. 


Coming wi' his fassals — 


Had ta mixture poen 


Gillies seventy-three. 


t)nlyhairGlenlivet. 


Aud sixty Dhuinewassels ! " 


This is all my tale : 




Sirs, I hope 't is new t' ye ! 


IV. 


Hero 's your fery good healths, 


And tamn ta whusky tnty ! 


" Coot tay to you, sir ! 


William Edmondstone AvTOim, 


Are you not ta Fhairshon ? 




Was you cohiing here 
To visit any person ? 







TAM O'SHANTER. 



421 



TAM O'SHANTER. 



Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full 1b tills Bukc. 

Gaicin Douglass, 

When cliapmaii billies leavo tlio street, 
And (Irouthy neebors ncobors meet, 
As mai'ket-daj's are wearing lato, 
An' folk begin to tak the gate ; 
Wliilo we sit bousing at the nappy, 
An' getting foil ami unco happy, 
We think na on the lang Soots miles. 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles. 
That lie between us and our hamo, 
Wharo sits our sulky, sullen dame. 
Gathering her brows like gathering storm. 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warnij 

This truth faud honest Tarn o' Shanter, 
As he, frae Ayr, ao night did canter, 
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses. 
For lionest men and bonnie lasses). 

O Tam ! hadst thou boon but aao wise 
As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, 
A bleth'ring, blust'ring, drunken blellum; 
That IVae November till October, 
Ac market-day thou was na sober ; 
That ilka melder, wi' the miller, 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; 
That every naig was ca'd a shoe on. 
The smith and thee gat roaring foil on ; 
That at the L — d's house, ev'n on Sunday, 
Thou drank wi' Kirten Jean till Monday. 
She prophesied that, late or soon. 
Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon; 
Or catched wi' warlocks in the rairk. 
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet 
To think how monie counsels sweet, 
IIow nionio lengthened sage advices. 
The husband frae the wife despises! 

But to our tale : Ao market night 
Tam had got planted unco right. 
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats, th.at drank divinely ; 
And .at liis elbow souter .Johnny, 
Ilis ancient, trusty, drouthy crony — 
Tam lo'cd him like a vera brithcr — 
They Iiad been fou for weeks thegither. 



The night dravc on wi' sangs .and clatter, 

And ay the ale was growing better ; 

The landlady and Tam grow gracious, 

Wi' fovors secret, sweet, and precious ; 

The souter tauld his queerest stories ; 

The landlord's huigli was ready chorus; 

The storm without might rair and rustle, 

Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 
Care, mad to see a man sae happy. 

E'en drowned himself amang tho nappy ; 

As bees flco hamo wi' lades o' treasure, 

Tho minutes winged their way wi' pleasure; 

Kings may bo blest, but Tam was glorious, 

O'er a' the ills o' life victorious. 
But pleasures are like poppies spread. 

You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ; 

Or like the snow-fall in the river, 

A moment white — then melts for ever ; 

Or like the borealis race, 

Th.at flit ere you can point their place ; 
Or like the rainliow's lovely form 
Evanishing amid the storm. 
Nae man can tetlier time or tide ; 
The hour approaches Tam maun ride — 
That hour o' night's black arch tho keystanc. 
That dreary hour lie mounts his boast in; 
And sic a niglit he takes the road in 
As ne'er jwor sinner was abroad in. 

Tho wind blew as 'twad I)lawn its last ; 
The rattling showers rose on the blast ; 
Tho speedy gleams the darkness swallowed ; 
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellowed ; 
That night a child might understand 
The Dcil h.ad business on Ijis hand. 

Weel mounted on his gray marc, Meg, 
(A better never lifted leg), 
Tarn skelpit on thro' dub and mire. 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire — 
Whyles liolding fast his guid blue bonnet, 
Whyles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet, 
Whyles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, 
Lest bogles catch him unawares ; 
Kirk-AUoway was drawing nigh. 
Whore ghaists and honlets nightly cry. 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Wharo in the snaw tho chapman smoored ; 
And past tho birks and meikle st.ane, 
Wharo drunken Charlie brak 's neck bane ; 
And thro' the whins, and by tho cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the murdered bairn ; 



422 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



And near the thorn, aboou the woll, 
Whoro Muugo's niither hanged hersol. 
Bot'orolnm Doon jiours all liis floods: 
The douhhng storm roars tliroiigli the woods; 
The hghtnings flash from pole to pole ; 
Near and more near the thunders roll ; 
When glimmering thro' the groaning trees, 
Kirk Aflowaysoomod in a bleeze; 
Thro' ilka bore the beams wore glancing. 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 

Inspiring Ixild Jolm Barleycorn! 
What dangei's thou canst make us scorn ! 
Wi' tippenny we fear nac o'sil; 
Wi' usquahae we '11 face the Devil ! — 
The swats sao ream'd in Tammie's nod- 
dle, 
Fair play, he cared na Deils a bodle. 
]5nt Maggie stood right sair astonished. 
Till, by the heel and band admonished. 
She ventured forward on the light; 
And, wow ! Tam saw an unco sight ; 
Warlocks and witches in a dance: 
Nae cotillion brent new frao France, 
But hornpipes, jigs, stratlisprey.s, and reels 
Put life and mettle in their heels. 
A wiunock-bunker in the cast. 
There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast — 
A towzio tyke, black, grim, and largo — 
To gie tliem nmsie was his charge ; 
Ho screwed the ]iipos and gart them skirl, 
nil roof an' rafter a' did dirl. 
Oottins stood round like open presses, 
That shawed the dead in their last dresses; 
And by some devilish cantrips sleight. 
Each in its caukl Iiand held a light — 
[?y which heroic Tam was able 
To note ui)on the lialy table, 
A nuu'derer's banes in gibbet aims ; 
Twa span-Iang, wee, unchristened bairns; 
A thief, new cnttcd fra a rape, 
Wi' Ids last gasp his gab did gape ; 
Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red rusted ; 
Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted ; 
A garter wliich a babe had strangled ; 
A knife a father's throat liad mangled. 
Whom his ain son o' life bereft — 
The gray hairs yet stackrfo tho heft; 
Throe lawyers' tongues turned inside out, 
Wi' lies seamed like' a beggar's i-lout ; 
And jiriests' hearts, rotten, black as nuick, 
Lay stinking, vile, in every neuk : 



Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu' 

Wliich ev'n to name woidd be nnlavvfu'. 

As Tammie glowred, amazed, and curious, 
Tho mirth and fun grew fast and furious; 
The piper loud and louder blew ; 
The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 
Tbey reeled, they set, they crossed, they 

deokit, 
Till ilka carlin swat and reokit. 
And coost lier duddies to tho wark, 
And linket at it in her sark. 

Now Tam, Tam ! had tbey boon queans 
A' plump and strapping in tlioir toons : 
Their sarks, instead of croeshie flannen, 
Been snaw-white sevontoen-huudor liuon ; 
Tliir broeks o' mine, my only pair. 
That anco were plush, o' guid blue hair, 
I wad hao gi'en them aft' my hurdles. 
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies! 

But witliered beldams, auld and droll, 
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, 
Lowping an' flinging on a erummock — 
I wonder did na turn thy stomach. 

But Tam konn'd what was wliat fu' brawlie. 
There was ao winsome wench and widie. 
That night inlisted in tho core, 
(Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore 1 
For monio a beast to dead she shot, 
And perished nionie a bonnio boat. 
And shook baith meikle corn and boar, 
And kept the country-side in fear). 
Her cutty-siU'k o' Paisley barn, 
That while a lassie she had worn — 
In longitude tho' sorely scanty. 
It was her best, and she was vaunty. 
Ah ! little kenn'd thy reverend grannie 
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, 
Wi' twa pund Scots (twas a' her riches) — 
Wad ever graced a d:ince o' witches! 

But hero my Muse her wing maun cower, 
Sic flights are tar beyond her power ; 
To sing how Nannie lap and flang, 
(A souple jad she was and Strang) ; 
And how Tam stot>d, like ane bewitched, 
And thought his very een enriched. 
Ev'n Satan glowred, and fldged fu' fain, 
And botched and blew wi' might and main 
Till first ae caper, syne anither — 
Tam tint his reason a' thegither. 
And roars out, "Wool done, Cutty-sark! " 
And in an instant a' was d.ark ; 



THE DEVIL'S THOUGHTS. 



423 



And scarcely had ho Maggio rallied, 
When out the hellidi legion sallied, 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, 
When plundering herds assail their byke ; 
As open pussie's mortal foes. 
When pop ! she starts before their nose ; 
As eager runs the market-crowd, 
When CaUh the thief ! resounds aloud ; 
So Maggie runs — the witches follow, 
\Vi' monio an eldritch skreech and hollow. 

Ah, Tarn! ah, Tam! thou '11 get thy fair- 
iu'! 
Ill hell tliey '11 roast thoc like a hcrrm 1 
111 vain thy Kate awaits th^- coniin' — 
Kato soon will he a woefu' woman 1 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
And win tlio kcy-stane of the brig; 
There at them thou thy tail may toss — 
A running stream they dare na cross. 
But ore the key-stane she could make. 
The fient a tail she had to sliake; 
For Nannie, far before the rest. 
Hard upon noble Maggie prcst, 
And flew at Tarn wi' furious ettle: 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle — 
Ao s[)ring brought afF her master hale. 
But left behind her ain grey tail : 
Tlie carlin clauglit her by the rump, 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 
Ilk man and mother's son take heed ; 
Whene'er to drink you are inclined, 
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, 
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, 
Itemember Tam o' Shanter's marc. 

lloiiEKT Burns. 



COLOGNE. 

In Koln, a town of monks and bones. 

And pavements fanged with murderous stone.s. 

And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches — 

I counted two and seventy stenches. 

All well defined and several .stinks! 

Ye nymphs that reign o'er sewers and sinks, 

'I'he river Rhine, it is well known, 

l)oth wash your city of Cologne ; 

But tell me, nymphs 1 what power divine 

Shall henceforth wash the river Khine? 

gAMCEr. TaYLOE CoLKniDOE. 



TIIE DEVIL'S THOUGHTS. 



FiiOM his brimstone bed at break of day 

A walking the devil is gone, 
To visit his snug little farm, the earth. 

And see bow his stock goes on. 



Over the liill and over the d.ale. 

And he went over the plain ; 
And backward and forward ho switched his 
long tail. 

As a gentleman switches his cane. 



And how then was the devil drest? 

Oh ! he was in bis Sunday's best : 

His jacket was red and his breeches were 

blue, 
And there was a hole where the tail came 

through. 

IV. 

Ho saw a lawyer killing a viper 

On a dunghill hard by his own stable ; 

And the devil smiled, for it put him in mind 
Of Cain and his brother Abel. 



Ho saw an apotJiccary on a white horse 

Bide by on his vocations ; 
And the devil thought of his old friend 

Death, in the Kevelations. 



He saw a cottage with a double coach-house, 

A cottage of gentility; 
And the devil did grin, for his darling sin 

Is pride that apes humihty. 



lie peeped into a rich bookseller's shop — 
Quoth he, " AVe are both of one college ! 

For I sate, myself, like a cormorant, once, 
Hard by the tree of knowledge." 



Down the river did glide, with wind and with 
tide, 
A pig with vast celerity ; 



424 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



Ami tlio dovil looked wiso «g ho saw liovv, 

llio wliilo, 
It cut its own throat. " Thoi'o ! " quoth he 

with n siiiilo, 
"fioos EnglaiuVs comiiioivial in'ospority." 



As lio wont through t'oUl-Hath Fields lie saw 

A solitary coll ; 
And the devil was pleased, I'or it gave him a 
hint 

For iniin'oving his prisons in hell. 



llo saw a turnkey in n trioo 

Fotlor a trouhlosonio hlado ; 
'' Nimhly," ipioth he, "do the fingers move 

It' a uum ho hut used to his trade." 



He saw Ihe same turnkey unt'etter a man 

With hut little expedition ; 
Whieh p\it. him in nund otthe long dehate 

On the slave-trade aholition. 

XII. 

IIo saw au old acquaintance 

As ho passed hy a Methodist meeting ; 
She holds a eousoerated key, 

.\nd the devil nods her a groetiug. 

XIII. 

She turned up her nose, and said, 
" .V vaunt! — my name 's Koligionl " 

And she looked to Mr. , 

And leered like a lovo-sick pigeon. 

XIV. 

He saw a certain minister, 

A minister to his mind, 
tio up into a certain liouso, 

With a nnyority behind; 



The devil quoted Genesis, 
Like ft very learned clerk, 

IIow " Noah and his creeping things 
Went up into the ark."" 



He took iVoni tlie poor, 

And he gave to the rich, 
And he shook hands witli a Scotchman, 

For he was not afraid of the 

* * » * 

XVII. 

General hurning face 

He saw with consternation. 
And back to hell his way did he take — 
For the devil thougld. hy a slight mistake 

It was a general conflagration. 

!?AMUKi. Tayi.ok (.Vn.nuiiioie. 



THE HAG. 

The hag is astride, 

This night for to ride — 
The devd and she togetlier ; 

Through thick and through thin. 

Now out and then in, 
Though ne"er so foul be the weather. 

A thorn or a burr 

She takes for a spur; 
With a lash of the brandile she rides now 

Through brakes and through briers, 

O'er ditches and mires. 
She follows llio spirit that guides now. 

No beast, for his food, 

Pares now range the wood, 
But husht in his lair he lies lurking ; 

While mischiefs, by these, 

(In land and on seas, 
At noon of night aro a-working. 

The storm will arise. 

And trouble the skies, 
This night ; and, more the wonder, 

The ghost from the tomb 

Afl'righted shall come, 
Called out by the clap of the thunder. 

KOIIKUT HiliUKIK. 



SONG. 



42B 



THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE 
KNIFE-GRINDER. 

I'ltlEN'D OF HUMANITY. 

" Nekdy knife-grinder I wliither arc you 

going? 
Iloiigli is the road; your wheel i.s out of order. 
IJlcalc l)low8 the lilast ; — your hat has got a 

liolo in't ; 

So liave your breeehes! 

"Weary knife-grinder! little think the proud 

ones, 
Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike- 
road, what hard work 't is crying all day 

' Knives and 
Scissors to grind O I ' 

" Tell me, knife-grinder, how came you to 

grind knives? 
Did some rich man tyrannically u.so you? 
Was it the sfjuire? or parson of the parish? 

Or the attorney ? 



or 



"Was it the squire for kilhngof his game? 
Covetous parson for his tithes distraining ? 
Or roguish lawyer made you lose your little 
All in a lawsuit ? 



"(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by 

Tom Paine ?) 
Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids, 
Ready to fall as soon as you have told your 

I'itiful story." 



ksife-gr;ndeb. 

"Story! God bless you! I liavo none to tell, 

sir; 
Only, last night, a-drinking at the Chequers, 
Tills poor old hat and breechoe, as you see, 

were 

Torn in a scuffle. 

" Constables came up for to take mo into 
Custody ; they took me before the justice ; 
Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish- 
stocks for a vagrant. 



"I should be glad to drink yom- honor's 

health in 
A pot of beer, if you will give mo sixpence ; 
Hut for my part, I never love to meddle 
With politics, sir." 

PlilEN'I) OF MUMANITT. 

"I give thee sixpence! I will see thee diirnncil 

first — 
Wretch I ■whom no sense of wrongs can rouse 

to vengeance — 
Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded, 
Spiritless outcast ! " 

[Kicfi'H the kiti/e-(irtnder^ ov&rturnH tdn uheel^ (tnif eadt 
in a transport of republican enthustaitm and urU- 
verttal phUaiUhropy.] 

GEonoE Can.nino. 



SONG 

OF ONE ELEVEN YEARS IN PRISON. 

Whene'er with haggard eyes I view 
This dungeon that I 'm rotting in, 
I think of those comiianions true 
Who studied with me at the U- 

niversity of (Jotlingiii, 
niversity of (iotlingcii. 

[Weeps and puUa out a Hue kefchief^ u-ith which he 
wipes his eyes; gaziny tenderly at if, he jn-oreedH ;] 

Sweet kerchief, checked with lieavenly blue. 

Which onco my love sat knotting in — 
Alas, Matilda tiien was t-ie! 
At least I thouglit so av fhe U- 

nivcrsity of flottingen, 
niversity of Ootlingcii. 

[At the repetition qf this line he clanks his chains in 
cadence.^ 

liiM-bs! barbs! alas! how swift you flew. 

Her neat post-wagon trotting in ! 
Ye bore Matilda fi'om my view ; 
Forlorn I languished at the U- 

niversity of Gottingen, 
niversity of Gottingen. 

Tliis faded fiirni ! this jjallid hue! 

This blood my veins is clotting in ! 
My years are many — they were few 
When first I entered at the U- 

nivcrsity of Gottingen, 
niversity of Gottingen. 



426 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



Tliere first for thee luy passiou grew, 

Sweet, sweet Matilda Pottiugen ! 
Thou wast the daughter of my tu- 
tor, hiw-professor at the U- 

niversity of Gottingen, 
uiversity of Gottingen. 

Sun, moon, and thou, vain world, adieu, 
Tluit kings and priests are plotting in ; 
Here doomed to starve on water gru- 
el, never shall I see the U- 

niversity of Gottingen, 
niversity of Gottingen. 

[Purine thf last slama tif dashes his head rep/aUdly 
ai^ainsl the trails qf his prison, and jinallij so 
hard as to produce a risible contusion. I/e then 
throics himself on the. floor in an agony. The cur- 
tain drojis, the muiic still continuing to play till it 
is wholly/alien.] 

GSOBOE CiX-MXO. 



A RECEIPT FOR SALAD. 

To make this condiment your poet begs 

The po\mded yellow of two hard-boiled eggs ; 

Two boiled potatoes, passed through kitclieu 
sieve, 

Smoothness and softness to the salad give ; 

Let onion atoms lurk witliin the bowl, 

And, half suspected, animate the whole ; 

Of mordent mustard add a single spoon. 

Distrust the condiment that bites so soon ; 

But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fiiult 

To add a double quantity of salt ; 

Four times the spoon with oil from Lucca 
crowu. 

And twice with vinegar, procured from town ; 

And lastly, o'er the flavored compound toss 

A magic soupi,"on of anchovy sauce. 

Oh, grceu and glorious! Oh, herbaceous 
treat ! 

'T would tempt the dyiug anchorite to eat ; 
Back to the world he 'd turn his fleeting soul. 
And plunge his fingers in the salad bowl ; 
Serenely full, tlie epicure would say, 
"Fate cannot harin me, — I liave dined to- 
day." 

SvDSEY Smith. 



TIIE ESSENCE OF OPERA; 

OR, ALMAXZOE ASD IMOGEX. 

An Opera, in tJiree Acts. 



SUBJECT OF THE OPERA.. 
A brave ymiBg prince a young princess adores ; 
A combat kills him, but a god restores. 

PROLOOrE. 

A MrsiciAX. People, appear, approach, ad- 
vimce ! 

To Sinyers. 
Yon that can sing, the chorus bear! 

To Dancers. 
You that can turn your toes out, dauce ! 
Let 's celebrate this faithful pair. 



ACT L 

Imogen'. My love ! 
^Vlm.vszor. My soul ! 

Both. At length then we unite ! 
People, smg, dance, and show us your delight! 
Cuonrs. Let 's sing, and dance, .nnd show 
'em our delight. 



ACT II. 
Imogen. O love ! 
[A n oise of ira r. Th e princs appears, pursued by Ma 
enemies. Combat. The princets/aints. Theprince 
is mortally voxtnded.l 

A1.MAXZ0R. Alas! 
Imooex. Ah, what! 

Almaxzor. I die ! 

Imogex. -^ me ! 

People, sing, dance, and show your misery ! 
CuoRis. Let's sing, and dance, .and show 
our misery. 



ACT III. 

[Pallas desAmds in a cloud to Almanzor and speais.] 

Pallas. Almanzor, live ! 

Imogex. Oh, bliss! 

Almaxzor. TThat do I see ? 

Tmo. People, sing, dance, and hail this 

prodigy ! 

Ciionrs. Let 's sing, and dance, and hail 

this prodigy. 

AxosTMOcs. (French.) 
Anonymous Translation. 



A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO. 



427 



HYPOCUONDRIACUS. 

By myself walking, 
To myself talking 
When as I rmninato 
< )n my untoward fate, 
Scarcely seem I 
Alone sufficiently, 
lilack tliouglits continually 
Crowding my privacy. 
They come unhidden, 
Like foes at a wedding, 
Thrnsting tlioir faces 
In hetter guests' places, 
Peevish and malcontent, 
Clownish, impertinent. 
Dashing the merriment : 
So, in hke fashions. 
Dim cogitations 
Follow and haunt me, 
Striving to daunt mo, 
In my heart festering, 
In my ears whisi)ering — • 
"Thy friends are treacherous, 
Thy foes are dangerous, 
Thy dreams ominous." 

Fierce anthropophap. 
Spectres, diaholi — 
What scared St. Anthony — 
Ilobgohlins, lenmres. 
Dreams of antipodes I 
Night-riding incuhi 
TroubUng the fantasy, 
All dire illusions 
Causing confusions : 
Figments heretical. 
Scruples fantastical. 
Doubts diabolical ! 
Abaddon voxeth me, 
Mahii perplexeth me ; 
Lucifer teareth me — 

Ji'su ! Maria ! liberate nos ab Tih diris 
tentatioiiihis Inimici. 

Obables Lamb. 



A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO. 

May the Babylonish curse 

Strait confound my stammering verse. 

If I can a passage see 

In this word-perplexity. 

Or a fit expression find. 

Or a language to my mind 

(Still the i)hrase is wide or scant). 

To take leave of thee, great plant I 

Or in any terms relate 

Half my love, or half my hate ; 

For I hate, yet love, thee so. 

That, wliiclicver thing I shew. 

The plain trulh will .^icera to be 

A constrained hyperbole, 

And the passion to proceed 

More for a mistress than a weed. 



Sooty retainer to the vine ! 
Bacchus's black servant, negro fine 1 
Sorcei'cr ! that mak'st us dote upon 
Thy begrimed complexion, 
And, for thy pernicious sake. 
More and greater oaths to break 
Than ret^laiiued lovers take 
'Gainst women ! Thou thy siege dost lay 
Much, too, in the female way, 
AVhilo thou snck'st the lab'ring breath 
Faster than kisses, or than death. 

Thou in such a cloud dost bind us 
That our worst foes cannot find us. 
And ill fortune, that would thwart us. 
Shoots at rovers, shooting at us; 
While each man, through thy height'ning 

steam, 
Does like a smoking Etna seem ; 
And all about us does express 
(Fancy and wit in richest dress)' 
A Sicilian fniitfulness. 



Thou through such a mist dost show us 
That our best friends do not know us, 
And, for those allowed features 
Due to reasonable creatures, 
Likcn'st us to fell chimeras, 
Monsters — that who see us, fear us ; 



r 



428 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



Worse than Cerberus or Geryon, 
Or, who first loved a clond, Ixion. 

Biicohus wo know, and wo allow 
ITis tipsy rites. But what art thon, 
Tliat but by reflex can'st shew 
"What his deity can do — 
As tlio false Ejryjitiau spell 
Aped the true Hebrew miracle? 
Some few vapors thou may'st raise, 
The weak brain may serve to amt'jie ; 
But to the reins and nobler heiirt 
Can'st nor life nor heat impart. 

Brother of Bacchus, later born ! 
The old world was sure forlorn, 
Wantinji thee, that aidest more 
The sod's victories than, before, 
iVU his panthers, and the brawls 
Of his piping; Bacchanals. 
These, as stale, we disallow, 
Or judjre of thee meant : only thou 
His true Indian conquest art; 
And, for ivy round his dart, 
The reformed god now weaves 
A liner thyrsus of thy loaves. 

Scent to match thy rich perfume 
Chemic art did ne'er presume — 
Through her quaint jdembie strain, 
None so sovereign to the brain. 
Nature, that did in thee excel, 
Framed again no second smell. 
Roses, violets, but toys 
For the smaller sort of boys, 
Or for greener damsels meant ; 
Then art the only manly scent. 

Stinkingest of the stinking kind ! 
Filth of the month and fog of the mind I 
Africa, that brtigs her foyson. 
Breeds no such prodigious poison ! 
nenl>ane, nightshade, both together, 
llendock, aconite 

Nay, rather, 
Plant divine, of rarest virtue ! 
Blisters on the tongue would hurt you ! 



'T was but in a sort I blamed thee ; 

None e'er prospered who defamed thee ; 

Irony .all. and feigned abuse, 

Such as ])orploxt lovers use 

At a need, wlien, in despair 

To paint forth their fairest fair, 

Or in part but to express 

That exceeding comeliness 

Which their fancies doth so strike, 

They borrow language of dislike ; 

And, instead of dearest Miss, 

Jewel, honey, sweetheart, bliss, 

And those forms of old admiring. 

Call her cockatrice .ind siren, 

Basilisk, .and all that 's evil. 

Witch, hyena, mermaid, devil, 

Ethioi), wench, and blackamoor. 

Monkey, ape, and twenty more — 

Friendly trait'ress, loving foe — 

Not that she is truly so. 

But no other way they know, 

A contentment to express 

Borders so upon excess 

That they do not rightly wot 

Whether it be from pain or not. 



Or, as men, constrained to part 
With what 's nearest to their hearty 
While the'u- sorrow 's at the height 
Lose discrimination quite. 
And their hasty wrath let fall, 
To appease their t'rantic gall. 
On the darling thing, whatever. 
Whence they feel it death to sever. 
Though it be, as they, perforce. 
Guiltless of the sad divorce. 



For I must (nor let it grieve thee. 
Friendliest of plants, that I mnsf) le.ave 

thee. 
For thy sake, tobacco. I 
Would do anythmg bnt die. 
And but seek to extend my d.ays 
Long enough to sing thy praise. 
But, as she, who once hath been 
A king's consort, is a queen 
Ever after, nor will hate 
Any tittle of her st,ato 



FAITHLESS NELLIE GRAY. 



429 



TlioHgli a widow, or divorced— 
So I, IVoiii thy converse forced, 
The old 11(11110 and style retain, 
A rif;ht Catherine of Spain; 
And a scat, too, 'inongst the joys 
Of the blest tobacco boys ; 
"Where tlioiigli I, by sour physician, 
Am debarred the fidl fruition 
Of thy favors, I may catch 
Some collateral sweets, and snatch 
Sidclonji; odors, that give life 
Like glances from a nciglibor's wife ; 
And still live in the by-places 
And the suburbs of thy graces; 
And ill thy borders take delight. 
An unoonquercd Canaanite. 

OhABLES LA.MB, 



FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY. 

A PATIIETIO DMJ.AD. 

Ben Battle was a soldier bold, 
And used to war's alarms; 

But a cannon-ball took off his legs, 
So ho laid down his arms. 



Now as they bore him off the field. 
Said he, " Lot others shoot ; 

For liere I leave my second leg. 
And the Forty-second foot." 

The army-surgeons made him limbs : 
Said he, " They 're only pegs ; 

But there 's as wooden members quite, 
As represent my legs." 

Now Ben he loved a pretty maid — 
Her name was Nelly Gray ; 

So he went to pay her his devours. 
When ho devoured his pay. 

But when he called on Nelly Gray, 
She made him quite a scoff; 

And when she saw his wooden leg?, 
Began to take them off. 



" 0, Nelly Gray I O, Nelly Gray ! 

Is this your love so warm 2 
The love that loves a scarlet coat 

Should be more uniform." 

Said she, " I loved a soldier onco, 
For he was blithe and brave; 

But I will never have a man 
With both legs in the grave. 

" Before you bad those tiinlier toes 

Your love I did allow ; 
But then, you know, you stand upon 

Another footing now." 

" 0, Nelly Gray ! O, Nelly Gray 1 
For all your jeering speeches. 

At duty's call I left my legs 
In Badajos's breaches." 

" Why then," said she, " you 'vo lost the 
feet 

Of legs in war's alarms. 
And now you cannot wear your shoes 

Upon your feats of arms." 

"O, false and fickle Nelly Gray I 

I know why you refuse : 
Tliough I've no feet, some other man 

Is standing in my shoes. 



" I wish I ne'er liad seen your face ; 

But, now, a long farewell I 
For you will be my death ; — alasl 

You will not bo my Nell ! " 



Now when he went from Nelly Gray 

Ilis heart so heavy got. 
And life was such a burden grown, 

It made him take a knot. 



So round his melancholy neck 
A rope he did entwine. 

And, for bis second time in life. 
Enlisted in the line. 



430 



POEMS OF COMEDY 



One end ho tied around n benni, 
And then removed bis pegs ; 

Ami, ll^! his lo.^s weie oil', — ofeourse 
lie soon WHS oil' his leprs. 

Anil lliere he Inuijj;, till he wiis dead 

As ivny nail in town ; 
For, tl\ougli distress had eut him np, 

It eonld not ent liim down. 

A dozen men sat on his eorpse, 

To find ont wli.v he died — 
And they hnried Hen in fonr eross-ruads, 

With a stake in his inside. 

'riu>M\a tloop. 



FAITHLESS SALLY F.UOWX. 

AN 01.1> 11M.I_\11. 

YoiTJO Ben lio wns a nieo youiift innn, 
A earpenter hy trade: 



And ho fell in love with Sal 
That wns a ladv's maid. 



lirown, 



l?nt US they t'etehed a walk one day. 

They met a press-i^ani; erew ; 
And Sally she did faint away, 

Whilst r>en he was hrouit'ht to. 

The hoatswain swore with wioked words, 

Enonjrh to slioek a sjiint. 
That thouirli she did seem in a tit, 

■ r was nothinii; but a t'eiut. 

" Come, girl," said he/' bold up your bead — 

He'll be as gi>od as me ; 
For when your swain is in our boat 

.V hoatswiiiu bo will he." 

So when they'd made their game of her, 

And taken ott' ber elf, 
She roused, and found she only was 

A-eoniing to herself. 

" And is he gone, and is be gone i " 
She eried, and wept outright ; 

'■Then I will to the water-side, 
And see him out of sight.'' 

A waterman eame up to ber; 

'■ Now, young woman,'" s;>id be, 
"If you weep on so, you will make 

Eye wator in tho sea,'' 



" Alas ! they 've taken my beau, Ben, 

To sail with old Benbow ; " 
And her woe began to run afresh. 

As if she'd said. Gee woe! 

Says he, " They 've only taken him 

To the tender ship, yoii see." 
" The tender ship," eried Sally Brown — 

•' AVhnt a hard ship that must he ! 

" Oh ! would 1 were a uieruiaid now. 

For then I 'd follow him ; 
But ob!— I'm not a fish woman. 

And so I eauuot swim. 

" Alas! I was not born beneath 

The virgin and tho scales, 
So I must enrse my cruel stiU'S, 

And walk about in 'Wjiles." 

Now Ben had sailed to many a place 
That 's underneath the world ; 

But in two years the ship ean\e home. 
And all her sails were furled. 

Bat when he called on Sally Brown, 

To see how she got on, 
Tie found she 'd got another Ben, 

Whose Christian-name was John. 

"0, Sally Brown, O, Sally Brown, 

How could you serve me so? 
I've met with many a breeze before, 

But never such a blow ! " 

Then reading on his 'haeco bos. 

He heaved a heavy sigh. 
And then began to eye bis pipe, 

And then to pipe his eye. 

And then he tried to sing "All 's "Well ! " 
But could not, though he tried ; 

llis head was turned — and so he chewed 
His pigtail till he died. 

IDs death, which happened in bis berth. 

At forty-odd befell ; 
They went and told the sexton, and 

The sexton tolled die bell. 

Tbiuus Hood. 



TIIK WHITE SQUALL. 



4:11 



THE LADY AT SEA. 

Cables entangling licr ; 
Sliip-spars for inangling lier; 
Kopcs sure of strangling her ; 
lilocks ovor-dangling hor; 
Tiller to batter licr ; 
Topmast to shatter her ; 
Tobacco to spatter her ; 
Boreas blnstcring ; 
Boatswain quite flustering ; 
Thunder-clouds mustering, 
To blast her with sulphur — 
If the deep don 't ingulpli her ; 
Sometimes fear 's scrutiny 
Pries out a mutiny, 
Sniffs conflagration. 
Or liints at starvation ; 
All the sea dangers, 
Buccaneers, rangers. 
Pirates, and Sallee-men, 
Algerino galleymen, 
Tciriiadocs and typhous. 
And liorriblc syphons, 
And submarine travels 
Tliro' roaring sea-navels; 
Every thing wrong enough — 
I>ong-boat not long enough ; 
Vessel not strong enougli ; 
Pitch marring frippery ; 
Tlio deck very slippery; 
And the cabin — built sloping; 
Tlie captain a-toping; 
And the mate a blasphemer, 
That names his Redeemer — 
With inward uneasiness ; 
Tlie cook known by greasiness; 
Tlie victuals beslubbered; 
1 ler bed — in a cupboard ; 
Things of strange christening, 
Snat(-liod in her listening; 
Blue lights and red lights, 
And mention of dead lights; 
And shrouds made a theme of — 
Things horrid to dream of; 
And buoys in the water ; 
To fear all exhort her. 
Her fj'iond no Leander — 
Herself no sea gander ; 



And ne'er a cork jacket 
On board of the iiackot ; 
The breeze still a-stiffening; 
The trumpet quite deafening ; 
Thoughts of repentance, 
And doomsday, and sentence ; 
Every tliing sinister — 
Not a church minister; 
Pilot a blunderer; 
Coral reefs under her, 
Ready to sunder her : 
Trunks tipsy-topsy ; 
Tlio ship in a dropsy; 
Waves oversurging her; 
Sirens a-dirging her; 
Sharks all expecting her; 
Sword-fish dissecting her; 
Crabs with their hand-vices 
Punishing land vices ; 
Sea-dogs and unicorns, 
Things with no l)Uny horns; 
Mermen carnivorous — 
" Good Lord deliver us 1 " 

TnOMAft IIOOD. 



THE WHITE SQUALL. 

On deck, beneath the awning, 
I dozing lay and yawning; 
It was the gray of dawning, 

Ere yet the sun arose ; 
And above the funnel's roaring, 
And the fitful wind's deploring, 
I heard tliO cabin snoring 

Witli universal nose. 
I could liear the passengers snorting — 
I envied tlieir disjiorting — 
Vainly I was courting 

The pleasure of a doze. 

So I lay, and wondered why light 
Came not, and watched the twilight, 
And the glimmer of the skyliglit, 

That shot across the deck ; 
And the binnacle pale and steady. 
And the dull glimpse of the dead-eye, 
And the sparks in fiery eddy 

Tliiit wliirled from the chimney neck. 
In our jovial fioating prison 



4S2 



I'OEMS OF OOMEDV, 



Thoro was sleep from fore to luizzeu, 
Ami novor a st«r had risen 

I'ho liiizy sky to speck. 
Stnmgo company we liarboreil: 
^\'o M a luimlfod Jews to larboard, 
luwasliod, micombod, uiibarbored — 

.lows Mack, and brown, and gray. 

With terror it would seize ye, 
And make your souls uneasy, 
'I'o see those Kabbis greasy, 

Who did nought but scratch and pray. 
'I'licir dirty diildren juiking — 
Their dirty saucepans cooking — 
Tlicir dirty tingers hooking 

Their swarming lleas away. 

To starboard Turks and ti recks were — 
WliiLikcred and brown their cheeks were — 
Kuiirmons wide tlicir brocks were — 

Tlieir pipes did putT away ; 
Each on his mat allotted 
In silence smoked and squatted, 
Whilst round their children trotted 

In pretty, i>lcasaut play, 
lie can't but smile who traces 
Tlio sn\ilcs on those brown faces, 
And the pretty, prattling graces 

Of those small heathens gay. 

And so the hours kept tolling — 
And through the ocean rolling 
Wont the brave Iberia bowling, 
Before the break of day 

W hou a squall, upon a sudden, 
(.'ame o'er the waters scudding ; 
Ami the clouds began to gather, 
And the sea was hished to lather, 
And the lowering thunder grumbled. 
And the lightning jumped and tumbled; 
And the ship, and all the ocemi. 
Woke up in wild commotiou. 
I'lion the wind set up a howling, 
.Vnd the poodle dog a yowling. 
And the cocks began a crowing. 
And the old cow raised a lowing. 
As she heard the tcmjicst blowing; 
And fowls and geese did cackle; 
And the coixlage and the tackle 
)>eg!»n to shriek and crackle; 



And the spray dashed o'er the funnels, 
And down the deck in runnels ; 
And the rushing water soaks all, 
■From the seamen in the fo'ksal 
To tlie stokers, whose black faces 
Peer out of their bod-placcs ; 
And tlio captain ho was bawling, 
And tlie sailors pulling, hauling, 
And the quarter-deck tarpauling 
AVas sliivcred in the squalling ; 
And the passengers awaken, 
!Most pitifully shaken; 
And the steward jumps up, and hastens 
For the necessary basins. 

Then the Greeks they groaned and quiv- 
ered. 
And they knelt., and moaned, and shivered, 
As the phuiging waters met them. 
And splashed and overset them ; 
And they called in their emergence 
Upon countless saints and virgins; 
And their marrowbones arc bonded. 
And they think the world is ended. 
And the Turkish women for'ard 
AVcre frightened .ind behorrorcd, 
And, shrieking ai\d bewildering. 
The mothers clutched their children ; 
The men sang " Allah ! lllah ! 
Mashallah Kismillah ! " 
As the warring waters doused them. 
And splashed them suid soused them ; 
And they called upon the prophet, 
And thought but little of it. 

Then nil the fleas in Jewry 

Jumped up and bit like fm*y: 

And the progeny of Jacob 

Pid on the main-deck wake np, 

(I wot those greasy Kabbins 

■\Vould never pay for cabins ;) 

And each man moaned and jabbered in 

His tilthy Jewish gabsvrdine, 

In woe and lamentation. 

And howling consternation. 

And the splashing water drenches 

Their dirty brats and wenches ; 

And they crawl from hales and benches. 

In a hundred thousand stenches. 

This was the white sqnall fiimons, 
■Which latterly o'ercame «s, 



ST. PATRICK WAS A GENTLEMAN. 



•i;!;i 



And wliich all will remetnbcr, 

On tho 2Sth September: 

When a Prussian captain of Lancers 

(Those tight-laced, whiskered pranccrs) 

Ouino on the dock astonished, 

1'y that wild sqnall admonished, 

And wondering cried, " I'otz tausend, 

Wio ist der Sturm jetzt hranscnd? " 

And looked at captain Lewis, 

AVho calmly stood and blow his 

Cigar in all tho bustle. 

And scorned tho tempest's tussle; 

And oft wo'vc thought thereafter 

How he beat the storm to laughter; 

For well ho knew Ids vessel 

With that vain wind could wrestle ; 

And wlien a wreck wo thought her. 

And doomed ourselves to slaughter, 

How gaily ho fought her. 

And through tho hubbub brought her. 

And as tho tempest cauglit her. 

Cried, "George, some lirundy and water 1 " 

And wlien, its force expended, 
Tho hanidess storm was ended. 
And as tho sunrise splendid 

('amo blushing o'er tho sea, — 
I thdught, as day was breaking. 
My little girls were waking, 
And smiling, and making 

A prayer at home for me. 

WiLLUu Makepeace TnAOEESAY. 



ST. PATRICK WAS A GENTLEMAN. 

On ! St. Patrick was a gentleman. 

Who came of decent people ; 
He built a church in Dublin town, 

And on it put a steeple. 
His father was a Gallagher ; 

His mother was a Brady ; 
His aunt was an O'Shaughnessy, 

His undo an O'Grady. 
So, success attend St. FalricFsJkt, 

For he 's a saint so deter ; 
Oh ! he gave the snaJces and toads a twist, 

And liothcrrd Ihcmfor ever ! 
20 



Tho Wicklow hills aro very high, 

And so's tho Hill of Howth, sir; 
But there 's a hill, much bigger still, 

Much higher nor them both, sir. 
'Twa.s on the top of this high hill 

St. Patrick preached his sarmint 
That drove tlio frogs into tho bogs. 

And banished all tho varnnnt. 
So, success attend St. Patricks fist. 

For he '« a saint so clever ; 
Oh ! he gave the snahes and toads a twist, 

And bothered tJiem for ever I 

There 's not a mile in Ireland's i.slo 

Where dirty varinin musters. 
Hut there ho put his dear fore-foot. 

And murdered them in clusters. 
Tho toads went iioj), tho frogs went hop, 

Slap-dush into the water ; 
And the snakes committed suicide 

To save themselves from slaughter. 
So, success attend St. Patrick''s fist, 

For he 's a saint so clever ; 
Oh ! he gate the snahes and, toads a twist, 

And bothered them for ever ! 

Nine hujidred thousand reptiles bluo 

He charmed with sweet discourses. 
And dined on them at Killaloo 

In soups and second courses. 
Where blind worms crawling in the grass 

Disgusted all tho nation, 
lie gave them a rise, which opened their 
eyes 

To a sense of their situation. 
So, success attend St. Patricks fist. 

For he 's a saint so clever ; 
Oh / he gave the snakes and toads a twist, 

And bothered them for ever ! 

No wonder that those Irish lads 

Should bo so gay and frisky, 
I'or suro St. Pat ho taught them that. 

As well as making whiskey ; 
No wonder th.at the saint himself 

Should understand distilling. 
Since Iiis mother kept a shebeen shop 

In the town of Enniskillen. 
So, success attend St. Patricio's fist, 

For he 's a saint so clever ; 
Oh I he giire the snakes and toads a twist. 

And bothered them for ever ! 



434 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



Oh ! was I but so fortunate 

jIs to bo bnck iu !N[unster, 
'T is I 'il be bound that from that ground 

I never more would onoe stir. 
For tliero St. Patrick planted turf. 

And plenty of the praties, 
With pigs galore, lua gra, ma 'store, 

And cabbages — and ladies ! 
Tlieii my Mesdng on St. Fatricl's jfist, 

For he '» the darling mint oh ! 
Oh ! he ffai^e the snakes and toads a ttoist; 

He '« a beauty without paint oh ! 

Henky Bennett. 



ST. TATRICK OF IRELAND, MY DEAR! 

A Fio for St. Denis of France — 

He 's a trumpery fellow to brag on ; 
A tig for St. George and his lance, 

Which spitted a heathenish dragon ; 
And the saints of the Welshman or Soot 

Are a conple of pitiful pipers, 
Both of whom m.ay just travel to pot, 

Compared with that patron of swipers — 
St. Patrick of Ireland, my deai-! 

Ho came to the Eraer.ild Isle 

On a lump of a paving-stone mounted ; 
The steamboat he beat by a mile, 

Which mighty good sailing was counted. 
Says he, " The salt water, I think. 

Has made me most bloodily thirsty 
So bring me a flagon of drink 

To keep down the mulligrubs, burst ye! 
Of drink that is fit for a s;iint ! " 

He preached, then, witli wonderful force, 

The ignorant nntives a-teaching; 
With a pint he washed down his discourse, 

" For," says he, '■ I detest your dry preach- 
ing." 
The people, with wonderment struck 

At a pastor so pious and civil. 
Exclaimed — "We 're for you, my old buck ! 

And we pitch our blind gods to the devil, 
Who dwells in hot water below 1 " 



This ended, our worshipful spoon 

Went to visit an elegant fellow, 
Whose practice, each cool afternoon. 

Was to get most delightfully mellow. 
That day, with a black-jack of beer, 

It chanced ho was treating a party ; 
Says the saint — " This good day, do you heai 

I drank nothing to speak of, my hearty ! 
So give mo a pull at the pot ! " 

The pewter he lifted in sport 

(Believe me, I tell you no table) ; 
A gallon he drank from the quart, 

And then placed it full on the table. 
"A mu-acle! " every one said — 

And they all took a haul at the stingo ; 
They were capital hands at the trade. 

And drank till they fell ; yet, by jiugo. 

The pot stUl frothed over the brim ! 

Next day, quoth his host, " 'T is a last. 

And I 've nought in my larder but mutton: 
And on Fridays who 'd make such repast. 

Except an unchristi;m-like glutton? " 
Says Pat, '' Cease your nonsense, I beg — 

What you tell me is nothing but gammon , 
Take my compliments down to the leg, 

And bid it come hitlier a salmon ! " 

And the leg most politely complied. 

You 've heard, I suppose, long ago. 

How the snakes, in a manner most antic. 
He marched to the county Mayo, 

And trundled them into th' Atlantic. 
Hence, not to use water for drink. 

The people of Ireland determine — 
With mighty good reason, I think, 

Siace St. Patrick has fiUed it with vermin, 
And vipers, and such other stuti'! 

Oh ! he was an elegant blade 

As you 'd meet from Fairbead to Eilcrimi- 
per; 
And though imder the sod he is laid, 

Yet here goes his health iu a bumper 1 
I wish he was here, that my glass 

Ho might by art magic replenish ; 
But since he is not — wliy, alas! 

My ditty must come to a finish, — 
Because all the liquor is out ! 

WrLLIAM MaGIXN. 



THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 



435 



THE IRISHMAN. 



There was a lady lived at Leith, 

A lady very stylish, man — 
And yet, in spite of all her teeth, 
She fell in lovo with an Irishman — 
A nasty, ugly Irishman — 
A wild, tremendous Irishman — 
A tearing, swearing, thumping, bumping, 
ranting, roaring Irishman. 



His face was no ways beautiful. 

For with smaU-pox 'twas scarred across; 
And the shoulders of the ugly dog 
Were almost double a yard across. 
Oh, the lump of an Irishman — 
The whiskey devouring Irishman — 
The great he-rogue witli his wonderful brogue 
— the fighting, rioting Irishman ! 



One of his eyes was bottle green, 

And the other eye was out, my dear ; 
And the calves of his wicked-looking legs 
Were more than two feet about, my dear ! 
Oh, the great big Irishman — 
The rattling, battling Irishman — 
The stamping, ramping, swaggering, stagger- 
ing, leathering swash of an Irishman. 



He took so much of Lundy-foot 

That ho used to snort and snuflBe oh ; 
And in shape and size the fellow's neck 
Was as bad as the neck of a buffalo. 
Oh, the horrible Irishman — 
Tlio thundering, blundering Irishman — 
The slasliing, dashing, smashing, lashing, 
thrashing, hashing Irishman. 



His name was a terrible name, indeed, 

Being Timothy Thady Mulligan ; 
And whenever he emptied his tumbler of 
punch 



Ho 'd not rest till he lillod it full again ; 

The boozing, bruising Irishman — 

The 'toxicatcd Irishman — 
Tho whiskey, frisky, rummy, gummy, brandy, 
no dandy Irishman. 



This was the lad the lady loved. 

Like all the girls of qu.<ility ; 
And ho broke tho skulls of the men of 
Leith, 
Just by the way of jollity ; 
Oh, tho leathering Irishman — 
Tlio barbarous, savage Irishman — 
Tho hearts of tho maids and the gentlemen's 
heads were bothered I'm sure by this 
Irishman. 

WlLLIAAl MaQIVN. 



THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 

The groves of Blarney they look so charming, 

Down by tho purliiigs of sweet silent 
brooks — 
All decked by posies, that spontaneous grow 
there, 

Planted in order in the rocky nooks. 
'T is there the daisy, and the sweet carnation. 

The blooming jjink, and the rose so fair ; 
Likewise the lily, and the daflodilly — 

All flowers that scent the sweet, open air. 

'Tis Lady Jeffers owns this plantation. 

Like Alexander, or like Helen fair; 
There's no commander in all the nation 

For regulation can with her compare. 
Such walls surround her, that no nino-poundei 

Could ever plunder her place of strength ; 
But Oliver Cromwell, he did her pommel, 

And made a breach in her battlement. 

There's gravel walks there for speculation. 

And conversation in sweet solitude ; 
'T is there the lover may hear the dove, or 

Tho gentle plover, in the afternoon. 
And if a young lady should be so engaging 

As to walk alone in those shady bowers, 
Tis there her courtier ho may transport her 

In some dark fort, or under tho ground. 



436 POEMS OF 


COMEDY. 


For 'tis there's the cave where uo daylight 


Since that capitulation. 


cuters, 


No city in the nation 


r>iit b;its iiiul batlii'ors are for over bred; 


So grand a reputation could boast before, 


Deiiig inossod by natur', thntiiuilios it sweeter 


As Limerick prodigious. 


Than a coach and six, or a feather bed. 


That stands with quays and bridges. 


'T is there 's the hike that is stored witli 


And ships up to the windies of the Shannon 


perches, 


shore. 


And comely eels in tlie verdant nmd ; 




Hesidos tlie leeches, and the groves of beeches, 


A chief of ancient line. 


All standing in order for to gnard the flood. 


'Tis William Smith O'Brine, 




Reprisints tliis darling Limerick this ten years 


'T is tliere 's the kitchen hangs many a flitch 


or more ; 


in. 


Oh the Sa.xons can't endure 


With the maids a-stitcl-.ing upon the stair ; 


To see him on the flure, 


Tlie bread and biskc', the beer and whiskey, 


And tbrimble at the Cicero from Shannon 


AVonld make yon frisky if you were there. 


shore ! 


'T is tliero you 'd see Peg Murphy's daughter 




A waslnng praties forenent tlie door, 


This valiant son of Mars 


AVitli Roger Cleary, and Father Ilealy, 


Had been to visit Pai-'s, 


All lilood relation.s to my Lord Douough- 


That land of revolution, that grows the tri- 


more. 


color ; 


There 's statues gracing this noble place in, 


.\iid to welcome his return 


All heathen goddesses .so fair- 


From pilgrimages furren. 


Bold Neptune, riutarch, and Nicodemus, 


We invited him to tay on the Shannon shore. 


All standing naked in the ojien air. 






Then we sununoncd to our board 


So now to hnish this brave narration, 




Mhich my poor geni' could not entwine; 
But were I Homer, or Nebuchadnezzar, 


Young Me;iglier of the sword ; 


'T is he will sheathe that battle-axe in Saxon 


'T is in every feature I would make it shine. 


gore ; 




And Mitchil of Belfast 


RicnJiiU) Alfred MiLUKni. 






We bade to our repast, 




To dtlirink a dish of cotfee on the Shiinnon 
shore. 




THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK. 






Convaniently to houkl 


Yf. genii of the nation, 


These patriots so bould. 


Who look with veneration. 


We took the opportunity of Tim Doolan's 


And Ireland's desolation onsaysingly deplore, 


store ; 


Ye sons of Ginerid Jackson, 


And with ornamints and banners 


Who thrauiple on the Sa.xon, 


(As becomes gintale good manners) 


Attend to the thrausaction upon Shannon 


We made the loveliest tay-room upon Shannon 


shore. 


shore. 


Mliou William, Puke of Schumbug, 




A tyrant and a humbug, 


'T would binitit your sowls 


With camion and with tlnnider on our city 


To see the butthered rowls. 


bore. 


The sugai'-tongs and sangwidges aud craim 


Our fortitude and valliauco 


galyore, 


Insthructcd his battalions, 


And the muffins and the crumpets, 


To rispiot the galliant Irish upon Shannon 


And the band of harps and thrnmpets, 


shore. 


To celebrate the sworry upon Shannon shore. 



TUE BATTLE 


OF LIMERICK. 437 


Sure tlie iiiiperor of Boliay 


Oh, the lovely tay was spilt 


Would be proud to dtliriiik the tay 


On that day of Ireland's guilt ; 


That Misthross Biddy Rooney for O'Brine did 


Says Jiick Mitchil, "I am kilt 1 Boys, where 's 


pour ; 


the back door ? 


And, since tlie days of Strongbow, 


'T is a national disgrace ; 


There never was sucli Congo — 


Let me go and veil me face 1 " 


Mitchil dtljraiik six quarts of it— by Shannon 


And ho boulted with quick pace from the 


sliore. 


Shannon shore. 


But Clarndon and Corry 


"Cut down the bloody horde! " 


Conncllan beheld this svvorry 


Says Meagher of the sword. 


With rage and itnulationin their black hearts' 


" This conduct would disgrace any blacka- 


core; 


moor ; " 


And they hired a gang of rufflns 


But millions were arrayed. 


To interrupt tlie muffins, 


So he shaytlied his battle-blade. 


And the frngranc^o of tlie Congo on the Shan- 


Rcthrayting undismayed from the Shannon 


non sliure. 


shore. 


When full of tay and cako, 


Immortal Smith O'Brine 


O'Brine began to spake, 


Was raging like a line ; 


But juice a one could hear hira, for a sudden 


'T would have done your sowl good to have 


roar 


heard him roar ; 


Of a ragamuffin rout 


In his glory he arose. 


Began to yell and shout. 


And he rushed upon his foes. 


And frighten the propriety of Shannon shore. 


But they hit him on the nose by the Shannon 
shore. 


As Smitli O'Brine harangued. 


They batthcred and tliey banged; 


Then the futt and the dthragoons 


Tira Doolan's doors and windics down tliey 


In squadthrons and platoons. 


tore ; 


With tlieir musie playing chunes, down upon 


They smashed the lovely windies 


us bore ; 


(Hung with muslin from the Indies), 


And tlicy bate the rattatoo, 


Purshuing of their shindies upon Sliannon 


And the Peelers came in view, 


shore. 


And ended the shaloo on the Sh.annon shore. 


With tlirowing of brickbats, 


William Makepeace Thaokeuay. 


Drowned puppies and dead rats, 




These ruffin democrats themselves did lower ; 




Tin kettles, rotten eggs, 




Cabbage-stalks, and wooden legs, 


MOLONY'S LAMENT. 


They flung among the patriots of Shannon 




shore. 


Tnr, did you hear of thim Saxons, 




And read what the peepers repoort ? 


Oh, the girls began to scrame, 


They 're goan to recal the liftinant. 


And upset the milk and crame; 


And shut up the castle and coort! 


And tlie honoralilc jintlcmin they cursed and 


Our desoliite couiithry of Oireland 


swore : 


They 're bint, the blagyards, to de.sthroy ; 


And Mitchil of Belfast, 


And now, having munlthered our counthry, 


'T was he that looked aghast, 


They're goin to kill the viceroy. 


Wlien they roasted him in effigy by Shannon 


Dear boy! — 


shore. 


'T was he was our proide and our joy. 



43$ 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



Ami wi)l wo no longer l>olioulil liiin, 

Svirrouniltng his oiU'riage in tlirongs, 
As ho >Yeavos his cocked hat tVoni the win- 
ilics, 

Ami smiles to his bouUl aid-de-coiigs? 
1 liked for to see the young haroes, 

All shoininji; with sthiipes and with stars, 
-\. horsing about in the I'liaynix, 

And winking the girls in the cyars — 
Like Mars,' 

A suiokin' their poipes and cigyars, 

Pear Mitehol, exoilod to Uennudies, 

Your beaut it\d oilids you'll ope! — 
Ami there'll be an abondanee of croyin 

From O'Hrineat the Keep of Ciood Hope — 
^Vhen they read of this news in the peepei-s, 

Across the Atlantieal wave. 
That the last of the Oirish littinants 

Of the oisland of Scents has tuck lave. 
God save 

The qucou — she sliould betther behave ! 

And what "s to beeon\e of poor llamesthrcet, 

And who'll ait the pntVs and the tarts, 
AVhin the coort of imparial splindor 

From Dohliu's sad city departs ? 
And who'll have the tiddlers and pipers 

When the deueo of a coort there remains; 
And where '11 be the bucks ai\d the ladies, 

To hire the coort -shnits and the thrains? 
In sthraius 

It 's thus that onld Erin complains! 

There 's Coimsellor Flanagan's Ieo<ly, 

'T was she in the coort didn't fail. 
Ami she wanted a pliuty of popplin 

For her dtliress, and her tlounce, and her 
tail ; 
She Iwught it of Misthress O'Grady— 

Eight sliillings a yard t.ibiuet — 
But now that the coort is concluded 

The divvle a ysml will she get : 
1 bet, 

Uedad, that she wears the old set. 

There 's Sutton OToole and Miss Leary, 
They 'd daylings at Madanx O'Rigsrs' ; 

Each year, at the dthrawing-room s;>ysou. 
They mounted the natest of wigs. 



AVlieu spring, with its buds and its daisies, 
Comes out in her beauty and bloom, 

Thim tu '11 never think of new jasies, 
liecauso there is no dthrawing-rooui, 

For whom 
They 'd choose the expense to ashume. 

There 's Alderman Toad and his lady, 

'T was they gave the clart and the poort. 
And the poine-apples, turbots, and lobsters. 

To feast the lord liftinant's coort. 
But now that the quality 's goiu, 

I warnt that the aiting will stop, 
And you '11 get at the alderman's toeble 

The divvle a bite or a dthrop. 
Or chop. 

And the butcher may shut np his shop. 

Yes, the grooms and the ushers are goin ; 

.\nd his lordship, the dear, honest num : 
And the duchess, his eeuiiable leedy ; 

And Oorry, the bould Connellan ; 
And little Lord Hyde and the childthreu ; 

And the chewter and governess tn; 
And the servants are packing their boxes — 

Oh, mnrther, but what shall I due 
Without you? 

O'Meery, with ois of the blue ! 

WlU-HM M.VKKrKAOK TUAOKSKAT. 



MK. 



MOLONY'S ACCOUNT 
BALL 



OF THE 



OIVKX TO THE SEPArLKSE AMBASS.VPOH BY THE 
rKXIXSrL.\R AXD OKIENTAL COMPAST. 

On will ye choose to hear tlie news? 

Bedad. I cannot pass it o'er: 
I '11 tell you idl about the ball 

To the Xaypanlase ambass^idor. " 
Begi>r I this fete all balls does bate 

At which 1 worn a pnmp, and I 
Must here relate the splendthor great 

Of th' Oriental company. 

These men of siuse dispoised expinse. 

To f^te these black Achilleses. 
''■We'll show the blacks," says they, "^U- 
mack's, 

And tixke the rooms at 'Vrillis's." 



THE 


RAIL. 439 


Witli flags and shawls, for thoso Nopauls, 


There was Baroness Brunow, that looked 


Tlioy liuiif,' tlio rooms of "Willis up, 


like Juno, 


And (locked the walls, and stairs, and halls. 


And I?aroness liehausen there, 


With roses and with lilies uj). 


And Countess Roullier, that looked peculiar 


And Jiillien's hand it tiiek its stand, 


Well in her robes of gauze, in there. 


So sweetly in the middle there, 


There was Lord Crowhurst (I knew him first 


And soft hassoons played heavenly chunes, 


When oidy Mr. Pips ho was). 


And violins did fiddle there. 


And Mick O'Toole, the great big fool, 


And when the ooort was tired of spoort, 


That after supi)er tipsy was. 


I 'd lave yon, hoys, to think there was 




A nato huft'et heforo them set, 


There was Lord Fingall and his ladies all, 


Where hishins of good dhriuk there was ! 


And Lords Killeeii and Duflerin, 




And Paddy Fife, with his fat wife — 




I wondther how he eonld stufi" her in. 


At ten, hcfore the hall-room door 


There was Loi-d Belfast, that by me past, 


His moighty excellency was; 


And seemed to ask how should /go there; 


He smoiled and howed to all the crowd- 


And tlio widow Macrae, and Lord A. Uay, 


So gorgeous and immense ho was. 


And the marcliioness of Sligo there. 


His dusky shuit, suhlime and mute, 




Into the door-way followed him; 


Yes, jukes and carls, and diamonds and pearls. 


And oh the noise of the hhicksuard hoys. 


And pretty girls, was spoorting there; 


As they hurrood and hollowed him! 


And some beside (the rogues!) 1 spied 




Behind the windies, coorting there. 




Oil, there's one 1 know, bedad, would show 


The nohlo chair stud at the stair. 


As beautiful as any there; 


And hade the dthrums to thump; and ho 


And I 'd like to hear the pipers blow. 


l)id thus evince to that hlaek prince 


And shake a fut with Fanny there ! 


The welcome of his company. 


William Makei'Eaob Tuackebay. 


Oh fair the girls, and rich the curls. 




And hright the oys you saw there, was ; 
And fixed each oye, ye there could spoi, 






On Gineral Jung Bahawther was! 


THE RAIL. 




I MET him in the car.s, 


This gineral great then tuck his sate, 


Where resignedly he sat ; 


With all the other ginerals. 


His hair was full of dust. 


(Bedad, his troat, his belt, his coat, 


And so was his cravat ; 


All Ideezed with precious minerals;) 


He was furthermore embellished 


And as he there, with princely air. 


By a ticket in his hat. 


Recloinin on his cushion was, 




All round ahout his royal chair 


'I'he conductor touched his arm. 


The srfuceziu and the pushin was. 


And awoke him from a nap ; 




When ho gave tlie feeding flies 




An admonitory slap. 


Pat, such girls, sucli jukes and earls. 


And his ticket to the man 


Such fashion and nohilitee ! 


In the yellow-lettered cap. 


Just think of Tim, and fancy him 




Amidst tlio hoigh gentility ! 


So, launching into talk, 


There was Lord De L'llnys, and the Porty- 


Wo rattled on our way, 


geese 


With allusions to the crops 


Ministher and his lady th'ere ; 


That along the meadows lay — 


And I reckouized, with much surprise, 


Whereupon his eyes were lit 


Our messmate, Bob O'Grady, there. 


With a speculative ray. 



440 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



Tlie heads of many men 
Were bobbing as in sleep, 

And many babies lifted 
Their voices up to weep ; 

WliUe the coal-dust darkly fell 
On bonnets in a heap. 

All the while the swaying cars 
Kept rumbling o'er the rail, 

And the frequent whistle sent 
Shrieks of anguish to the gale. 

And the cinders pattered down 
On the grimy floor like hail. 

"When suddenly a jar. 

And a thrice-repeated bump, 
Made the people in alarm 

From their easy cushions jump ; 
For they deemed the sounds to be 

The inevitable trump. 

A splintering crash below, 
A doom-foreboding twitch, 

As the tender gave a lurch 
Beyond the flying switch — 

And a mangled mass of men 
Lay writhing in the ditch. 

With a palpitating heart 
My Mend essayed to rise ; 

There were bruises on his limbs 
And stars before his eyes. 

And his face was of the hue 
Of the dolphin when it dies. 



I was very well content 
In escaping with my life ; 

But my mutUated friend 
Commenced a legal strife — 

Being thereunto incited 
By his lawyer and his wife. 

And he writes me the result, 
In his quiet way as follows : 

That his ease came up before 
A bench of legal scholars, 

Who awarded him his claim, 
Of $1500 !• 

George H. Clark. 



ST. ANTHONY'S SERMON TO THE 
FISHES. 

St. A^^THO^T at church 
Was left in the lurch, 
So he went to the ditches 
And preached to the fishes ; 
They wriggled their tails, 
In the sun glanced their scales. 

The carps, with their spawn. 

Are all hither drawn ; 

Have opened their jaws. 

Eager for each clause. 
No sermon beside 
Had the carps so edified. 

Sharp-snouted pikes, 
Who keep fighting like tikes. 
Now swam up harmonious 
To hear St. Antonius. 
No sermon beside 
Had the pikes so edified. 

And that very odd fish. 

Who loves fast days, the cod-fish, — 

The stock-fish, I mean, — 

At the sermon was seen. 
No sermon beside 
Had the cods so edified. 

Good eels and sturgeon, 
Which aldenuen gorge on. 
Went out of their way 
To hear preaching that day. 
No sermon beside 
Had the eels so edified. 

Crabs and turtles also, 
Who always move slow. 
Made haste from the bottom. 
As if the devil had got 'em. 
No sermon beside 
Had the crabs so edified. 

Fish gre.it and fish small. 
Lords, lackeys, and all. 
Each looked at the preacher, 
Like a reasonable creature : 
At God's word. 
They Anthony heard. 



THE VICAR 


OF BRAY. 441 


The sermon now ended, 


Passive obedience was a joke, 


Each turned and descended ; 


A jest was non-resistance. 


The pikes went on stealing, 


And this is law that I HI maintain 


The eels went on eehng ; 


Until my dying day, sir. 


Much delighted were they, 


That whatsoever king shall reign, 


But preferred the old way. 


Still I HI le the vicar of Bray, sir. 


The crahs are backsliders, 




Tlio stock-fish tliick-siders. 


When royal Anne became our queen. 


The carps are sharp-set, 
All the sermon forget ; 


The church of England's glory, 
Another face of things was seen 


Much delighted were they, 


And I became a tory ; 


But preferred the old way. 


Occasional conformists base, 




I blam'd their moderation ; 


AilONTMOTJS. 


And thought the church in danger was. 




By such prevarication. 






And this is law that IHl maintain, 


THE VICAR OF BEAT. 


Until my dying day, sir, 




That whatsoever Icing shall reign. 


In good King Charles's golden days, 


Still IHl be the vicar of Bray, sir. 


When loyalty no harm me.ant, 




A zealous high-cliurcliman was I, 




And so I got preferment. 


When George in pudding-time came o'er, 


To teach my flock I never missed : 


And moderate men looked big, sir. 


Kings were by God appointed. 


My principles I changed once more, 


And lost are those that dare resist 


And so became a whig, sir ; 


Or touch tlie Lord's anointed. 


And thus preferment I procured 


And this is law that I HI maintain 


From our new faith's defender ; 


Until my dying day, sir, 


And almost every day abjured 


That whatsoever king shallreign, 


The pope and the pretender. 


Still I'll he the vicar of Bray, sir. 


And this is law that IHl maintain, 




Until my dying day, sir, 


When royal James possessed the crown, 


That whatsoever king shall reign, 


And popery grew in fashion, 


Still IHl be the vicar of Bray, sir. 


The penal laws I hooted down, 




And read the declaration ; 


Th' illustrious house of Hanover, 


The Church of Rome I found would fit 


And Protestant succession. 


Full well my constitution ; 


To these I do allegiance swear — 


And I had been a Jesuit, 


While they can keep possession : 


But for the revolution. 


For in my faith and loyalty 


And this is law that IHlmaintain 


I never more will falter. 


Until my dying day, sir. 


And George my lawful king shall be — 


That whatsoever l-ing shall reign, 


Until the times do alter. 


Still I HI be the vicar of Bray, sir. 


And this is law that IHl maintain 




Until my dying day, sir. 




That lohatsoever king shall reign, 


When AVilliam was our king declared. 


Still IHl be the vicar of Bray, sir. 


To ease the nation's grievance ; 


Anonymous. 


With this new wind about I steered, 


, 


And swore to him allegiance ; 
Old principles I did revoke, 






Set conscience at a distance ; 





442 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



THE VIOAR. 



Some years ago, ero time and taste 

Iltul turned our parish topsy-turvy, 
Wlioti Darnel parlc was Darnel waste, 

And roads as little known as scurvy, 
Tlie man who lost his way between 

St. Mary's Hill and Sandy Thicket 
"Was always shown across the green, 

And guided to the parson's wicket. 

Back flew the bolt of lissom lath; 

Fair Margaret, in lior tidy kirtle, 
I.cd the lorn traveller up the path, 

Tlirougb elean-clipt rows of box and myrtle j 
And Don, and Sancho, Tramp and Tray, 

Upon the pai-lor steps collected, 
Wagged all their tails, and seemed to say, 

" Oiu- master knows you ; you 're expected." 

Up rose the reverend Doctor Brown, 

Up rose the doctor's " winsome marrow;"' 
The lady laid her knitting down, 

llcr husband clasped his ponderous Barrow. 
■Whate'er the stranger's caste or creed, 

Pundit or papist^ saint or sinner, 
Be found a stable for his steed. 

And welcome for himself, and dinner. 

If, when he reached his journey's end, 

And warmed himself in court or college, 
lie had not gained an honest friend. 

And twenty cxu-ious scraps of knowledge ; 
If lie departed as he came, 

■\Vith no new light on love or liquor, 
Good sooth, the traveller was to blame, 

And not the vicarage or the vicar. 

His talk was like a stream which runs 

With rapid change from rocks to roses; 
It slipped from politics to puns ; 

It passed trom Mahomet to Moses ; 
Beginning with the laws which keep 

The planets in their radiant courses, 
And ending with some precept deep 

For dressing eels or shoeing horses. 

He was a shrewd and sound divine, 
Of loud dissent the mortal terror ; 

And when, by dint of page and line, 
He 'stablished truth or startled error, 



The Baptist found him far too deep. 
The Deist sighed with saving sorrow. 

And the lean Lcvitc went to sleep 

And dreamt of eating pork to-morrow. 



His sermon never said or showed 

That earth is foul, that heaven is gracious, 
"Without refreshment on the road. 

From Jerome or from Athanasius ; 
And sure a righteous ze;\l inspired 

The band and head that penned and planned 
them. 
For all who understood admired. 

And some who did not understand them. 

He wrote too, in a quiet way. 

Small treatises, and smaller verses. 
And sago remarks, on chalk and cl.ay. 

And hints to noble lords and nurses; 
True histories of last year's ghost ; 

Dues to a ringlet or a tm-ban ; 
And trifles for the " Morning Post ; " 

And nothings for Sylvanus Urban. 

He did not think idl mischief fair, 

Although he had a knack of joking; 
He did not make himself a bear, 

Although he had a taste for smoking ; 
And when religious sects ran mad. 

He held, in spite of all bis lem-ning. 
That if a man's belief is bad, 

It will not bo improved by burning. 

And he was kind, and loved to sit 

hi the low hut or g:u-uished cottage, 
And praise the farmer's homely wit, 

And share the widow's homelier pottage. 
At bis approach complaint grow mild. 

And when his hand unbarred the shutter 
The clammy lips of fever smiled 

The welcome that they could not ntter. 

He always had a tale for me 

Of Julius Ciesar or of Venus; 
From him I learned the rule of three, 

Cat's-cradle, leap-frog, and Qua genus. 
I used to singe his powdered wig. 

To steal the stall' he put such trust in. 
And make the puppy dance a jig 

"When he began to quote Augustine. 



TWENTY-EIGHT AND TWENTY-NINE. 



443 



Alack, tlio olmngo ! In viiiii I look 

I''or liiuiiits in wliicli my boyhood trifled ; 
Tiio level lawn, the trickling brook. 

The trees I cliniljed, the Ijeds I rifled I 
Tlio cliurch is larger than before. 

You reach it by a carriage entry ; 
It liolds three liiindreil [icoi)le niore. 

And pews are fitted for the gentry. 

Sit in the vicar's seat; you '11 hear 

The doctrine of a gentle Johnian, 
Whoso hand is white, whoso voice is clear, 

Whoso tone is very Ciceronian. 
Where is the old man laid ? Look down 

And construe on the slab before you— 
" Ilicjaret Oullclmun Brown, 

Vir nulla noii donamlits latiro^ 

WlNTlIROl* MAOKWOnTII Praku. 



TWENTY-EIGHT AND TWENTY-NINE. 

I iiKMiD a sick man's dying sigh. 

And an infant's idle laughter: 
The old year went witli inonrning by — 

The new came dancing after ! 
Let sorrow shed her lonely tear — 

Lot revelry hold her ladle ; 
Bring boughs of cypress for the bior — 

Fling roses on tho cradle ; 
Mutes to wait on tho funeral state. 

Pages to pour the wine ; 
A re(iuiein for twenty-eight. 

And a health to twenty-nine ! 

Alas for human happiness I 

Alas for human sorrow ! 
Our yesterday is nothingness — 

What elso will bo our morrow ? 
Still beauty nuist bo stealing liearts. 

And knavery stealing i)urses; 
Still cooks must live by making tarts, 

And wits by making verses ; 
While sages prate, and courts debate, 

The same stars set and shine ; 
And the world, as it rolled through twen- 
ty-eight. 

Must roll through twenty-nine. 

Some king will come, in Heaven's gooil 
time. 
To the tomb his father came to ; 



Some thief will wade through blood and 
crime 

To a crown he has no claim to ; 
Some suffering land will rend in twain 

The manacles that bound her, 
And gather tho links of tho broken chain 

To fasten them proudly round her; 
The grand and great will love and hate. 

And combat and eondjine; 
And much where we were in twenty-eight, 

Wo shall be in twonty-nino. 

O'Oonnell will toil to raise the rent. 

And Kenyon to sink tho nation ; 
And Shic! will abuse tho Parliament, 

And Peel the association ; 
And tlionght of bayonets and swords 

Will make ox-ehaneellors merry ; 
And jokes will bo cut in tho house of 
lords, 

And throats in the county of Kerry ; 
And writers of weight will speculato 

On the cabinet's design; 
And just what it did in twenty-eight 

It will do in twenty-nine. 

And the goddess of love will keep her 
smiles. 

And tho god of cups liis orgies; 
And there '11 bo riots in St. Giles, 

And weddings in St. George's: 
And mendicants will su|) like kings. 

And lords will swear like lacqueys; 
And black eyes oft will lead to rings. 

And rings will load to black eyes; 
And pretty Kate will scold her mote. 

In a dialect all divine; 
Alas I they married in twenty-ciglit, 

They will part in twenty-nine. 

My uncle will swathe his gouty limbs. 

And talk of his oils and blubbers; 
My aunt, Miss Dobbs, will play longer 
hymns. 

And rather longer rubbers : 
My cousin in Parliament will prove 

How utterly ruined trade is; 
My brother, at Kton, will I'all in lovo 

With half a hundred ladies; 



444 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



My patron will sate his pride from plate, 
Aud his thirst from Bordeaux wine — 

His nose was red in twenty-eight, 
'T will be redder in tweuty-niiie. 

And oh ! I shall find how, day by day. 
All tliouglits and things look older — 

How the laugh of pleasure grows less gay, 
Aud the heart of friendsliip colder; 



But still I shall bo what I have been, 

Sworn foe to Lady Reason, 
And seldom troubled with the spleen, 

Aud foud of talking treason ; 
I shall buckle my skate, and leap my gate, 

And tlirow aud write my line; 
And the woman I worshipped in twenty- 
eight 

I shall worship in twenty-nine. 

"WlNTlIROP Mackwokth Pkaed. 



PART yii. 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW, 



The mournful funeral slow proceeds behind, 
Arrayed in black, the heavy head declined; 
Wide yawns the grave ; dull tolls the solemn bell; 
Dark lie the dead ; and long the last farewell. 
There music sounds, and dancers shake the hall ; 
But here the silent tears incessant fall. 
Ere Mirth can well her comedy begin, 
The tragic demon oft comes thundering in, 
Confounds the actors, damps the merry show, 
Aiid turns the loudest laugh to deepest woe. 

JOEN WiLBON, 



POEMS OF TIUGEDY AND SOUUOW. 



SIR PATRICK SPENS. 

Tnn king sits in Dunfermline town, 

Drinking tlio bludo-red wino: 
" Oil wliore will I get a sljooly nkippor 
To Hnil lliis iK'w sliiji i)( iniiio? " 

Oh up and Hpako an elilcrn knight, 

Sat at tho king's right knco : 
"Sir Patrick Spons is tho best sailor 

Tliat over sailed tho sea." 

On: king luw written a braid letter, 

And sealed it with his hand. 
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spons, 

Was walking on tho strand. 

" To Noroway, to Noroway, 

To Noroway o'er the faem ; , 
Tho king's daughter of Noroway, 

'T is thou maun bring her hanie!" 

Tho first word that Sir Patrick read, 

Sae loud, loud laughed he ; 
Tlio neist word that Sir Patrick road, 

Tho tear blindit his e'e. 

" Oh wha is this has done tliis deed. 

And tauld tho king o' mo. 
To send us out at tliis tirao of tlio year. 

To sail upon the sea? 

" Bo it wind, ho it woet, bo it hail, bo it 
sleet. 

Our ship must sail the faem ; 
The king's daughter of Noroway, 

'T is we nnist fetch her hame." 



Thoy lioysod thoir sails on Mononday morn 

Wl' a' tho speed they may ; 
They hae landed in Noroway 

Upon a Wodensday. 

They hadna been a week, a week 

In Noroway, hut twae, 
When that tlio lords o' Noroway 

Ik'gan aloud to say : 

" Yo Scottisliinen siiend a' our king's gowd 

And a' our queenis fee." 
" Yo lie, yo lie, yo liars loud 1 

Fu' loud I hear yo lie! 

"For I liao brought as much while monio 

As gane my men and me,— 
And I hae hrought a half-fou o' gudo red 
gowd 

Out owro tho sea wi' me. 

" Make ready, make ready, my merry 
men a' I 

Our gude ship sails tlio morn." 
" Now, over alako ! my master dear, 

I fear a deadly storm ! 

" I saw tho now mo(ni, lato yestreen, 
Wi' the auld moon in her arm ; 

And if we gang to sea, master, 
I fear we'll como to liarm." 

They hadna s.ailed a league, a league, 

A league, but barely three. 
When tho lift grow dark, and tlic wind 
blew loud. 

And giirly grew the sea. 



44S POEMS OF TKAGEDY AND SORROW. 


The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap, 


And lang lang may the maidens sit, 


It was sic a deadly storm ; 


Wi' their gowd kairas in their hair, 


And the waves came o'er the broken ship 


A' waiting for their ain dear loves, — 


Till a' her sides were torn. 


For them they '11 see na mair. 


" Oh where will I get a gude sailor 


Oh forty miles ofl:' Abcrdour 


To take my helm in hand, 


'T is fifty fiitboms deep. 


Till I get up to the tall topmast 


And there lies gndo Sir Patrick Spens 


To see if I can spy land ? " 


Wi' the Scots lords at his feet. 




Anostmoct. 


" Oh here am I, a sailor gude. 
To take the helm in hand, 






Till you go up to the tall topmast, — 




But I fear you '11 ne'er spy land." 


CHILD XORTCE. 




Child Noeyce is a clever young man — 


He hadna gane a stoj), a step. 


He wavers wi' the wind ; 


A step, but barely ane. 


His horse was silver shod before, 


When a boult flew out of our goodly ship, 


With the beaten gold behind. 


Aud the s.alt sea it came in. 






He called to his little man John, 


"Gae fetch a web o' tbe silken claith. 


Saying, " You don't see what I see ; 


Another o' the twine, 


For oh yonder I see the very first woman 


And wap them into our ship's side, 


That ever loved me. 


And letna the sea come in." 






" Here is a glove, a glove," he said, 


They fetched a web o' the silken claith. 


" Lined with the sQver gray ; 


Another o' the twine. 


You may tell her to come to the merry 


And they wapped them roun' that gude 


green wood. 


ship's side. 


To speak to child Xory. 


— But still the sea came in. 






" Here is a ring, a ring," he says. 


Oh laith. laith were ourgnde Scots lords 


"It's all gold but the stane; 


To weet their cork-heeled shoon ! 


You may tell her to come to the merry 
green wood, 


But lang or a' the play was played. 


Tliey wat their hats aboon. 


And ask the leave o' nane." 




" So well do I love your errand, my master, 


And mony was the feather-bed 


But far better do I love my life ; 


That floated on the faem ; 


Oh would ve have me go to Lord Barnard's 


Aai mony was the gude lord's son 


castel. 


That never mair came hame. 


To betray away his wife? " 


The ladyes wrang their fingers white, — 


"Oh do n't I give you meat," he says, 


The maidens tore tlieir hair ; 


"And do n't I p.iy you fee? 


A' for the sake of their true loves, — 


How dare you stop my errand ? " he says ; 


• For them they '11 see na mair. 


" My orders you must obey." 


Oh lang, lang may the ladyes sit, 


Oh when he came to Lord Barnard's castel. 


Wi' tlieir fans into their hand. 


He tinkled .at the ring; 


Before they see Sir Patrick Spens 


Who was .as ready as Lord B.arnard himself 


Come sailing to the strand ! 


To let this little boy in ? 



FAIR ANNIE OF LOCHEOYAN. 449 


" Here is a glovo, a glove," he says, 


" Oh wao bo to thee. Lady Margaret," he 


"Lined with the silver gray ; 


said. 


You are bidden to come to the merry green 


" And an ill death may you die ; 


wood, 


For if you had told mo he was yo\ir son, 


To speak to Child Nory. 


He had ne'er been slain by me." 




AK0NT.M0II8. 


" Here is a ring, a ring," he says, 




"It's all gold but the stane: 


* 


You are bidden to come to the merry green 




wood. 


FAIR ANNIE OF LOCHEOYAN. 


And ask the leave o' nane." 




Lord Barnard he was standing by, 


" On wha will shoe my fair foot. 
And wha will glovo my ban' ? 


And an angry man was he : 
*' Oh little did I think there was a lord in 
this world 


And wba will lace my middle jimp 
Wi' a new made London ban' ? 


My lady loved but me! " 


" Or wha will kemb my yellow hair 


Oh he dressed himself in the Holland smocks, 

And garments that was gay ; 
And ho is away to the merry green wood, 


Wi' a new-made silver kemb ? 
Or wha '11 be father to my young bairn. 
Till love Gregor come hamo? " 


To speak to Child Nory. 


" Your father '11 shoe your fair foot. 


Child Noryeo sits on yonder tree — 

Ho whistles and he sings : 
" Oh wao bo to me," says Child ISToryce, 


Your mother glove your han' ; 

Your sister lace your middle jimp 

Wi' a new-made London ban' ; 


" Yonder my mother comes I " • 


"Your brethren will kemb your yellow hair 


Child Noryce he came off the tree. 


Wi' a new made silver kemb ; 


His mother to take otf the horse : 


And the king o' heaven wUl father your 


" Och alace, alace!" says Child Noryce, 
" My mother was ne'er so gross." 


bairn, 
Till love Gregor come hame." 


Lord Barnard he had a little small sword. 


" Oh gin I had a bonny ship, 


That hung low down by his knee ; 


And men to sail wi' me. 


lie out the head off Child Noryce, 


It 's I wad gang to my true love, 


And put the body on a tree. 


Sin ho winna come to mo! " 


And when lie came to his castel, 


Her father 's gien her a bonny ship, 


And to his lady's hall, 


And sent her to the stran' ; 


He threw the head into her lap. 


She 's taen her young son in her arms, 


Saying, " Lady, there is a ball I '• 


And turned her back to the Ian.' 


She turned up the bloody head. 


She hadna been o' the sea sailin' 


She kis<ed it frae cheek to chin : 


About a month or more, 


"Far better da I love this bloody head 


Till landed has she her bonny ship 


Than all my royal kin. 


Near her true-love's door. 


" When I was in my father's castel. 


The nicht was dark, and the wind blew cald, 


In my virginitie, 


And her love was fast asleep, 


There came a lord into the north, 


And the bairn that was in her twa arms 


Gat Cliild Noryce with me." 
30 


Fu' sair began to greet. 



450 rOEUS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 


Liiug stood she at her true love's door, 


" Awa, awa, ye ill woman I 


And laug tirled at the pin ; 


Gae frae my door for shame ; 


At length up gat his fause mother, 


For I hae gotten anither fair love— 


Says, "Wha's that wad be in?" 


Sae ye may hie you hame." 


" Oh it is Annie of Lochroyan, 


" Oh hae ye gotten anither fair love, 


Your love, come o'er the sea, 


For a' the oaths ye sware ? 


But and your young son in her arms ; 


Tlien fare ye weel, now, fause G'-egor: 


So open the door to mc." 


For me ye's never see mair! " 


" Awa, awa, ye ill woman ! 

You 're nae come hero for gude ; 
Y'ou 're but a witch, or a vile warlock. 


Oh hooly, hooly gaed she back. 

As the day began to peep ; 
She set her foot on good ship board. 


Or mermaid o' the flude." 


And sair, sair did she weep. 




" Tak down, tak down the mast o' goud ; 


" I 'm nae a witch or vile wai'lock, 


Set up the mast o' tree ; 


Or mermaiden," said she ; — 


111 sets it a forsaken lady 


"I 'm but your Annie of Lochroyan; — 


To sail sae gallantlie. 


Oil open the door to nie ! " 






" Tak down, tak down the sails o' silk : 


" Oh gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan, 


Set up the sails o' skin ; 


As I trust not ye be. 


111 sets the outside to be gay, 


What taiken can ye gie that e'er 


Whan there 's sic grief within ! " 


I kept your companie ? " 


Love Gregor started frae his sleep, 


" Oh dinna ye mind, love Gregor," she says, 

" TVhan we sat at the wine, 
llow we changed the napkins frae our 


And to his mother did say : 
" I dreamt a dream this night, mither. 
That maks my heart richt wae ; 


necks? 


" I dreamt that Annie of Lochroyan, 


It's nae sae lang sinsyne. 


The flower o' a' her kin. 




"Was standiu' mournin' at my door ; 


" And yours was gude, and gude enough, 


But nane wad lat her in." 


But nae sae gude as mine ; 
For yours was o' the cambrick clear. 
But mine o' the silk sae fine. 


" Oh there was a woman stood at the door, 
■Wi' a bairn intill her arms; 
But I wadua let her within the bower, 


" And dinna ye mind, love Gregor," she 


For fear she had done you harm." 


says. 


Oh quickly, quickly raise he up, 


" As we twa sat at dine, 


And fast ran to the strand ; 


IIow we changed the rings frae our fingers, 


And there he saw her, fair Ancle, 


And I can shew thee thine : 


Was sailing frae the land. 


" And yours was gude, and gudo enough. 


And '"heigh, Annie! " and "how, Annie! 


Yet nae sae gude as mine ; 


0, Annie, winna ye bide ? " 


For yours was o' the gude red gold. 


But ay the louder that he cried " Annie," 


But mine o' the diamonds fine. 


The higher raired the tide. 


" Sae open the door, now, love Gregor, 


And "heigh, Annie! " and "how, Annie! 


And open it wi' speed ; 


0, Annie, speak to me ! " 


Or your young son, that is in my arms, 


But ay the louder that he cried "Annie," 


For cald will soon be dead." 


The louder raired the sea. 



THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW. 



451 



Tlie wind grew loud, and the sea grew 
rongli, 

And tlio ship was rent in twain ; 
And soon he saw lier, fiiir Annie, 

Come floating o'er the main. 

IIo saw hia young son in her arms, 

Baitli tossed aboon the tide ; 
IIo wrang his hands, and fast he ran. 

And plunged in the sea sae wide. 

lie catched her by the yellow hair, 

And drew her to the strand ; 
But cald and stiff was every limb, 

Before he reached the land. 

Oh first he kist her cherry cheek, 

And syne he kist her chin : 
And sair he kist her ruby lips, 

But there was nao breath within. 

Oh ho has mourned o'er ftiir Annie, 
Till the sun was gauging down; 

Sj-no wi' a sioh his heart it brast. 
And his saul to heaven has flown. 

Ano.nymocs. 



THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW. 

Late at e'en, drinking the wine, 
And ere they paid the lawing. 

They set a combat them between. 
To fight it in the dawing. 

" Oh stay at hame, my noble lord ! 

Oh stay at hame, my marrow I 
My cruel brother will you betray 

On the dowie houms of Yarrow." 

" Oh fare ye weel, my ladye gaye ! 

Oil fare ye weel, my Siirah ! 
For I maun gae, though I ne'er return 

Frae the dowie banks o' Yarrow." 

She kissed his cheek, she kaimed liis hair. 
As oft she had done befbre, oh ; 

She belted him with his noble brand, 
And he 's away to Yarrow. 



As ho gaed up the Tennies bank, 

I wot he gaed wi' sorrow. 
Till, down in a den, he siiicd nine armed 
men, 

On the dowie houms of Yarrow. 

" Oh come yo here to part yoin- land, 

The bonnie forest thorough ? 
Or come ye here to wield your brand, 

On the dowie houms of Yarrow ? " — 

" I come not here to part my land. 
And neither to beg nor borrow ; 

I come to wield my noble brand. 
On the bonnie banks of Yarrow. 

" If I see all, yo 'ro nine to ane ; 

And that 's an unequal marrow : 
Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand, 
On the bonnie banks of Yarrow." 

Four has ho hurt, and five has slain. 
On the bloody braes of Yarrow, 

Till that stubborn knight came him behind. 
And rati his body thorongh. 

" (lae haiiic, gae hame, good brother John, 

And tell your sister Sarah, 
To come and lift her leafu' lord ; 

He 's slcepin' sound on Yarrow." — 

" Yestreen I dreamed a dolefu' dream : 

I fear there will bo sorrow 1 
I dreamed I pu'd the heather green, 

Wi' my true love, on Yarrow. 

" O gentle wind, that bloweth south. 
From where my love repaireth. 

Convey a kiss from his dear mouth. 
And tell me how he farcth ! 

" But in the glen strive armed men ; 

They 've wrought me dole and son'ow ; 
They've slain — the comeliest knight they've 
slain — 

IIo bleeding lies on Yarrow." 

As she sped down yon high, high hill. 
She gaed wi' dole and sorrow. 

And in the den spied ten slain men, 
On the dowie banks of Yarrow. 



laa 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW, 



Slio kisscil liis oliooks, slio knimod liis hair, 
Sho soiuvhoil liis wouiuls all tlioroui;li; 

She kissoil tlioui, till hoi' lips iri'ow rod. 
On the dowio homus of Yarrow. 

" Now Iia\ul your toniriio, my dauglitor 
doar ! 

For ft' this broods but sorrow ; 
1 '11 wod ye to a bottor lord, 

Thau him yo lost on Yarrow." — 

'• Oh hand yo\ir toupio, uiy father dear! 

Ye mind me but of sorrow ; 
A fairer roso did novor bloom 

Than now lies cropped on Yarrow." 



TUK lUt.VES OF YARROW. 

" BcsK yo, bnsk yo, ray bonnio, bonnie brido! 

Busk YO, busk yo, my winsome marrow ! 
Busk yo, busk yo, my bonnio, bounie brido, 

And tlui\k nao mair of tJie braes of Yarrow." 

" Whore got yo that bonnio, bonnio brido, 
AVhoi"o got yo tliat winsome marrowt" 

'• I got hor whoro I dain-na wool bo soon, 
ru'ing the birks on tho braes of Yarrow. 

"Weep not, weep not, my bonnio, bonnio 
brido, 

Woop not, weep not, my winsome manvwl 
Nor let thy heart lament to leave 

Pu'ing tho birks ou tlio braes of Y'aiTOW." 

"Why does sho woop, thy bonnio, bonnio 
brido ( 

Why does sho weep, thy winsome marrow? 
And why daur yo nao mair wool bo seen 

Pn'ingthe birks on tho braes of Y'arrowf" 

"Lang maun slio woop, lang m.tim she, maim 
sho weep — 

Ljmg maun she weep wi' dule and sorrow; 
And Imig maun I nae mair weel be soon 

Pu'ing tho birks on tho braes of Y'iO-ivw. 



"For she Inis tint hor lover, lover doar — 
llor lover dear, tho cause of sorrow; 

And 1 hao slain the oomoliost swain 
That o'er pn'd birks on the braes of Y'arrow. 

"Why runs thy stream, O Y'arrow, Yarrow, 
" rod.' 
Why ou thy braes heard tho voice of sor- 
row ? 
And why yon molauoholious weeds 
llung on tho bonnio birks of Yarrow ? 

"What's yonder tloats on tho rueful, rueful 
flood i 
What 's yonder tloats? — Oh, dulo imd sor- 
row ! 
'Tis he, tho comely swain I slow 
Upon tho dulotu' braes of Y'arrow. 

" Wasli, Oh wash his wonnds, his wounds in 
teai-s. 

His wounds in tears o' dule and sorrow ; 
And wrap his limbs in mourning woods. 

And lay him on the banks of Yarrow. 

" Then build, thou build, ye sisters, sisters s;id, 
Ye sisters sad, his tomb wi' sorrow ; 

And woop around, in waoful wise, 
His hapless fate on the braes of Yarrow ! 

" Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless sliield. 
The arm that wrought tlio deed of sorrow, 

Tho fatal spear that pierced his breast. 
His comely breast, on the braes of Y'arrow I 

" IMd 1 not warn thee not to, not to love. 
And warn from light? Hut, to my sorrow, 

Too rashly bold, a stronger arm thou mot'st. 
Thou mot'st, !wd fell on the braes of Y'ar- 
row. 

Sweet smells the birk ; green grows, gi-eon 
grows tho grass ; 

Y'ellow on Yarrow's braes tho gt>wim ; 
Fair hangs the apple frao tho rock ; 

Sweet the wave of Y'arrow tlowing! 

"Flows Y'arrow sweet? As sweet, as sweet 
flows Tweoil; 

As green its grass ; its gowan as yellow ; 
As sweet smells on its braes the birk ; 

The apple fivm its rooks as mellow ! 



RAKE WILLIE DROWNED IN YARROW. 



4M 



" Fair v>'ns tliy love 1 fair, fair iiidocd tliy lovo I 
la flowery bauds thou didst liiiii fetter; 

Though ho was fair, and well-boloved again, 
Than I ho never loved thoo better. 

"Busk ye, then, busk, uiy bonnio, bounie 
bride ! 
Busk ye, busk yo, my winsome marrow ! 
Busk ye, and lo'e mo on tlio banks of Tweed 
And thitdv iiao niair on the braoa of Yar- 
row." 

"How ean I busk a bonnio, bonnio brido? 

How ean I busk a winsome marrow ? 
How can I lo'e him on tho banks of Tweed, 

That slew my love on the braes of Yarrow ? 

" Oh Yarrow fields, nuiy never, never rain, 
Nor dew, thy tender blossoms cover I 

For there was basely slain my love, 
My love, as he had not been a lover. 

" The boy put on his robes, his robes of green, 
His purple vest — 'twas my ain sowing; 

All, wretched mol I little, little kenned 
He was, in these, to meet his ruin. 

"The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white 
steed. 

Unmindful of my dule and sorrow ; 
But cro tho too fa' of Ihe niglit, 

Ho lay a corpse on the banks of Yarrow ! 

" Much I rejoiced that waefu', waefu' day ; 

I sang, my voice the woods returning ; 
But lang ero night the spear was flown 

That slew my love, and left me mourning. 

" What can my barbarous, barbarous father do, 
But with his cruel rage pursue me? 

My lover's blood is on thy spear — 

How canst thou, barbarous num, then woo 
mo? 

"My happy sisters may bo, may be jiroud; 

With cruel and ungentle scofiing 
May bid mo seek, on Yarrow braes. 

My lover nailed in his cofiin. 

"My brother Douglas may upbraid. 
And strive, with threatening words, to 
move me ; 

My lover's blood is on thy spear — 
How canst thou over bid me love thee? 



"Yes, yes, prepare tho bed, tlio bed of love! 

With bridal-.sheots my body cover! 
Unbar, ye bridal-maids, tho door ! 

Let in tho expected husband-lover ! 

" But who tho exjiected husband, husband is? 

His hands, inethinks, aro batlied in slaugh- 
ter! 
All mo! wluit ghastly s])ectre's yon 

Comes in his pale sliroud, lileoding after? 

"Palo as ho is, here lay him, lay him down; 

Oh lay his cold head on my pillow ! 
Take ofl", take oft' these bridal weeds. 

And crown my careful head with willow. 

" Bale though thou art, yet best, yet best bo- 
lovcd. 

Oil could my warmth to life restore thee! 
Yet lie all night within my arms — 

No youth lay over there before thoo 1 

" Palo, palo indeed, lovely, lovely youth ! 

Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter. 
And lie all night within my arms. 

No youth shall ever lie tliero after! " 

" Return, return, O iiiniinil'iil, iiidui'iifiil 
bride ! 

Return, and dry tliy useless sorrow ! 
Thy lover heeds nought of thy sighs ; 

He lies a corpse on tho braes of Yarrow." 

William IIamiltun. 



I;ARE WILLY DROWNED IN YARROW, 

" Willy's rare, and Willy's fair. 
And Willy 's wondrous bonny; 

And Willy heght to marry me, 
(iin o'er he married oiiy. 

" Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid. 
Tills night I'll make it narrow ; 

For a' the livelang winter night 
I ly twined of my marrow. 

" Oh came you by yon water-side ? 

Pou'd you the rose or lily ? 
Or came you by yon meadow green? 

Or saw you my sweet Willy?" 



454 



rOEMS OF TRAGEDY AXP ^OKKOW. 



She sought him oast, she sought him west, 
Sho sought him hraiil and narrow ; 

Syno in the cleaving of a oraig. 

She found him drowned in Yarrow. 
Akonthous. 



SON^G. 



TiiT braes wore bonny. Yarrow stream ! 

AVlien tirst on tliem 1 mot my hivor; 
Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream 1 

AVhon now thy waves liis body cover. 

For ever now, O Yarrow stream I 
Tl\on art to mo a stream of sorrow ; 

For never on thy banks shall I 

liohoUl my love, the flower of Yarrow. 

lie promised me a milk-white steed, 

To bear me to his father's bowers; 
lie pivmised me a little page. 

To "squire me to his father's towers ; 
He jiromised me a wedding-ring — 

Tlie wedding-day was fixed to-morrow; 
Now ho is wedded to his grave, 

Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow ! 

Sweet were his words when last we met ; 

My passion I as freely told him ! 
Clasped in his arms, I little thought 

That I should never more behold him I 
Scaroo was he gone, I saw Lis ghost ; 

It vanished with a shriek of sorrow; 
Thrice did the water-wraith ascend, 

And gave a doleful groan thro' Y'arrow. 

His mother from the window looked, 

AVith all the longing of a mother; 
His little sister weeping walked 

The green- wood path to meet her brother. 
They sought him east, they sought him west, 

They sought him all the forest thorough ; 
They only s;»w the cloud of night. 

They only heard the roar of Yarrow I 

Xo longer from thy window look, 
Thou hast no son, thon tender mother I 

Xo longer walk, thou lovely maid ; 
Alas, thon hast no more a brother ! 



No longer seek him east or west. 

And search no more the forest thorough -, 

For, wandering in the night so dark, 
lie fell a lifeless corse in Yarrow. 

The tear shall never leave my cheek, 
Xo other youth shall be my marrow ; 

I'll seek thy body in the stream, 
And then with thee I '11 sloop in Yarrow. 
Jons LosAH. 



THE CRUEL SISTER. 

TnKKE were two sisters sat in a hour, 
Binnorif, Binnorie; 
There came a knight to bo their wooer ; 
By th« honny milldams of Binnorie. 

He courted tlie eldest with glove and ring, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
But ho lo'ed the youngest abune a' thing ; 
By the bonny mUldams oj' Binnorie. 

He com-ted the eldest with broach and knife. 

Binnorit, Binnorie ; 
But he lo'ed the youngest abune his life; 

By the honny milhhtms <if Binnorie. 

The oldest she was vexed sair, 

Binnorie, Binnorie; 
And sore envied lier sister fair; 

By the bonny milliJiims of Binnorie. 

The eldest said to the youngest ane, 

Binnorie, Binnorie — 
" Will ye go and see our father's ships come 
in?" 
By the bonny milldavts of Binnorie. 

She's ta'en her by the lily hand, 

Binnorie, Binnorie — 
And led her down to the river strand ; 

.By the bonny milhlams (if Binnorie. 

The youngest stnde upon a stane. 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
The eldest came and pnshed her in ; 

By the bonny miUdams of Binnorie 



THE CRUEL SISTER. 



4S5 



Slio tixik licr by tlic middle sma', 

JUmtorie, Binnorie ; 
And dasliod lier boiiiiy back to the jaw ; 
Vy the lo7iny milldama of liiiinorie. 

" O sister, sister, reach your hand, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And yo shall bo heir of half my land." — 
Jii/ the lionny milldaim of Binnorie. 

" O sister, I'll not reach my liand, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And I'll bo heir of all your land ; 

By the honny milldama of Binnorie. 

" Shame fa' tho hand that I should take, 

Binnorie, Binnorie : 
It's twined mo and my world's make." — 
By the honny milldama of Binnorie. 

"O sister, reaoli mo but your glove, 
Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And sweet William shall be your love." — 
By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

"Sink on, nor lioi)o for hand or glove! 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And sweet "William shall better bo my love, 
By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

"Your cherry cheeks and your yellow hair, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
Garred mo gang maiden overriiair." 

By the honny milldama of Binnorie. 

Sometimes she sunk, and sometimes sho swam, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
Until she cam to tho miller's dam ; 

J!y the honny milldwms of Binnorie. 

" O father, father, draw your dam ! 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
There's eitlier a mermaid, or a milk-white 

swan." 

By the honny milldama of Binnorie. 

Tlie miller hasted and drew his dam, 
Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And there he found a drowned woman ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 



You could not see her yellow hair, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
For gowd and jiearls that were so rare ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

You could not SCO her iniddlo hmiu', 

Binnorie, Binnorie; 
Her gowden girdle was sao bra' ; 

By the honny milldama of Binnorie. 

A famous harper pa.ssing by, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
The sweet pale face ho chanced to spy ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

And when ho looked that lady on, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
lie sighed and made a heavy moun ; 

By the honny milldama of Binrwrie. 

He made a harp of her breast-bone, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
Whose sounds would melt a heart of stone ; 
By the honny milldama of Binnorie. 

The strings he framed of her yellow hair, 

Binnorie, Binnorie — 
Whose notes made sad tho listening ear ; 
By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

lie brought it to her father's hall, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And there was tho court assembled all ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

He laid his harp upon a stone, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And straight it began to play alone ; 

By the honny milldama of Binnorie. 

"Oh yonder sits my father, tho king, 
Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And yonder sits my mother, tho queen ; " 
By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

"And yonder stands my brother Hugh, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And by him iny William, sweet and true." 
By the honny milldama of Binnorie. 

But tho last tune that tho harp played then, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
Was — " Woo to my sister, false Helen ! " 

By the honny milldama of Binnorie. 
Anonymous. 



45G 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



LORD RANDAL. 

" On wlicre hae ye been, Lord Ramliil, my 

sou? 
Oh where hae ye been, my handsome young 

man ? " 
"I hae been to the wild wood; mother, 

make my bed soon. 
For I 'm weary wi' hunting, and faui wald lie 

down." 

'■ Where gat ye your dinner. Lord Randal, 

my son ? 
What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome 

young man ? " 
" I dined wi' my true-love ; mother, make 

my bed soon. 
For I'm weary wi' hunting, and faiu wald lie 

down." 

'• What gat ye to your dinner, Lord Randal, 

my son ? 
What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome 

young man ? " 
" I gat eels boiled in broo ; mother, make my 

bed soon, 
For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie 

down." 

"What became of your bloodhounds, Lord 
Randiil, my son ? 

What became of j'our bloodhounds, my hand- 
some young man ? " 

" Oh they sweUed and they died ; mother, 
make my bed soon, 

For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie 
down." 

" Oh I feai- ye are poisoned, Lord Randal, my 

son 1 
Oh I fear ye .are poisoned, my handsome young 

man ! " 
" Oh yes ! I am poisoned ; mother, make my 

bed soon, 
For I 'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald he 

down." 

Asosmovs. 



EDWARD, EDWARD. 

" Qnnr dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid, 

Edward, Edward: 
Qidiy dois zour br.md sae drop wi' bluid. 

And quhy sae sad gang zee oh ? " 
" Oh I hae killed my hanke sae guid, 

Mither, niithor : 
Oh I hae killed my hau'k sae guid, 

And I had nae mair bot hee oh." 

" Zour h.aukis bluid was nevir sae reid, 

Edward, Edw.ard: 
Zour hankis bluid was nevir sae reid — 

My deir son, I tell thee oh.'' 
"Oh I hae killed my reid-ro.an stcid, 

Mither, mither : 
Oh I hae killed my reid-roan steid. 

That erst was sae fair and free oh." 

"Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair, 

Edw.ard, Edward: 
Zour steid was auld, and ze hae got mair — 

Sum other dule ze drie oh." 
" Oh I hiie killed my fiider deir, 

Mither, mither : 
Oh I hae killed my fader deir — 

Alas ! and wae is mee oh ! " 

" And quhatten penance wul ze drie for that, 

Edward, Edward ? 

And quhatten pensmcc wul ze drie for that ? 

My deir son, now tell me oh." 
" He set my feit in zonder boat, 

Mither, mither : 
Re set my feit in zonder boat, 

And lie faro ovir the sea oh." 

" And quliat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and 
zour ha', 

Edward, Edwai'd? 
And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and 
zour ha', 
That were sao fair to see oh ? " 
'•lie let thame stand til they doun iV, 

Mither, mither : 
lie let thame stand til they doun fa', 

For here nenr mair m?.un I bee oh." 



THE TWA BROTHERS. 



457 



" And qubat wul ze leive to zour bainia and 

zour wife, 

Edward, Edward? 

And qubat wul ze leive to zour bairns and 
zour wife, 

Quhan ze gang ovir the sea ob ? " 
" The warldis room — late tbem beg tbrow life, 

Mitber, mitber: 
Tbe warldis room — late them beg tbrow life. 
For thame nevir mair wul Iseo ob." 

"And qubat wul ze leive to zour ain mither 

deir, 

Edward, Edward? 

And qubat wul ze leive to zour ain mitber 
deir? 

My deir son, now tell me ob. " 
" The curse of hell frae me sail ze beir, 

Mitber, mither: 
The curse of hell frae me sail ze beir — 

Sic coanseils ze gave to me oh. " 

ANOIfTMOtrS. 



THE TWA BROTHERS. 

THEiiE were twa brothers at the scule. 

And when they got awa', — 
" It 's will ye play at tbe stane-cbucking, 

Or will ye play at the ba' ? 
Or will ye gae up to yon hill head, 

And there we '11 warsel a fa' ? " 

" I winna play at the stane-cbucking, 

Nor will I play at tbe ba' ; 
But I '11 gae up to yon bonnie green hill. 

And there we '11 warsel a fa' ? " 

They warsled up, they warsled down. 

Till John fell to tbe ground ; 
A dirk fell out of William's pouch. 

And gave John a deadly wound. 

" Oh lift me upon your back — 

Tak me to yon well fair; 
And wash my bluidy wounds o'er and o'er, 

And they '11 ne'er bleed nae mair." 

He 's lifted his brother upon his back, 

Ta'en him to yon well fair ; 
He 's washed bis bluidy wounds o'er and o'er. 

But they bleed ay mair and mair. 



" Tak ye aff my Holland sark, 

And rive it gair by gair. 
And row it in my bluidy wounds. 

And they '11 ne'er bleed nae mair." 

He 's taken aff his Holland sark. 

And torn it gair by gair ; 
Ho 's rowit it in bis bluidy wounds, 

But they bleed ay mair and mair. 

" Tak now aff my green cleiding. 

And row me saftly in ; 
And tak me up to yon kirk style, 

Wbare the grass grows fair and green." 

He 's taken aff the green cleiding. 

And rowed him saflly in ; 
He 's laid him down by yon kirk style, 

Wbare the grass grows fair and green. 

"What will ye say to your father dear. 

When ye gae hame at e'en ? " 
" I 'U say ye 're lying at yon kirk stylo, 
Whare the grass grows fair and green." 

" Oh no, oh no, my brother dear, 

Ob you must not say so ; 
But say that I am gane to a foreign land. 

Where nae man does me know." 

When he sat in his father's chair, 
He grew baith pale and wan : 

" Oil what blude 's that upon your brow ? 
O dear son, tell to me." 

" It is tbe blude o' my gude gray steed — 
He wadna ride wi' me." 

" Oil tliy steed's blude was ne'er sae red. 

Nor e'er sae dear to me. 
Ob what blude 's this upon your cheek? 

O dear son, tell to me." 
" It is tbe blude of my greyhound — 

He wadna bunt for me." 

" Ob thy bound's blude was ne'er sae red. 

Nor e'er sae dear to me. 
Oh what blude 's this upon your hand ? 

dear son, tell to me." 
" It is the blude of my g.iy goss hawk — 

He wadna flee for me." 



.J58 POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 


" Oh thy hawk's hhido was no'er sno red, 




Nor o'or s:>o dear to me. 


BONNIE GEORGE CAMPBELT,. 


Oh what hhido's this upon yoiii' dirk J 




Doar Willie, toll tome." 


IIiK upon Iliolands, 


" It is the bludo of my ae brother, 


And low upou Tay, 


Oh dale and wao is me ! " 


Bonnie George Campbell 




Bade o>it on a day. 


•■ Oh what will yo say to your father? 


Saddled and bridled 


Dear Willie, toll to me." 


And gallant rade he ; 


" 1 "11 saddle my steed, and awa' I '11 ride 


llanie cam his gude horse, 


To dwell in some far couutrie." 


But never cam ho ! 




" Oh when will ye come hame aiiain? 




Dear ■Willie, teU to me." 


Out cam his auld mitlier. 


" AVlien sun and muno leap on yon hill — 


Greeting t'li' sair ; 


And that will never he.'' 


And out cam his bounie bride, 


^1 J 11 ^1 • ^ ■ T 1 J 


Rivin' her hiiir. 


pho turned herser right round about, 




And her heart hurst into three: 


Saddled and bridled 




And booted rade he ; 


'' J[y ae best son is deid and gane, 






Toom hame came the saddle, 


And my tother ano I "11 ne'er see.'' 




Anonymous. 


But never cam ho I 


,., 






" My meadow lies green. 




And my corn is unshorn ; 


THE TWA CORBIES. 


My barn is to big, 




And my baby 's unborn." 


As I gaod doun by yon house-eu' 


Saddled and bridled 


Twa corbies there were sittau their lane : 


And booted rado he ; 


The tane unto the tother Siie, 


Toom hame cam the saddle, 


"Oh where shall wo gae dine to-day?" 


But never cam he ! 




AxoxvMOri 


"Oh down beside yon now-faun hirk 
There lies a now-slain knicht; 






\ao livin kens that ho lies there. 




But his horse, his hounds, and his lady fair. 


LAMRNT OF THE BORDER WIDOW. 


" Ilis hoKO is to the huntin gane. 


My love he built me a bonuy bower, 


llis hounds to bring the wild deer hame ; 


And clad it a' wi' lilye llour ; 


His lady's taeu .another mate; 


A brawer bower ye ne'er did see 


Sao we may make our dinner swate. 


Than my true love he built for me. 


" Oh we '11 sit on bis bouuio briest-haue, 




And we '11 pyke out his bonnie grey een ; 


There came a man, by middle day ; 


Wi ae look o' his gowden hair 


lie spied his sport, and wont away ; 


We '11 theek our nest when it blaws bare. 


And brought the king that very nighty 




■Who brake my bower, and slew my knight. 


" Mony a ano for him uiaks mane, 




But nane sail kou where be is g;me ; 


He slew my knight, to me sae dear ; 


Ower his banes, when they are hare, 


He slew my knight, and poiu'd his gesir; 


The wind sail blaw for cvenuair 1 " 


My servants all for life did flee. 


iXOXTMOrS. 


And left me in extromitie. 



SONG. 46U 


I sewed liis slieet, inakiiif? my imuie ; 


Oh that I were where Helen lies! 


1 wutclicil tlio corpHO, iiiywulf iiliiiie ; 


Night and day on mo sho cries ; 


I wiitchcil liis body, iiif,'lit imd diiy ; 


Out of my bed sho bids mo rise — 


No living cre.'ituru cumo tluit way. 


Says, " Haste and come to mo ! " 


1 tuk liig body on my l)ac]c, 


Helen fair I Helen chaste 1 


And wliilos I gaod, and whiles I sat ; 


If I were with thoo I wore blest. 


I dinged a gravo, and laid liini in, 


Whoro thou lies low, and takes thy rest, 


And happed him with the sod sao green. 


On fair Kirconnell lee. 


lint think na yo my heart was sair, 


I wish my grave wore growing green, 


When I laid the moul' on liis yellow hair? 


A winding-sheet drawn owcr my oen. 


Oh think na yo my heart was wac, 


And I in Helen's arms lying, 


Wlion I turned aliont, away to gao? 


On fair Kirconnell lee. 


Nao living man I '11 hJvo again, 


I wish I were whero Holon lies ! 


Since that my lovely knight is slam ; 


Night and day on nio sho cries ; 


yVV ao lock of his yellow hair 


And I am weary of tho skies. 


I '11 cliain my heart for evcrmair. 


For her sake that died for mo. 


Amonvmous. 


Ahonvmous. 


Q-AiR iielenT;;) 


SONG. 


I WISH I wore where Helen lies; 


" Maky, go and call tho cattlo home, 


Night and day on mo she cries. 


And call tho cattlo homo. 


Oil tlmt 1 wore where llelou lies, 


And call tho cattlo homo, 


On f:iir K i rcorniell loe I 


Across the simds o' Dee ! " 




Tho western wind was wild and dank wi' foam. 


Cnrst bo tlio heart that thonght the thought, 


And all alone went sho. 


And cnr.st the hand lliat lirod the sIkA 




When in my arms burd Helen dropt, ] 


The creeping lido caino up along the sand, 


And died to succour me I 


And o'er and o'er the sand. 




And round and round tho sand. 


Oil thiidc na yo my heart was sair, 


As far as eyo could seo ; 


When my love dropt down and spuk nao mair ? 


Tho blinding mist came down and hid Iboland: 


There did she swoon wi' meiklo care. 


And novor homo came sho. 


On fair Kirconnell lee. \ 




\ 


" Oh is it weed, or fish, or lloatii/g hair — 


As I went down the water side. 


A tress o' gold on hair. 


None Init my foe to be my guide — 


0' drowned maiden's hair — 


None but my foe to bo my guide, 


Above tho nets at sea ? 


On fair Kirconnell lee — 


Was never salmon yet that shone so fair, 




Among the stakes on I-)en." 


I lighted down my sword to draw; 




I hacked him in pieces sma' — 


They rowed her in across tho rolling Ibani — 


I liacked him in pieces sma', 


The cruel, crawling foam. 


For her sake that died for mo. 


Tho cruel, hungry foam — 




To licr grave beside tho sea ; 


Helen fair, beyond compare. 


But still tho boatmen bear her call tho cattle 


I '11 mako a garland of thy hair, 


homo 


Shall liind my heart for cvorniair. 


Across the sands o' Deo. 


Until the day I die! 


CllAKI.ES KlNOOLKY. 



4C0 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



SOnRAl? AND RUSTDM. 

AN EPISODE. 

And tlio ilrst gray of iiiorMiiifj; lillod tlio oast, 
Aiul tlio log rose out. of tlio Oxus stroiun ; 
Hut. nil llio Tiirtiir oiiinp iilons tlio stiv.'iiu 
AV.'is Inislioil, iiiul still tho inoii wero pluiigoil 

in sloop. 
Poliriil) iilouo, ho slopt not ; nil night along 
llo liiid lain wnkclul, tossing on his bod; 
Rut wlion tho gray dawn stolo into his tiVnt, 
llo roso, and clad hinisoU", and girt his sword, 
And took his horsoiiian's cloak, and loft his 

tout, 
And wont abroad into llio oold wot fog. 
Through tho dim camp to Poran-'Wisa's tont. 
Through tho black Tartar touts ho passed, 

which stood. 
Clustering liko boo-hivos, ou tlio low flat 

strand 
(If Oxus, whoro tho suiumor lloods o'orllow 
Wlion tho sun molts tho snows in high Pa- 

nioro : 
Through tho black tents ho jiassod, o'or that 

low strand. 
And to a hillock camo, a little back 
From tho stream's brink, the spot where lirst 

a boat. 
Crossing the stream in summer, scrapes tho 

land. 
The men of former times had crowned the 

top 
With a clay fort. Hut that was fallen; and 

now 
The Tartars built there Peran-Wisa's tent, 
A dome of laths ; and o'er it felts were 

spread. 
And Sohrab camo there, and went in, and 

stood 
Upon the thiek-jnlod carpets in tho tent. 
And found tho old man sleeping on his bed 
Of rugs and felts ; and near him lay his arms. 
And Peran-Wisa heard him, though the step 
Was dulled ; for ho slept light, an old man's 

sleep ; 
And he rose quickly on one arm, and said : 
" Who art then ? for it is not yet dear 

dawn. 
Spoak! is there news, or any night alarm? " 



But Sohrab camo to the bedside, and said ; 
"Thou know'st mo, Peran-Wisa; it is I. 
The smi is not yet risen, and the foe 
Sleep ; but I sleep not. All night long I lie 
Tossing and wakeful ; and I come to thee. 
For so did King Afrasiab bid rae seek 
Thy ecninsel, and to hood thee as thy son, 
In Samarcand, before tho army marched; 
.\iul 1 will IcU thee what my heart desires. 
Thou kuowest if, since from Ader-baijan lirst 
1 camo among tho Tartars, and boro arms, 
I have still served Afrasiab well, and shown, 
At my boy's years, the courage of a m.an. 
This, too, thon know'st, that while I still 

bear on 
The con(|uering Tartar ensigns through tho 

world, 
And beat tho Persians back on every field, 
I seek one man, one man, and one alone. 
Rustum, my father; who, I hoped, should 

greet. 
Should one d.ay greet upon some well-fonyht 

tield 
llis luit unworthy, not inglorious sou. 
So I long hoped, but hini I novor find. 
Come then, hear now, and grant me what I 

ask. 
T.et the two armies rest to-day ; but I 
Will challenge forth the bravest Persian lords 
To meet me, man to man. If I prevail, 
Knslum will surely lie.ar it; if I fall — 
Old man, tho dead need no one, claim no kin. 
J"»im is tho rumor of a common fight, 
Where host meets host, and many names are 

sunk ; 
Hut of a single combat fame speaks clear."' 
lie spoke : and Poran-Wisa took the hand 
Of the yoiing man in his, and sighed, and 

said : 
" O Sohrab, an iniquiet heart is thine ! 
Canst thou not rest among the Tartar chiefs. 
And share tho battle's connnon chance with 

us 
Who love thee, but mnst ju'css for ever first, 
In single fight inourring single risk, 
To find a father thou hast never seen? 
That \\ ere far best, my son, to stay with ns 
Unmurmuring — in our tents, while it is war; 
And when 'tis truce, then in Afrasi.ib's 

towns. 
But, if this one desire indeed rules all, 



SOIIKAIJ AND RUSTUM. 



411 1 



To sock out Rusluiii — sock liiiu ikjL I1ii'ihi(,'1i 

light; 
Sock liiiii in poaoo, and carry to liis arms — 
Sdlinib, carry uu uiiwonndcd son ! 
l!ul, far licnco sock liini ; for lio is not licrr. 
For now it is not as wlicii I wius yonnjf, 
Wlicn Kiistnm was in front of every IVay ; 
Hut now ho keeps apart, and sits at lionio, 
In Sicstan, witli Zal, his futlior old ; 
Wliotlior tliat liis own mighty strongtii at last 
Feds tlio abliorrod approadios of old ago ; 
Or in some quarrel with the I'ersian king. 
'I'hcro go; — Thou wilt not? yet my heart 

forebodes 
Danger or death awaits thee on this Meld. 
Fain would 1 know tlioo safe and well, though 

lost 
To us — fain thoreforo send thoo hence, in 

peace 
To seek thy father, not seek single figlits 
111 vain, lint who can keep the lion's eul 
From r.iveiiiiig? and who govern Rustum's 

son ? 
(io I 1 will grant thoo what thy heart dosiros." 
So said ho, and dropped SohraVs hand, and 

left 
Ills bed, and the warm rugs whereon ho lay; 
And o'er his chilly limbs his woollen coat 
He piis.sod, and tied his sandals on his feet. 
Anil tlirew a white cloak round him; and ho 

took 
In his right hand a ruler's staff, no sword ; 
And on his head ho placed his Hheep-skin 

caj) — 
lilack, glossy, curled, the (loeco of Xara-Kul ; 
And raised the curtain of his tent, and called 
His herald to his side, and wont abroad, 
'i'hi! sun, by this, had risen, and cleared tlie 

fog 
From the broad Oxiis and tho glittering 

sands; 
And from thoir tents tho Tartar horsemen filed 
Into tho open plain: so Hainan bade — 
Haman, who, nc.\t to Poran-Wisa, ruled 
The host, and still was in his lusty jtrimo. 
From their black tents, long files of horse, 

they streamed : 
As when, some grey November morn, llie 

files. 
In marching order spread, of long-necked 

cranes, 



Stream over Oasbin, and tho southern sIopcB 

Of Elburz, from tho Aralian estuaries, 

Or some froro Caspian rood-bed — sonlhward 

bound 
I''(ir tho warm I'orsian nea-board : so they 

streamed — 
Tliu Tartars of the 0.\us, the king's guard, 
First, with Idack sheop-Bkin cajis, and wiUi 

long spears ; 
Large men, largo steeds ; who from Hokhara 

como, 
And Khiva, and ferment the milk of mares. 
Next tho more tempcrato ToorUnmns of tho 

south, 
Tho Tukas, and tho lances of Salore, 
And those irom Attruck and the Caspian 

sands — 
Light men, and on light steeds, who only 

drink 
Tho acrid milk of (MUiiels, and their wells. 
And then a swarm of wandering horse, who 

came 
From far, and a more doubtful service 

owned — 
Tho Tartars of Ferghana, from the banks 
Of tho Juxartos — men with scanty beards 
And dose-sot skull-caps; and those wilder 

hordes 
Who roam o'er Kipcliak and the northern 

waste, 
Kalmuks and unkcmped KuzzaliS, tribes who 

stray 
Nearest tho polo; and wandering Kirghizes, 
Who come on shaggy ponies from I'ainore. 
TIhsc all liled out from camp into tho plaii'. 
And on tho other side the rersians formed : 
Kiist a light cloud of horso, Tartars they 

seemed, 
Tho llyats of Khorassan ; and behind, 
Tho royal troops of Persia, horse and foot, 
Marshalled battalions bright in biirni.shcil 

steel. 
ISut I'eran-AVisa with his herald canio 
Threading tho Tartar squadrons to tho froiil. 
And with his staff kept back tho foremoHt 

ranks. 
And when Forood, who leil the Persians, saw 
That I'eran-Wisa kept the Tartars back. 
He took bis spear, and to tho front he camo 
And checked his ranks, and fixed them where 

they stood. 



4t)2 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY A\D SORROW. 



And the old Tartar came upon the sand 
Betwixt the silent hosts, niid spake, and 

said : — 
"Ferood, and ye, Persians and Tartars, 

hear ! 
Let there be truce between the hosts to-dav. 
But choose a champion from the Persian lords 
To light our champion, Sohrab, m;m to man." 

As, in the country, on a morn in June, 
When the dew glistens on the peai-led ears, 
A shiver runs through the deep corn for joy — 
So, when they heard what Peran-Wisa said, 
A thrill through all thcTarlar squadrons ran. 
Of pride and hope for Sohrab, whom they 

loved. 
But as a troop of pedlars, from Cabool, 
Cross underneath the Indian Caucasus, 
That vast sky-neighboring mountain of milk 

snow. 
Winding so high, that, as they mount, they 

pass 
Long flocks of travelling birds dead on the 

snow. 
Choked bv the air; aiul scarce can they 

themselves 
Slake their parched throats with sugared 

mulberries — 
In single file they move, and stop their breath, 
For fear they should dislodge the o'erhanging 

snows — 
So the pale Persians held their breath with 

fear. 
And to Ferood his brother chiefs came up 
To counsel. Gudurz and Zoarrah came; 
And Feraburz. who ruled the Persian host 
Second, and was tlie uncle of the king ; 
These came and counselled ; and then Gudurz 

said : — 
"Ferood, shame bids us take their chal- 
lenge up, 
Yet champion have we none to match this 

youth ; 
lie has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart. 
But Knstum came last night ; aloof he sits;, 
And sullen, and has pitched his tents apart: 
Him will 1 seek, and carry to his ear 
The Tartar challenge, and this young man's 

name. 
Haply he will forget his wrath, and fight. 
Stand forth the while, and take their chal- 
lenge up." 



So Bpake he ; and Ferood stood forth and 

said : — 
" Old man, be it agreed as thon h.ist said. 
Let Sohrab arm, and we will find a man." 
He spoke ; &nd Peran-Wisa turned, and strode 
Back through the opening squadrons to his 

tent. 
But tlirough the anxious Persians Gudurz ran, 
And crossed the camp which lay behind, and 

reached, 
Out on the sands beyond it, Rustnm's tents. 
Of scarlet cloth they were, and glittering gay. 
Just pitched. The higli pavilion in the midst 
Was Rustum's ; and his men lay camped 

around. 
And Gudurz entered Eustura's tent, and found 
Kustum. His morning meal was done ; but 

still 
The table stood beside him, charged with 

food — 
A side of roasted sheep, and cakes of bread. 
And dark green melons. And there Kustum 

sate 
Listless, and held a falcon on his wrist. 
And played with it; but Gudurz came and 

stood 
Before him ; and he looked and saw him 

stand ; 
And with a cry sprang up, and dropped the 

bird. 
And greeted Gudurz with both hands, and 

said : — 
'* Welcome ! these eyes could see no better 

sight. 
What news ? But sit down first, and eat and 

drink." 
But Gudurz stood in the tent door, and 

siiid : — 
" Xot now. A time will come to eat and 

drink. 
But not to-day : to-day has other needs. 
The armies are drawn ont, and stand at gaze; 
For from the Tartars is a challenge brought 
To pick a champion from the Persian lords 
To fight their champion — and thon know'st 

his name — 
Sohrab men c.nll him, but his birth is hid. 
O Rustum, like thy might is this young 

man's I 
He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart. 
And he is vorais, and Iran's chiefs are old. 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM. 



463 



Or else too weak ; and all eyes turn to thee. 
Come down and help us, Kustum, or -wo lose." 
lie spoke. But Paistum answered with a 

smile : — 
" Go to ! if Iran's chiefs are old, then I 
Am older. If the young are weak, the king 
Errs strangely ; for the king, for Kai Khos- 

roo, 
Ilimself is young, and honors younger men, 
And lets the aged moulder to their graves. 
Rustum he loves no more, hut loves the 

young— 
The young may rise at Sohrah's vaunts, not I. 
For what care I, though all speak Sohrah's 

fame? 
For would that I myself had such a son, 
And not that one slight helpless girl I have — 
A son so famed, so hrave, to send to war, 
And I to tarry witli the snow-haired Zal, 
My father, whom the robher Afghans vex, 
And clip his hordors short, and drive his 

herds; 
And he has none to guard his weak old ago. 
There would I go, and hang my armor up. 
And with my great name fence that weak old 

man, 
And spend tlio goodly treasures I have got, 
And rest my age, and hear of Sohrah's fame. 
And leave to death the hosts of thankless 

kings. 
And with these slaughterous hands draw 

sword no more." 
He spoke, and smiled; and Gudurz made 

reply :— 
"What then, O Eustum, will men say to 

this. 
When Sohrab dares our bravest forth, and 

seeks 
Thee most of all ; and thou, whom most he 

seeks, 
nidest thy face ? Take heed, lest men should 

say, 
LiJce some old miser Eustum hoards Ms fame, 
And shuns to peril it with younger men." 
And, greatly moved, then Rustum made 

reply: — 
"O Gudurz, wherefore dost thou say such 

words ? 
Thou knowest better words than this to say. 
What is one more, one less, obscure or famed. 
Valiant or craven, young or old, to me? 



Are not they mortal ? Am not I myself? 
But who for men of nought would do great 

deeds? 
Come, thou shalt see how Eustum liuards lii^ 

fame. 
But I will fight unknown, and in ]ihiin arms; 
Let not men say of Rustum, he was matched 
In single fight with any mortal man." 

He spoke, and frowned ; and Gudurz turned, 

and ran 
Back quickly through the camp in loar and 

joy- 
Fear at Ids wrath, but joy that Eustum came. 
But Eustum strode to his tent duor, and 

called 
nis followers in, and hade them bring liis 

arras, 
And clad himself in steel. The arms lie 

chose 
Were plain, and on his shield was no device; 
Only his helm was rich, iidaid witli gold; 
And from the fluted spine, atop, a plume 
Of horse-hair waved, a scarlet horse-hair 

plume. 
So armed, ho issued forth; and Rnksli, Iiis 

horse. 
Followed him, like a faithful liound, at 

heel — 
Ruksh, whose renown was noised through 

all the earth — 
The horse, whom Eustum on a foray once 
Did in Bokhara by the river find, 
A colt beneath its dam, and drove liirii lidiiic, 
And reared him; a bright bay, with Icjfty 

crest, 
Dight with a saddle-cloth of broidered green 
Crusted with gold ; and on the ground were 

worked 
All boasts of chase, all beasts wliieli hunters 

know. 
So folU)wed, E\istum left his tents, and crossed 
Tlie camp, and to the Persian host appeared. 
And all the Persian3 knew him, and witli 

shouts 
Hailed: but the Tartars knew not who lie 

was. 
And dear as the wet diver to the eyes 
Of his pale wife, who waits and weeps on 

shore. 
By sandy Bahrein, in the Persian Gulf — 
Plunging all d.ay in the blue waves, at night. 



464 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY .VXD SOKRO'R". 



Ilaving made up liis tale of precious pearls, 
Rejoius lier in their hut upon the sands — 
So dear to the pale Persians Rustum came. 

And Rustum to the Persian front advanced: 
And Sohrab armed in Haman's tent, and 

came. 
And as a-field the reapers cut a swathe 
Down through the middle of a rich man's 

corn. 
And on each side are squares of standing 

corn. 
And in the midst a stubble, short and bare : 
So on each side were squares of men, -with 

spears 
Bristling; and in the midst, the open sand. 
And Rustum came upon the sand, and cast 
His eyes towards the Tartar tents, and saw 
Sohrab come forth, and eyed him as he 

came. 
As some rich woman, on a winter's morn. 
Eyes through her silken curtains the poor 

drudge 
Who with numb-blackened fingers makes her 

fire — • 
At cock-crow, on a starlit winter's morn, 
When the frost flowers the whitened window 

panes — 
And wonders how she lives, and what the 

thoughts 
Of that poor drudge may be : so Rustum 

eyed 
The unknown adventurous youth, who from 

afar 
Came seeking Rustum, and defying forth 
All the most valiant chiefs. Long he perused 
His spirited air, and wondered who he was. 
For very young he seemed, tenderly reared; 
Like some young cypress, tall, and dark, and 

straight. 
Which in a queen's secluded garden throws 
Its slight dark shadow on the moonlit turf. 
By midnight, to a bubbling fountain's sound — 
So slender Sohrab seemed, so softly reared. 
And a deep pity entered Rnstum's soul 
As he beheld him coming ; and he stood. 
And beckoned to him with his hand, and 

said: 
" Oh, thou young man, the air of heaven 
is soft, 
And warm, and pleasant; but the grave is 

cold. 



Heaven's air is better than the cold dead 

grave. 
Behold me : I am vast, and clad in iron. 
And tried ; and I have stood on many a field 
Of blood, and I have fought with many a 

foe; 
Never was that field lost, or that foe saved. 
O Solirab, wherefore wilt thou rush on death? 
Be governed : quit the Tartar host, and come 
To Iran, and be as my son to me, 
And fight beneath my banner tiU I die. 
There are no youths in Iran brave as thou." 
So he spake, mildly. Sohrab heard his 

voice, 
The mighty voice of Rustum ; and he saw 
His giant figure planted on the sand — 
Sole, like some single tower, which a chief 
Has builded on the waste in former years 
Against the robbers ; and he saw that head. 
Streaked with its first gray hairs. Hope filled 

his soul ; 
And he ran forward and embraced his knees. 
And clasped his band within his own and 

said : — 
" Oh, by thy father's head! by thine own 

soul! 
Art thou not Rustum ? Speak ! art thou not 

he?" 
But Rustum eyed askance the kneeling 

youth. 
And turned away, and spoke to his own soul ; 
" Ah me, I muse what this young fox may 

mean. ' 
False, wily, boastful, are these Tartar boya. 
For if I now confess this thing he asks, 
And hide it not, but say — Hiistum m here — 
He will not yield indeed, nor quit our foes. 
But he wUl find some pretest not to fight. 
And praise my fame, and proffer courteous 

gifts— 
A belt or sword perhaps — and go his way. 
And on a feast day, in Afrasiab's hall, 
In Samarcand, he will arise and cry — 
' I challenged once, when the two armies 

camped 
Beside the Oxus, all the Persian lords 
To cope with me in single fight ; but they 
Shrank ; only Rustum dared. Then he and I 
Changed gifts, and went on equal terms 

away.' 
So will he speak, perhaps, while men applaud . 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM. 



465 



Then were the chiefs of Iran shamed through 

me." 
And then he turned, and sternly spake 

aloud : 
" Rise ! "Wherefore dost thou vainly ques- 
tion thus 
Of Rustum ? I am here, Tvhom thou hast 

called 
By challenge forth. Make good thy vaunt, 

or yield. 
Is it ■n-ith Rustum only thou wouldst fight? 
Rash hoy, men look on Rustum's face and flee. 
For well I know, that did great Rustsm 

stand 
Before thy face this day, and were revealed. 
There would be then no talk of fighting 

more. 
But being what I am, I tell thee this — 
Do thou record it in thine inmost soul — ■ 
Either thou shalt renounce thy vaunt, and 

yield ; 
Or else thy bones shall strew this sand, till 

winds 
Bleach them, or Oxus with his summer floods, 
Oxus in summer, wash them all away." 
lie spoke ; and Sohrab answered, on his 

feet: 
" Art thou so fierce ? Thou wilt not fright 

me so. 
I am no girl, to be made pale by words. 
Yet this thou hast said well : did Rustum 

stand 
Here on this field, there were no fighting 

then. 
But Rustum is far hence, and we stand here. 
Begin! Thou art more vast, more dread, 

than I; 
And thou art proved, I know, and I am 

young— 
But yet success sways with the breath of 

heaven. 
And though thou thinkest that thou knowest 

sure 
Thy victory, yet thou canst not surely know. 
For we are all, like swimmers in the sea. 
Poised on the top of a huge wave of Fate, 
"Which hangs uncertain to which side to 

faU; 
And whether it will heave us up to land. 
Or whether it will roU us out to sea — 
Back out to sea, to the deep waves of death — 
31 



We know not, and no search will make us 

know ; 
Only the event will teach us in its hour." 
He spake ; and Rustum answered not, but 

hurled 
His spear. Down from the shoulder, down 

it came — 
As on some partridge in the com, a hawk. 
That long has towered in the airy clouds. 
Drops like a plummet. Sohrab saw it come, 
And sprang aside, quick as a flash. The spear 
Hissed, and went quivering down into tho 

sand. 
Which it sent flying wide. Then Sohrab 

threw 
In turn, and full struck Rustum's shield. 

Sharp rang. 
The iron plates rang sharp, but turned the 

spear. 
And Rustum seized his club, which none but 

he 
Could wield — an unlapped trunk it was, and 

huge. 
Still rough ; like those which men, in tree- 
less plains. 
To build them boats, fish from the fiooded 

rivers, 
Hyphasis or Hydaspes, when, high up 
By their dark springs, the wind in winter- 
time 
Has made in Himalayan forests wrack, 
And strewn the channels with torn boughs — 

so huge 
The club which Rustum lifted now, and 

struck 
One stroke ; but again Sohrab sprang aside. 
Lithe as the glancing snake, and the club 

came 
Thundering to earth, and leapt from Rus- 
tum's hand. 
And Rustum followed his own blow, and fell 
To his knees, and with his fingers clutched 

the sand. 
And now might Sohrab have unsheathed his 

sword. 
And pierced the mighty Rustum while he 

lay 
Dizzy, and on his knees, and choked with 

sand; 
But he looked on, and smiled, nor bared his 

sword ; 



466 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORKOW. 



But courteously drew back, and spoke, and 

said : 
" Thou strik 'st too liard ; that club of thine 

will float 
Upon the summer floods, and not my bones. 
But rise, and bo not wroth ; not wroth am I. 
No, when I see thee, wrath forsakes my 

soul. 
Thou sayest thou art not Eustum ; be it so. 
Who art thou then, that canst so touch my 

soul ? 
Boy as I am, I have seen battles too ; 
Have waded foremost in their bloody waves. 
And heard their hollow i-oar of dying men ; 
But never was my heart thus touched before. 
Are they from heaven, these softenings of 

the heart? 
O thou old warrior, let us yield to heaven ! 
Come, plant we here in earth our angry 

spears. 
And make a truce, and sit upon this sand, 
And pledge each other in red wine, like 

friends ; 
And thou shalt talk to me of Eustum's deeds. 
There are enough foes in the Persian host 
"Whom I may meet, and strike, and feel no 

pang; 
Champions enough Afrasiab has, whom thou 
May'st fight : fight them, when they confront 

thy spear. 
But oh, let there be peace 'twixt thee and 

mel" 
He ceased. But while he spake, Eustum 

had risen. 
And stood erect, trembling with rage. His 

club 
He left to lie, but had regained his spear. 
Whose fiery point now in his mailed right 

hand 
Blazed bright and baleful — like that autumn 

star. 
The baleful sign of fevers. Dust had soiled 
His stately crest, and dimmed his glittering 

arms. 
His breast heaved ; his lips foamed ; and 

twice his voice 
Was choked with rage. At last these words 

broke way : — 
" Girl 1 nimble with thy feet, not with thy 

hands ! 
Curled minion, dancer, coiner of sweet words! 



Fight ! let me hear thy hateful voice no 

more ! 
Thou art not in Afrasiab's gardens now 
With Tartar girls, with whom thou art wont 

to dance ; 
But on the Osus sands, and in the dance 
Of battle, and with me, who make no play 
Of war. I fight it out, and hand to hand. 
Speak not to me of truce, and pledge, and 

wine ! 
Eemember all tliy valor ; try thy feints 
And cunning ; all the pity I had is gone ; 
Because thou hast shamed me before both the 

hosts. 
With thy light skipping tricks, and thy girl's 

wiles." 
He spoke ; and Sohrab kindled at his 

taunts. 
And he too drew his sword. At once they 

rushed 
Together ; as two eagles on one prey 
Come rushing down together from the clouds, 
One from the east, one from the west. Their 

shields 
Dashed with a clang together ; and a din 
Hose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters 
Make often in the forest's heart at morn. 
Of hewing axes, crashing trees ; such blows 
Eustum and Sohrab on each other hailed. 
And yon would say that sun and stars took 

part 
In that unnatural conflict ; for a cloud 
Grew suddenly in Heaven, and darkened the 

sun 
Over the fighters' heads ; and a wind rose 
Under their feet, and moaning swept the 

plain. 
And in a sandy whirlwind wrapped the pair. 
In gloom they twain were wrapped, and they 

alone ; 
For both the on-looking hosts on either hand 
Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure. 
And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream. 
But in the gloom they fought, witli bloodshot 

eyes 
And laboring breath. First Eustum struck 

the shield 
Which Sohrab held stiff out. The steel-spiked 

spear 
Eent the tough plates, but failed to reach the 

skin: 



SOHRAB AND KUSTUM. 



4C7 



And Rustum plucked it back with angry 

groan. 
Tlien Solirab witli lii3 sword smote Rustum's 

helm, 
Nor clove its steel quite through ; but all the 

crest 
He shore away; and that proud horsehair 

plume, 
Never till now defiled, sunk to the dust ; 
And Rustum bowed his head. But then the 

gloom 
Grew blacker ; thunder rumbled in the air, 
And liglitnings rent the cloud ; and Ruksh, 

the horse. 
Who stood at hand, uttered a di-eadful cry. 
No horse's cry was that, most like the roar 
Of some pained desert lion, who all day 
Has trailed the hunter's javelin in his side. 
And comes at night to die upon the sand. 
The two hosts heard the cry, and quaked for 

fear ; 
And Oxus curdled as it crossed his stream. 
But Sohrab hoard, aud quailed not — but 

rushed on. 
And struck again; and again Rustum bowed 
His head. But this time all the blade, like 

glass. 
Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm, 
xVnJ in his hand the hilt remained alone. 
Then Rustum raised his head; his dreadful 

eyes 
Glared, and ho shook on liigh his menacing 

spear. 
And shouted " Rustum ! " Sohrab heard that 

shout. 
And shrank amazed ; back he recoiled one 

step, 
And scanned with blinking eyes the advanc- 
ing form ; 
And then he stood bewildered ; and he 

dropped 
His covering shield, and the spear pierced his 

side. 
He reeled, and staggering back, sunk to the 

ground. 
And then the gloom dispersed, and the wind 

fell, 
And the bright sun broke forth, and melted 

all 
The cloud; and the two armies saw the 

pair — 



Saw Rustum standing, safe upon his feet, 
And Sohrab wounded, on the bloody sand. 
Then with a bitter smile, Rustum began : — 
"Sohrab, thou thoughtest in thy mind to 

kill 
A Persian lord this day, and strip his corpse. 
And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab's tent ; 
Or else that the great Rustum would come 

down 
Himself to fight, and that thy wiles would 

move 
His heart to take a gift, and let thee go. 
And then all the Tartar host would praise 
Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy 

fame. 
To glad thy father in his weak old age. 
Fool ! tliou art slain, and by an unknown 

man ! 
Dearer to the red jackals shalt thou be, 
Than to thy friends, and to thy father old." 
And with a fearless mien Sohrab rei>lied : — 
" Unknown thou art ; yet thy fierce vaunt 

is vain. 
Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful 

man! 
No ! Rustum slays me, and this filial heart. 
For were I matched with ten such men as 

tliou. 
And I were he who till to-day I was. 
They should be lying here, I standing there. 
But tliat beloved name unnerved my arm — 
Tliat name, and something, I confes.s, in thee, 
Which troubles all my heart, and made my 

shield 
Fall; and thy spear transfixed an imarmed 

foe. 
And now thou boastest, and insult'st my fate. 
But hear thou this, fierce man — ti-emble to 

hear! 
The mighty Rustum shall avenge my death ! 
My father, whom I seek through all tlie 

world. 
He shall avenge my death, and punish theel " 
As when some hunter in tlie spring hatli 

found 
A breeding eagle sitting on her nest, 
Upon the craggy isle of a hill lake. 
And pierced her with an arrow as she rose. 
And followed her to find her where she fell 
Far ofl"; — anon her mate comes winging back 
From hunting, and a great way off descries 



408 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SOKROW. 



His huddling young left sole ; at that, he 

checks 
Ilis pinion, and with short uneasy sweeps 
Circles above his eyry, with loud screams 
Chiding his mate back to her nest ; but slie 
Lies dying, with the arrow in her side, 
In some far stony gorge out of his ken — 
A heap of fluttering feathers. Never more 
Shall the lake glass her, flying over it; 
Never the black and dripping precipices 
Echo her stormy scream, as she sails by. 
As that poor bird flies home, nor knows his 

loss — 
So Rustum knew not his own loss ; but stood 
Over his dying sou, and knew him not. 
But with a cold, incredulous voice, he 

said : 
" What prate is this of fathers and revenge ? 
The mighty Rustiun never had a son." 

And, with a failing voice, Sohrab replied : 
■■ Ah yes, be had ! and that lost sou am I. 
Surely the news will one day reach his ear — 
Roach Rustum, where he sits, and tarries 

long, 
Somewhere, I know not where, but far from 

here ; 
Ami jiicrce him like a stab, and make him 

leap 
To arms, and cry for vengeance upon thee — 
Fierce man, bethink thee — for an only son ! 
■VN'hat will that grief, what will that venge.ince 

be! 
Oh, could I live tiU Ithat grief had seen ! 
Yet him I pity not so much, but her, 
ify nuither, who in Ader-baijan dwells 
With that old king, her father, who grows 

gray 
"With age, and rules over tlio valiant Koords. 
Her most I pity, who no more will see 
Sohrab returning from tlio Tartar camp, 
With spoils and honor, wlien the war is done. 
Bnt a dark rumor will be bruited up, 
From tribe to tribe, until it reach her ear ; 
And then will that defenceless woman learn 
That Sohrab will rejoice her sight no more ; 
But that in battle with a nameless foe. 
By the far-distant Oxus, he is slain." 

He spoke ; and as he ceased he wept aloud, 
Thinking of her he left, and his own death. 
He spoke; but Rustum listened, plunged in 

thought. 



Nor did he yet believe it was his son 

Who spoke, although he called back n.imes 

he knew ; 
For he had had sure tidings that the babe, 
Which was in Ader-baijan born to him. 
Had been a. puuy girl, no boy at all : 
So that sad mother sent him word, for fear 
Rustum should take the boy, to train in 

arms ; 
And so he deemed that either Sohrab took, 
By a false boast, the style of Rustum's sou ; 
Or that men gave it him, to swell his fame. 
So deemed he ; yet ho listened, plunged in 

thought ; 
And his soul set to grief, as the vast tide 
Of the bright rocking ocean sets to shore 
At the full moon. Tears gathered in his 

eyes ; 
For he remembered his own eai'ly youth, 
And all its bounding rapture. As, at dawn, 
The shepherd from his mountain lodge des- 
cries 
A far bright city, smitten by the sun, 
Through many rolling clouds — so Rustum saw 
His youth; saw Sohrab's mother, in her 

bloom ; 
And that old king, her father, who loved well 
His wandering guest, and gave him his fair 

child 
With joy ; and all the pleasant life they led. 
They three, in that long-distant summer- 
time — 
The castle, aud the dewy woods, and hunt 
And hound, and morn on those delightful 

hills 
In Ader-baijan. And he saw that youth. 
Of age and looks to be his own dear son. 
Piteous and lovely, lying on the s.and. 
Like some rich hyacinth, which by the 

scythe 
Of an uKskihul gardener has been cut, 
Mowing the garden grass-plots near its bed, 
Aud lies, a fragrant tower of purple bloom, 
On the mown, dying grass: so Sohrab lay, 
Lovely in death, upon the common sand. 
And Rustum gazed on him with grief, and 
said: 
" O Sohr.ab, thou indeed art such a son 
Wliom Rustum, wert thou liis, might well 

have loved ! 
Yet here thou errest, Sohrab, or else men 



SOURAB AND RUSTUM. 



40!) 



Ilavo told thee false — tlioii art not Rustiim'a 

son. 
For Iviistuiu liad no son. One child ho had — 
15iit one — a girl; who with her mother now 
I'lics some light female task, nor dreams of 

US ; 
Of lis she dreams not, nor of wonndM, nor 

war." 
But Sohrab answered him in wrath ; for 

now 
The anguisli of the deep-fixed spear grew 

fierce, 
And he desired to draw fcn-th the steel, 
And let the blood flow free, and so to die. 
l)Ut first ho would convince his stubborn foe ; 
And, rising sternly on one arm, ho said : 
"Man, who art thou, who dost deny my 

words ? 
Truth sits upon the lips of dying men ; 
And falsehood, while I lived, was far from 

mine. 

I toll thee, pricked upon this arm I bear 
Tliat seal which Rustum to my mother gave, 
Tliat she might prick it on the babe she bore." 

Ilo spoke : and all the blood left Rustum's 
cheeks ; 
And his knees tottered ; and he .smote his 

hand 
Against his breast, his heavy mailed hand, 
Tliat the hard iron corslet clanked aloud ; 
And to his heart ho pressed the other hand, 
And in a hollow voice he spake, and said : 
"Solirab, that were a proof which could 
not lie. 
If thou .show this, then art thou Uustuni's 
son." 
Then, with weak, hasty fingers, Sohrab 
loosed 

I I is belt, and near the shoulder bared his arm. 
And sliowod a sign in faint vermilion points 
Pricked. As a cunning workman, in Pekin, 
Pricks with vermilion some clear porcelain 

vase. 
An emperor's gift; at early morn he paints, 
And all day long; and, when night comes, 

the lamp 
Lights up his studious forehead and thin 

hands : 
So delicately pricked the sign appeared 
On Sohrab's arm — the sign of Rustum's seal. 
It was that griflSn, wliich of old reared Zal, 



Rustum's great father, whom tliey left to 

die, 
A helpless babe, among the mountain rocks. 
Ilim that kind creature foiin<l, and reared, 

and loved ; 
Then Rustum took it for his glorious sign. 
And Sohrab bared that figure on his arm, 
And himself scanned it long with mourn ful 

eyes, 
And then ho touched it with his baud and 

said: 
"IIow saycst thou? Is that sign the 

proper sign 
Of Rustum's son, or of some other man's? " 
lie spoke : but Rustum gazed, and gazed, 

and stood 
Speechless; and then ho uttered one sharp 

cry— 
"O, boy — Thy father ! " — and his voice chok- 
ed there. 
And tlien a dark cloud jiassod before his eyes. 
And his head swam, and he sank down to 

earth. 
But Sohrab crawled to where ho lay, and 

cast 
His arms about his neck, and kissed his li]>s, 
And with fond, faltering fingers stroked his 

cheeks. 
Trying to call him back to life. And life 
Came back to Rustum, and ho oped his eyes, 
And they stood wide with lim-ror; and he 

seized 
In liolh his liands the dust which lay around, 
And throw it on his head, and smirched his 

hair — 
His hair, and face, and beard, and glittering 

arms ; 
And strong, convulsive groanings sliook his 

breast, 
And his sobs choked him ; and he clutched 

liis sword 
To draw it, and for ever let life out. 
But Sohrab saw his thought, and held liis 

hands ; 
And with a soothing voice ho sjioke, and 

said : 
" Father, forbear ! for I but meet to-day 
Tlie doom that at my birth was written down 
In heaven, and thou art heaven's uncon- 
scious hand. 
Surely my heart cried out that it was thou, 



470 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SOKROW. 



When first I saw thee ; and thy heart spoke 

too, 
I know it. But fate trod those promptings 

down 
Under its iron heel ; fate, fate engaged 
The strife, and hurled me on my father's 

spear. 
But let us speak no more of this — I find 
My father ; let mo feel that I have found. 
Come, sit beside me on this sand, and take 
My head betwixt tliy hands, and kiss my 

cheeks. 
And wash them with thy tears, and say, 

' My son ! ' 
Quick! quick 1 for numbered are my sands 

of life, 
And swift ; for like the lightning to this field 
I came, and like the wind I go away — ■ 
Sudden, and swift, and like a passing wind. 
But it was writ in heaven that this should 

be." 
So said he: and his voice released the 

heart 
Of Eustum, and his tears broke forth; he 

cast 
Eis arms round his son's neck, and wept 

aloud, 
And kissed him. And awe fell on both the 

hosts 
When they saw Eustum's grief; and Euksh, 

the horse. 
With his head bowing to the ground, and 

mane 
Sweeping the dust, came near, and in mute 

woe. 
First to the one then to the other moved 
His head, as if enquiring what their grief 
Might mean; and from his dark, compas- 
sionate eyes. 
The big, warm tears rolled down, and caked 

the sand. 
But Eustum chid him with stern voice, and 

said: 
" Euksh, now thou grievest ; but, O Euksh, 

thy feet 
Should then have rotted on thy nimble joints. 
When first they bore thy master to this field." 
But Sohrab looked upon the horse and 

said ; 
" Is this then Euksh ? How often, in past 

days, 



My mother told me of thee, thou brave 

steed — 
My terrible fother's terrible horse ! and said 
That I should one day find thy lord and 

thee. 
Come, let me lay my hand upon thy mane. 
O Euksh, thou art more fortunate than I ; 
For tliou hast gone where I shall never go. 
And snufled the breezes of my father's home. 
And thou hast trod the sands of Scistan, 
And seen the river of Helmund, and the 

lake 
Of Zirrah ; and the aged Zal himseU" 
Has often stroked thy neck, and given thee 

food — 
Corn in a golden platter soaked with wine — 
And said — ' O, Euksh ! bear Eustum well ! ' 

But I 
Have never known my grandsire's furrowed 

face, 
Nor seen his lofty house in Selstan, 
Nor slaked my thirst at the clear Helmund 

stream ; 
But lodged among my father's foes, and 

seen 
Afrasiab's cities only, Samarcand, 
Bokhara, and lone Khiva in the waste. 
And the black Toorkmun tents; and only 

drunk 
The desert rivers, Moorghab and Tejend, 
Kohik, and where the Kalmuks feed thcii 

sheep. 
The northern Sir; and this great Oxu? 

stream — 
The yellow Oxus, by whose brink I die." 

And, with a heavy groan, Eustum replied : 
" Oh that its waves were flowing over me ! 
Oh that I saw its grains of yellow silt 
Eoll tumbling in the current o'er my head ! " 
And, with a grave, mild voice, Sohrab re- 
plied : 
" Desire not that, my fivther ! Thou must 

live ; 
For some are born to do great deeds, and live; 
As some are born to be obscured, and die. 
Do thou tb.e deeds I die too young to do, 
And reap a second glory in thine age ; 
Thou art my fivther, and thy gain is mine. 
But come ! thou seest this great host of men 
Which follow me; I pray thee, sl.iy not 

these ! 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM. 



471 



Let me eutrcat for them — what have they 

(lone? 
They followed ine, my hope, my fame, my 

star. 
Let them all cross the Oxias back in peace. 
But me thou must bear hence, not send with 

them, 
But carry me with thee to Seistan, 
And place mo on a bed, and mourn for me — 
Thou, and the snow-haired Zal, and all thy 

friends. 
And thou must lay me in that lovely eartli, 
And heap a stately mound above my bones, 
And plant a far-seen pillar over all ; 
That so the passing horseman on the waste 
May see my tomb a great way oif, and say : 
Sohrab, the migMij liustum^s son, lies there, 
Wliom Ilia great father did in ignorance hill — 
And I be not forgotten in my grave." 

And, with a mournful voice, Eustum re- 
plied : 
" Fear not ! as thou hast said, Sohrab, my 

son. 
So shall it bo ; for I will burn my tents, 
And quit the host, and bear thee hence with 

me. 
And carry thee away to Selstan, 
And place thee on a bed, and mourn for thee, 
With the snow-headed Zal, and all my 

friends. 
And I will lay thee in that lovely earth. 
And heap a stately mound above thy bones. 
And plant a far-seen pillar over all ; 
And men shall not forget thee in thy grave ; 
And I will spare thy host — ^yea, let them 

go- 
Let them all cross the Oxns back in peace. 
"What should I do with slaying any more ? 
For would that all whom I have ever slain 
Might bo once more alive — my bitterest foes, 
And they who were called champions in their 

time. 
And through whose death I won that fame I 

have — 
And I were nothing but a common man, 
A poor, mean soldier, and without renown ; 
So thou mightest live too, my son, my son ! 
Or rather, would that I, even I myself. 
Might now bo lying on this bloody sand, 
Kear death, and by an ignorant stroke of 

thine. 



Not thou of mine ; and I might die, not thou ; 

And I, not thou, be borne to Seist.an ; 

And Zal might weep above my grave, not 

thine ; 
And say — son, I weep thee not too sore, 
For willingly, I Tcnow, thou meCst thine 

end! — 
But now in blood and battles was my youth, 
And full of blood and battles is my age ; 
And I shall never end this life of blood." 
Then at the point of death, Sohrab re- 

l)lied: — 
"A life of blood indeed, thou dreadful man I 
But thou shalt yet have peace ; only not now. 
Not yet. But thou shalt have it on that day 
^Yhen thou shalt sail in a high-masted ship. 
Thou and the other peers of Kai-Khosroo, 
Returning home over the salt, blue sea. 
From laying thy dear master in his grave." 
And Rustum gazed on Sohrab's face, and 

said : — 
" Soon bo that day, my son, and deep that sea ! 
Till then, if fate so wills, let me endure." 
IIo spoke: and Sohrab smiled on him, and 

took 
The spear, and drew it from his side, and 

eased 
His wound's imperious anguish. But the 

blood 
Came welling from the open gash, and life 
Flowed with the stream ; all down his cold 

white side 
The crimson torrent ran, dim now, and 

soiled — 
Like the soiled tissue of white violets 
Left, freshly gathered, on their native bank 
By romping children, whom their nurses call 
From the hot fields at noon. His head 

drooped low ; 
His limbs grew slack ; motionless, white, he 

lay- 
White, with eyes closed ; only when heavy 

gasps. 
Deep, heavy gasps, quivering through all his 

frame. 
Convulsed him back to life, he opened them. 
And fixed them feebly on his father's face. 
Till now all strength was ebbed, and from his 

limbs 
Unwillingly the spirit fled away. 
Regretting the warm mansion which it left. 



472 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



And youth and bloom, and this delightful 

world. 
So, on the bloody sand, Sohrab lay dead. 
And the great Eustum drew his horseman's 

cloak 
Down o'er his face, and sate by his dead .son. 
As those black granite pilhirs, once high- 
reared 
By Jemshid in Persepolis, to bear 
His house, now, mid their broken flights of 

steps, 
Lie prone, enormous, down the mountain side- 
So in the sand lay Rustum by his son. 
And night came down over tlio solemn 

waste. 
And the two gazing hosts, and that sole pair, 
And darkened all ; and a cold fog, with night. 
Crept from the Oxus. Soon a hum arose, 
As of a great assembly loosed, and fires 
Began to twinkle through the fog; for now 
Botli armies moved to camp, and took their 

meal ; 
The Persians took it on the open sands 
Southward ; tlie Tartars by the river marge. 
And Rustum and his son were left alone. 

But tlie majestic river floated on. 
Out of tlio mist and hum of tliat low land, 
Into the frosty starlight, and there moved. 
Rejoicing, through tlio hushed Cliorasmian 

waste. 
Under tlie solitary moon. lie flowed 
Right for the polar star, past Orguuje, 
Brimming, and bright, and large. Then 

sands begin 
To liem liis watery marcli, and dam his 

streams. 
And split his currents — tliat for many a 

league 
The shorn and parcelled Oxus strains along 
Through beds of sand, and matted, rushy 

isles — 
Osus forgetting the bright speed he had 
In his high mountain cradle in Pamere — 
A foiled, circuitous wanderer. Till at last 
The longed-for dash of waves is heard, and 

wide 
His luminous homo of waters opens, bright 
And tranquil, I'rom whose floor the new- 
bathed stars , 
Emerge, and shine upon the Aral sea. 

Matthew Arnold. 



IPHIGENEIA AND AGAMEMNON. 

IpniGENEiA, wlien she heard her doom 
At Aulis, and when all beside the king 
Had gone away, took his right hand, and 

said: 
" O father ! I am young and very happy. 
I do not think the pious Calchas heard 
Distinctly what the goddess spake ; — old age 
Obscures the senses. If my nurse, who knew 
My voice so well, sometimes misunderstood, 
"While I was resting on her knee both arms, 
And hitting it to make her mind my words. 
And looking in her face, and she in mine, 
Might not he, also, hear one word amiss. 
Spoken from so far ofi^, even from Olympus ? " 
The father placed his cheek upon her head. 
And tears dropt down it; but the king of 

men 
Replied not. Then the maiden spake once 

more. 
"O fiither! sayest thou nothing? Hearest 

thou not 
Me, whom thou ever hast, until this hour, 
Listened to fondly, and awakened me 
To hear my voice amid the voice of birds. 
When it was inarticulate as theirs. 
And the down deadened it within the nest?" 
He moved her gently from him, silent still; 
And this, and this alone, brought tears from 

her. 
Although she saw fate nearer. Then with 

sighs : 
" I thouglit to liave laid down my liair before 
Benignant Artemis, and not dimmed 
Her polished altar with my virgin blood ; 
I thought to have selected the white flowers 
To please the nymphs, and to have asked of 

each 
By name, and with no sorrowful regret. 
Whether, since both my parents willed the 

change, 
I might at Hymen's feet bend my dipt brow; 
And (after these who mind us girls the most) 
Adore our own Athene, that she would 
Regard mo mildly with her azure eyes — 
But, father, to see you no more, and see 
Your love, father ! go ere I am gone ! " 
Gently he moved her off, and drew her back, 
Bending his lofty head far over hers ; 



THE LAMENTATION FOR CELIN. 



473 



And the dark depths of nature heaved and 

burst. 
He turned away — not far, but silent still. 
She now first shuddered ; for in him, so nigh, 
So long a silence seemed the approach of 

death. 
And like it. Once again slic raised her voice : 
" O father! if the ships are now detained. 
And all your vows move not the gods above, 
"When the knife strikes me there will bo one 

prayer 
The less to them ; and purer can there bo 
Any, or more fervent, than the daughter's 

prayer 
For her dear father's safety and success ? " 
A groan that shook him shook not his resolve. 
An aged man now entered, and without 
One word, stepped slowly on, and took the 

wrist 
Of the pale maiden. She looked up, and saw 
The fillet of the priest and calm cold eyes. 
Tlifu turned she where her parent stood, and 

cried : 
"O father! grieve no more: the ships can 

sail." 

"Walter Savage Landoe. 



THE LiUIENTATION FOR CELIN. 

At the gate of old Granada, when all its bolts 
are barred. 

At twilight, at the Vega-gate, there is a 
trampling heard ; 

There is a trampling heard, as of horses tread- 
ing slow. 

And a weeping voice of women, and a heavy 
sound of woe. 

What tower is fallen? what star is set? what 
chief comes these bewailing? 

"A tower is fallen, a star is set ! Alas ! alas 
for Celin ! " 

Three times they knock — three times they 
cry — and wide the doors they throw ; 

Dejectedly they enter, and mournfully they go ; 

In gloomy lines they, mustering, stand be- 
neath the hollow porch. 

Each horseman grasping in his hand a black 
and flaming torch : 



Wet is eacli eye as they go bj', and all around 

is wailing. 
For all have heard the misery. — " Alas I alas 

for Celin ! " 
nim, yesterday, a Moor did slay, of Bencer- 

rajo's blood — 
'Twas at the solemn jousting — around tlio 

nobles stood ; 
The nobles of the land were by, and ladies 

bright and fair 
Looked from their latticed windows, tlio 

haughty sight to share ; 
But now the nobles all lament — tljc ladies are 

bewailing — 
For ho was Granada's darling knight — "Alas! 

alas for Celin ! " 

Before him ride his vassals, in order two by 

two, 
Witli ashes on their turbans spread, most i)iti- 

ful to view ; 
Behind him his four sisters, each wrajipcd in 

sable veil. 
Between the tambour's dismal strokes take 

up their doleful tale ; 
When stops the muffled drum ye hear their 

brotherless bewailing. 
And all the people, far and near, ci-y — " Alas! 

alas for Celin ! " 

Oh! lovely lies he on the bier, above the 
jiurple pall, — 

The flower of all Granada's youth, the love- 
liest of them all ; 

nis dark, dark eyes are closed ; his rosy lip is 
pale; 

The crust of blood lies black and dim upon 
his burnished mail; 

And ever more the hoarse tambour breaks in 
upon their wailing — 

Its sound is like no earthly sound — " Alas ! 
alas for Celin ! " 

The Moorish maid at the lattice stands — the 

Moor stands at his door ; 
One maid is wringing of her hands, and one 

is weeping sore ; 
Down to the dust men bow their heads, and 

ashes black they strew 
Upon their broidered gannents of crimson, 

green and blue ; 



474 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Before each gate the bier stands still — then 

bursts the loud bewailing 
From door and lattice, high and low — " Alas ! 

alas for Celin ! " 

An old, old woman cometh forth, when she 

hears the people cry — 
Her hair is wliite as silver, like horn her 

glazed eye : 
'T was she that nursed him at her breast — 

that nursed him long ago; 
She knows not whom they all lament, but 

soon she well shall know ! 
With one deep shriek, she through doth break, 
when her ears receive their wailing — 
. " Let me kiss my Celin ere I die — Alas ! alas 
for Celin!" 

MoOEisn Ballad. 
Translation of J. G. Lockhaet. 



A VERT MOUENFUL BALLAD. 

ox THE SIEGE AST> CONQUEST OF ALHAMA, 

WHICn, Hf THE ARABIC LANGUAGE, IS 

TO THE FOLLOWING PURPOET : 

The Moorish king rides up and down 
Through Granada's royal town ; 
From Elvira's gates to those 
Of Bivarambla on he goes. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

Letters to the monai-ch tell 
How Albania's city fell : 
In the fire the scroll he threw, 
And the messenger he slew. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

He qnits his mule and mounts his horse, 
And through the street directs his course ; 
Through the street of Zacatin 
To the Albambra spurring in. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

"When the Alhambra's walls he gained, 
On the moment he ordained 
That the trumpet straight should sound 
With the silver clarion round. 

Wo is me, Alhama I 



And when the hollow drums of war 
Beat the loud alarm afar. 
That the Moors of town and plain 
Might answer to the martial strain. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

Then the Moors, by this aware 
That bloody Mai-s recalled them there, 
One by one, and two by two, 
To a mighty squadron grew. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

Out then spake an aged Moor, 
In these words the king before: 
"Wherefore call on us, O king? 
What may mean this gathering?" 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

" Friends ! ye have, alas ! to know 
Of a most disastrous blow — 
That the Christians, stern and bold, 
Have obtained Albania's hold." 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

Out then spake old Alfaqui, 

With his beard so white to see : 

" Good king ! thou art justly served — 

Good king ! this thou hast deserved. 

Wt> is me, Alhama ! 

" By thee were slain, in evil hour, 
The Abencerrage, Granada's flower ; 
And strangers were received by thee, 
Of Cordova the chivalry. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

'■And for this, O king! is sent 
On thee a double chastisement ; 
Thee and thine, thy crown and realm, 
One last wreck shall overwhelm. 

Wo is mf, A Ihama ! 

" He who holds no laws in awe. 
He must perish by the law ; 
And Granada must be won, 
And thyself with her undone." 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

Fire flashed from out the old Moor's eyea 
The monarch's wrath began to rise ; 



TUB FISHERMEN. 



47b 



]5ecause ho answerefl, and because 
lie spake exceeding well of laws. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

" There is no law to say such things 
As may disgust the ear of kings : "■ — 
Thus, snorting with his clioler, said 
The Moorish king, and doomed him dead. 
Wo is me, Alhama! 

Moor Alfaqui ! Moor Alfafjui ! 
Though thy beard so hoary bo, 
The king hath sent to have thee seized, 
For Alhama's loss displeased — 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

And to fix thy head upon 
High Alliambra's loftiest stone ; 
That this for thee should bo tho law. 
And others tremble when they saw. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

" Cavalier, and man of worth ! 
Let these words of mine go forth ; 
Lot the Moorish monarch know 
That to him I nothing owe. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

" But on my soul Alhama weighs. 
And on my inmost spirit preys ; 
And if tho king his land hath lost, 
Yet others may have lost the most. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

" Sires have lost their children, wives 
Their lords, and valiant men their lives; 
Ono what best his lovo might claim 
Uath lost; another, wealth or fame. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

" I lost a damsel in that hour. 
Of all tho land the loveliest flower; 
Doubloons a hundred I would pay, 
And think her ransom cheap that day." 
Wo is me, Alhama ! 

And as these things the old Moor said. 
They severed from the trunk his head ; 
And to the Alhambra's walls witli speed 
'T was carried, as the king decreed. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 



And men and infants therein weep 
Their loss, so heavy and so deep ; 
Granada's ladies, all she rears 
Within her walls, burst into tears. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

And from the windows o'er the walls 

Tho sable web of mourning falls ; 

Tlie king weeps as a woman o'er 

Uis loss, for it is much and sore. 

Wo is vie, Alhama ! 

Anonymods (Spuniith). 
Translation of Lord Byron. 



THE FISHERMEN. 

Three fishers went sailing out into the 
west — 
Out into the west as the sun went down; 
Each thought of tho woman who loved him 
tho best, 
And the children stood watching them out 
of tho town ; 
For men must work, and women nmst weep; 
And there 's little to earn, and many to keep, 
Though tho harbor bar bo moaning. 

Tliree wives sat up in the light-house tower. 
And trimmed tho lamps as tho sun wont 
down; 
And they looked at tho squall, and they 
looked at the shower. 
And the rack it came rolling \\\\ ragged 
and brown ; 
But men must work, and women must weep, 
Though storms be sudden, and waters deep. 
And the harbor bar bo moaning. 

Three corpses lay out on tho shining sands 
In tho morning gleam as tho tide went 
down. 
And the women aro watching and wringing 
their hands, 
For those who will never come back to 
the town ; 
For men must work, and women must 

weep — 
And tho sooner it's over, tho sooner to 
sleep — 
And good-bye to the bar and its moaning. 
Charles Kiscslkt. 



r 



476 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SOKEOW. 



THE PRISOKER OF CHILLON. 

Eteenax spirit of the chainless mind! 

Brightest in dungeons, liberty, thou art. 

For there thy habitation is the heart — 

The heart -which love of thee alone can bind ; 

And when thy sons to fetters are consigned — 

To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless 

gloom — 
Theu- country conquers with their martyr- 
dom. 
And freedom's fame finds wings on every 

wind. 
Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place. 

And thy sad floor an altar — for 't was trod 
Until his very steps have left a trace, 

'Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod. 
By Bonnivard! — May none those marks ef- 
face! 
For they appeal from tyranny to God. 



My hair is gray, but not with years, 
Xor grew it white 
In a single night, 
As men's have grown from sudden fears ; 
My limbs are bowed, though not with toil, 

But rusted with a vile repose ; 
For they have been a dungeon's spoil, 

And mine has been the fiite of those 
To whom the goodly earth and air 
Are banned and barred — forbidden fare. 
But this was for my father's faith 
I snflered chains and courted death. 
That father perished at the stake 
For tenets he would not forsake ; 
And for the same his lineal race 
In darkness found a dwelling-place. 
We were seven, who now are one — 

Six in youth, and one in age, 
Finished as they had begun, 

Proud of persecution's i-age ; 
One in fire, and two in field. 
Their belief with blood have sealed — 
Dying as their father died. 
For the God their foes denied ; 
Three were in a dungeon cast. 
Of whom this wreck is left the last. 



There are seven pillars, of Gothic mould, 
In Chillon's dungeons deep and old ; 
There are seven columns, massy and gray, 
Dim with a dull imprisoned ray — 
A sunbeam which hath lost its way, 
And through the crevice and the cleft 
Of the thick wall is fallen and left — 
Creeping o'er the floor so damp. 
Like a marsh's meteor lamp ; 
And in each pillar there is a ring, 

And in each ring there is a chain ; 
That iron is a cankering thing. 

For in these limbs its teeth remain, 
With marks that will not wear away 
Till I have done with this new day. 
Which now is painful to these eyes, 
Which have not seen the sun so rise 
For years — I cannot count them o'er ; 
I lost their long and heavy score 
When my last brother drooped and died, 
And I lay living by his side. 



They chained us each to a column stone; 
And we were three — yet, each alone. 
We could not move a single pace ; 
We could not see each other's face, 
But with that pale and livid light 
That made us strangers in our sight ; 
And thus together, yet apart — 
Fettered in hand, but joined in heart ; 
'T was still some solace, in the dearth 
Of the pure elements of earth, 
To hearken to each other's speech, 
And each turn comforter to each — 
With some new hope, or legend old, 
Or song heroically bold ; 
But even these at length grew cold. 
Our voices took a dreary tone, 
An echo of the dungeon-stone, 

A grating sound — not full and free, 
As they of yore were wont to be ; 
It might be fancy — but to me 
They never sounded like our own. 



I was the eldest of the three ; 

And to uphold and cheer the rest 
I ought to do, and did, my best^— 

And each did well in his degree. 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 



477 



The youugest, wlioiu my father loved, 
Because our mother's brow was given 
To him— with eyes as blue as heaven — 

For him my soul was sorely moved ; 
And truly might it be distrest 
To see such bird in such a nest ; 
For he was beautiful as day 

(When day was beautiful to me 

As to young eagles, being free), 

A polar day, which will not see 
A sunset till its summer 's gone — 

Its sleepless summer of long light. 
The snow-clad oflspring of the sun : 

And thus he was, as pure and bright. 
And in his natural spirit gay. 
With tears for naught but other's ills ; 
And then they flowed like mountain rills. 
Unless he could assuage the woe 
Which he abhorred to view below. 



The other was as pure of mind. 
But formed to combat with his kind ; 
Strong in his frame, and of a mood 
Which 'gainst the world in war had stood. 
And perished in the foremost rank 

With joy ; but not in chains to pine. 
His spirit witliered with their clank ; 

I saw it silently decline — 

And so, perchance, in sooth, did mine ! 
But yet I forced it on, to cheer 
Those relics of a home so dear. 
He was a hunter of the hills. 

Had followed there the deer and wolf; 
To him this dungeon was a gulf, 
And fettered feet the worst of ills. 



Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls. 
A thousand feet in depth below, 
Its massy waters meet and flow ; 
Thus much the fathom-line was sent 
From Chillon's snow-white battlement, 

Whicli round about the wave enthrals ; 
A double dungeon wall and wave 
Have made — and like a living grave. 
Below the surface of the lake 
The dark vault lies wherein we lay ; 
We heard it ripple night and day ; 

Sounding o'er our heads it knocked. 
A.nd I have felt the winter's spray 



Wash through the bars when winds were 
high. 

And wanton in the happy sky ; 

And then the very rock hath rocked. 
And I have felt it shake, unshocked ; 

Because I could have smiled to see 

The death that would have set me free. 



I said my nearer brother pined ; 
I said his mighty heart declined. 
He loathed and put away his food ; 
It was not that 't was coarse and rude, 
For we were used to hunter's fare. 
And for the like had little care. 
The milk drawn from the mountain goat 
Was changed for water from the moat ; 
Our bread was such as captives' tears 
Have moistened many a thousand years. 
Since man first pent his fellow-men, 
Like brutes, within an iron den. 
But wliat were these to us or him ? 
These wasted not his heart or limb ; 
My brother's soul was of that mould 
Which in a palace had grown cold. 
Had his free breathing been denied 
The range of the steep mountain's side. 
But why delay the truth ? — he died. 
I saw, and could not hold his head, 
Xor reach his dying hand — nor dead, 
Though hard I strove, hut strove in vain, 
To rend and gnash my bonds in twain. 
He died — and they unlocked his chain, 
And scooped for him a shallow grave 
Even from the cold earth of our cave. 
I begged them, as a boon, to lay 
His corse in dust whereon the day 
Might shine — it was a foolish thought ; 
But then within my brain it wrought. 
That even in death his freeborn breast 
In such a dungeon could not rest. 
I might have spared my idle prayer — 
They coldly laughed, and laid him there, 
The flat and turfless earth above 
The being we so much did love ; 
Ilis empty chain above it leant — 
Such murder's fitting monument ! 

Tin. 
But he, the favorite and the flower, 
Most cherished since his natal hour. 



478 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



His mother's image in fair face, 

The infant love of all his race, 

His martyred father's dearest thought, 

My latest care — for whom I sought 

To hoard my life, that his might be 

Less -n-retched now, and one day free — 

He, too, who yet had held untired 

A spirit natural or inspired — 

He, too, was struck, and day by day 

TVas withered on the stalk away. 

God ! it is a fearful thing 

To see the human soul take wing 
In any sh.ipe, in any mood : 

1 've seen it rushing forth in blood ; 
I 've seen it on the breaking ocean 
Strive with a swollen, convulsive motion ; 
I 've seen the sick and ghastly bed 

Of sin, delirious with its dread ; 

But these were horrors — this was woe 

Unmixed with such — but sure and slow. 

He faded, and so calm and meek, 

So softly worn, so sweetly weak. 

So tearless, yet so tender — kind. 

And grieved for those he left behind ; 

With aU the while a cheek whose bloom 

Was as a mockery of the tomb. 

Whose tints as gently sunk away 

As a departing rainbow's ray — - 

An eye of most transparent light, 

That almost made the dungeon bright, 

And not a word of murmur, not 

A groan o'er his untimely lot — 

A little talk of better days, 

A little hope my own to raise ; 

For I was sunk in silence— lost 

In this last loss, of all the most. 

And then the sighs he would suppress 

Of fainting nature's feebleness. 

More slowly drawn, grew less and less. 

I listened, but I could not hear — 

I called, for I was wild with fear ; 

I knew 't was hopeless, but my dread 

Would not be thus admonished ; 

called, and thought I heard a sound — 
I burst my chain with one strong bound, 
And rushed to him : I found him not. 
I only stirred in this black spot ; 
I only lived — I only drew 
The accursed breath of dungeon-dew ; 
The last, the sole, the dearest link 
Between me and the eternal brink. 



Which bound me to my failing race. 
Was broken in this fatal place. 
One on the earth, and one beneath — 
My brothers — both had ceased to breathe. 
I took that hand which lay so still — 
Alas! my own was full as chiU; 
I had not strength to stir or strive. 
But felt that I was still alive — 
A frantic feeling, when we know 
That what we love shall ne'er be so. 

I know not why 

I could not die, 
I had no earthly hope — but faith, 
And that forbade a selfish death. 



What next befell me then and there 
I know not well — I never knew. 

First came the loss of light and air, 
And then of darkness too. 

I had no thought, no feeling — none : 

Among the stones I stood a stone ; 

And was, scarce conscious what I wist. 

As shrubless crags within the mist ; 

For all was blank, and bleak, and gray ; 

It was not night — it was not day; 

It was not even the dungeon-light. 

So hateful to my heavy sight ; 

But vacancy absorbing space. 

And fixedness, without a place ; 

There were no stars, no earth, no time, 

No check, no change, no good, no crime ; 

But silence, and a stirless breath 

Which neither was of life nor death — 

A sea of stagnant idleness. 

Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless. 



A light broke in upon my brain — 

It was the carol of a bird ; 
It ceased, and then it came again — 
The sweetest song ear ever heard ; 
And mine was thankful till my eyes 
Ran over with the glad surprise, 
And they that moment could not see 
I was the mate of misery ; 
But then, by duU degrees came back 
My senses to their wonted track : 
I saw the dungeon walls and floor 
Close slowly round me as before ; 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 



479 



I saw the glimmer of the sun 
Creeping as it before had done ; 
But through the crevice where it came 
That bird was perched as fond and tame, 

And tamer than upon the tree — 
A lovely bird with azure wings, 
And song that said a thousand things, 

And seemed to say them all for me ! 
I never saw its like before — 
I ne'er shall see its likeness more. 
It seemed, like me, to want a mate. 
But was not half so desolate ; 
And it was come to love me when 
None lived to love me so again, 
And, cheering from my dungeon's brink. 
Had brought me back to feel and think. 
I know not if it late were free. 

Or broke its cage to perch on mine ; 
But knowing well captivity, 

Sweet bird ! I could not wish for thine — 
Or if it were, in winged guise, 
A visitant from Paradise ; 
For — heaven forgive that thought, the while 
Wliich made me both to weep and smile ! — 
I sometimes deemed that it might be 
My brother's soul come down to me ; 
But then at last away it flew. 
And then 't was mortal well 1 knew ; 
For he would never thus have flown, 
And left me twice so doubly lone — 
Lone as the corse within its shroud. 
Lone as a solitary cloud, 

A single cloud on a sunny day, 
"While all the rest of heaven is clear, 
A frown upon the atmosphere. 
That hath no business to appear 

When skies are blue, and earth is gay. 



A kind of change came in my fate — 
My keepers grew compassionate. 
I know not what had made them so — 
They were inured to sights of woe ; 
But so it was — my broken chain 
With links unfastened did remain ; 
And it was liberty to stride 
Along my cell from side to side, 
And up and down, and then athwart. 
And tread it over every part ; 
And round the pillars one by one. 
Returning where my walk begun — 



Avoiding only, as I trod, 

My brothers' graves without a sod ; 

For if I thought with heedless tread 

My step profaned their lowly bed, 

My breath came gaspingly and thick. 

And my crushed heart fell blind and sick. 



I made a footing in the wall : 

It was not therefrom to escape, 
For I had buried one and all 

Who loved me in a human shape ; 
And the whole earth would henceforth be 
A wider prison unto me ; 
No child, no sire, no kin had I, 
No partner in my misery. 
I thought of this, and I was glad, 
For thought of them had made me mad ; 
But I was curious to ascend 
To my barred windows, and to bend 
Once more upon the mountains high 
The quiet of a loving eye. 

XIII. 

I saw them — and they were the same ; 
They were not changed, like me, in frame ; 
I saw their thousand years of snow 
On higli — their wide, long lake below. 
And the blue Rhone in fullest flow ; 
I heard the torrents leap and gush 
O'er channelled rock and broken bush ; 
I saw the white- walled distant town, 
And whiter sails go skimming down ; 
And then there was a little isle, 
Which in my very face did smile — 

The only one in view ; 
A small, green isle, it seemed no more. 
Scarce broader than my dungeon floor ; 
But in it there were three tall trees. 
And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, 
And by it there were waters flowing. 
And on it there were young flowers growing 

Of gentle breath and hue. 
The fish swam by the castle wall. 
And they seemed joyous, each and all ; 
The eagle rode the rising blast — 
Metliought he never flew so fast 
As then to me he seemed to fly ; 
And then new tears came in my eye, 
And I felt troubled, and would fain 
I had not left my recent chain ; 



4S0 POEMS OF TRAGEDY AXD SORROW. | 


And vrlien I did descend again. 


Through the night, through the night, 


The darkness of my dim abode 


Where the sea lifts the wreck. 


Fell on me as a lieavy load ; 


Land in sight, close in sight, 


It was as is a new-dug grave, 


On the surf-flooded deck 


Closing o'er one we sought to save ; 


Stands the father so brave. 


And yet my glance, too much opprest, 


Driving on to his grave 


Had almost need of such a rest. 


Through the night ! 




ElCHAKD HeSET StODDAKD. 


XIY. 

It might be months, or years, or days — 






I kept no count, I took no note — 


THE KIXG OF DENILVEK'S RIDE. 


I had no hope my eyes to raise, 




And clear them of their dreary mote ; 


Word was brought to the Danish king 


At last came men to set me free, 


(Hurry!) 


I asked not why, and recked not where ; 


That the love of his heart lay suffering, 


It was at length the same to me. 


And pmed for the comfort his voice would 


Fettered or fetterless to be ; 


bring; 


I learned to love despair. 


(Oh ! ride as though you were flying !) 


And thus, when they appeared at last, 


Better he loves each golden curl 


And all my bonds aside were cast, 


On the brow of that Scandinavi,an girl 


These heavy walls to me had grown 


Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl ; 


A hermitage — and all my own ! 


And his rose of the isles is dying ! 


And half I felt as they were come 




To tear me from a sacred home. 


Thirty nobles saddled with speed ; 


"With spiders I had friendship made. 


(Hurry !) 


And watched them in their sullen trade ; 


Each one mounting a gallant steed 


Ilad seen the mice by moonlight play — 


Which he kept for battle and d.ays of need; 


And why should I feel less than they ? 


(Oh! ride as though you were flying!) 


"We were all inmates of one place. 


Spurs were struck in the foaming flank ; 


And I, the monarch of each race. 


Worn-out chargers staggered and sank ; 


Had power to kill ; yet, strange to t«ll ! 


Bridles were slackened, and girths were bu rst ; 


In quiet we had learned to dwell. 


But ride as they would, the king rode first, 


lly very chains and I grew friends, 


For his rose of the isles lay dying '. 


So much a long communion tends 


His nobles are beaten, one by one ; 


To make us what we are : — even I 


(Hurry '.) 
They have tainted, and faltered, and home- 


Regained my freedom with a sigh. 


Lord Bybon. 


ward gone ; 




His little fair page now follows alone. 
For strength and for courage trying! 


* 




The king looked hack at that faithfid child ; 


THE SEA. 


Wan was the face that answering smiled ; 


They passed the drawbridge with clatteriug 


TnKoroH the night, through the night, 


din. 
Then he dropped ; and only the king rode in 


In the saddest nnrest, 


Where his rose of the isles lay dying ! 


VTrapt in white, all in white. 




■With her babe on her breast, 


The king blew a blast on his bugle horn ; 


Walks the mother so pale, 


(SUence!) 


Staring out on the gale 


No answer came ; but faint and forlorn 


Through the night I 


An echo returned on the cold grey morn, 



LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. 



481 



Like the breath of a spirit sighing. 
Tho castle portal stood grimly wide ; 
None welcomoJ the kiug from that weary 

ride ; 
For dead, in tho light of the dawning day, 
Tlio pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, 
Who had yearned for his voice while dying ! 

The panting steed, with a drooping crest. 

Stood weary. 
Tho king returned from her chamhcr of rest, 
Tho thick sobs choking in his breast ; 

And, that dumb companion eyeing, 
The tears gushed forth which he strove to 

check ; 
He bowed his head on his charger's neck : 
" steed — that every nerve didst strain. 
Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain 
To the halls where my love lay dying ! " 
Caroline Norton, 



LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. 

A oniEFTAiN, to the Highlands bound, 
Cries, " Boatman, do not tarry 1 

And I '11 give thee a silver pound 
To row U8 o'er the ferry." 

" Kow who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, 
This dark and stormy water ? " 

" Oh, I 'ni the chief of Ulva's isle, 
And this Lord Ullin's daughter. 

"And fast before her father's men 
Three days we 've fled together ; 

For should he find us in the glen, 
My blood would stain the heather. 

" His horsemen hard behind us ride ; 

Should they our steps discover. 
Then who will cheer my bonny bride 

AVheu they have slain her lover?" 

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, 
" I '11 go, my chief — I 'm ready. 

It is not for your silver bright. 
But for your winsome lady. 
32 



"And by my word ! tho bonny bird 

In danger shall not tarry ; 
So though tho waves are raging white, 

I '11 row you o'er the ferry." 

By this the stortu grew loud a])ace ; 

Tho w.ater- wraith was shrieking ; 
And in the scowl of heaven each face 

Grew dark as they were speaking. 

But still as wilder blew the wind. 
And as tho night grew drearer, 

Adown tho glen rode arnwd men — 
Their tranii)lii)g sounded nearer. 

" O haste thee, haste I " tho lady cries, 
"Though tempests round us gather; 

I '11 meet tho raging of the skies, 
But not an angry father." 

TIio boat has left a stormy land, 

A stormy sea before her — 
When, oh ! too strong for human hand, 

Tho tempest gathered o'er her. 

And still they rowed amidst the roar 

Of waters fast prevailing — 
Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore ; 

His wrath was changed to wailing. 

For sore dismayed, through storm and 
shade 

His child he did discover; 
One lovely hand she stretched for aid, 

And one was round her lover. 

" Come hack ! come back ! " he cried in 
grief, 

"Across this stormy water ; 
And I 'U forgive your Highland chief. 

My daughter I — O my daugliter ! " 

'T was vain : — the loud waves lashed the 
shore. 

Return or aid preventing. 
The waters wild went o'er his child. 

And he was left lamenting. 

TuOMAa CAJdrDSLL. 



482 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. 

WRITTEN WHEN THE NEWS AEKIVED. 

Toll for the brave — 

The brave that are no more ! 

All sunk beneath the wave, 
Fast by their native shore ! 

Eight hundred of the brave, 
Whose courage well was tried, 

Had made the vessel heel, 
And laid her on her side. 

A land breeze shook the shrouds. 

And she was overset — 
Down went the Royal George, 

With all her crew complete. 

Toll for the brave ! 

Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; 
His last sea-fight is fought. 

His work of glory done. 

It was not in the battle ; 

No tempest gave the shock ; 
She sprang no fatal leak ; 

She ran upon no rock. 

His sword was in its sheath ; 

His fingers held the pen, 
When Kempenfelt went down 
. With twice four hundred men. 

Weigh the vessel up. 

Once dreaded by our foes ! 

And mingle with our cup 
The tear that England owes. 

Her timbers yet are sound. 
And she may fioat again. 

Full charged with England's thunder. 
And plough the distant main. 

But Kempenfelt is gone — 

His victories are o'er ; 
And he and his eight hundred 

Shall plough the waves no more. 

William Cowpeb. 



THE rNCHCAPE ROCK. 

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea — 
The ship was still as she might be ; 
Her sails from heaven received no motion; 
Her keel was steady in the ocean. 

Without either sign or sound of their shock, 
The waves flow-ed over the Inchcape rock ; 
So little they rose, so little they fell, 
They did not move tlie Inchcape bell. 

The holy abbot of Aberbrothok 

Had floated that bell on the Inchcape rock ; 

On the waves of the storm it floated and 

swung, 
And louder and louder its warning rung. 

When the rock was hid by the tempest's swell. 
The mariners heard the warning bell ; 
And then they knew the perilous rock. 
And blessed the priest of Aberbrothok. 

The sun in heaven shone so gay — 

All things were joyful on that day ; 

The sea-birds screamed as they sported round. 

And there was jileasure in their sound. 

The float of the Inchcape bell was seen, 
A darker speck on the ocean green ; 
Sir Ralph the rover walked his deck. 
And he fixed his eye on the darker speck. 

He felt the cheering power of spring — 
It made him whistle, it made him sing ; 
His heart was mirthful to excess ; 
But the rover's mirth was wickedness. 

His eye was on the bell and float : 
Quoth he, "My men, pull out the boat ; 
And i-ow me to the Inchcape rock, 
And I '11 plague the priest of Aberbrothok." 

The boat is lowered, the boatmen row. 
And to the Inchcape rock they go ; 
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat. 
And cut the warning bell from the float 

Down sank the bell with a gurgling soimd ; 
The bubbles rose, and burst around. 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 



483 



Quoth Sir Ralph, " The next who comes to 

the rock 
Will not bless the priest of Aberbrothok." 

Sir Ralph the rover sailed away — 
lie scoured the seas for many a day ; 
And now, grown rich with plundered store. 
He steers his course to Scotland's shore. 

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky. 
They could not see the sun on high ; 
The wind had blown a gale all day ; 
At evening it hath died away. 

On the deck the rover takes his stand ; 
So dark it is, they see no laud. 
Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon. 
For there is the dawn of the rising moon." 

"Canst hear," said one, "the breakers roar? 
For yonder, methinks, should be the shore. 
Now where we are I cannot tell, 
But I wish we could hear tbe Inchcape bell." 

They hear no sound ; the swell is strong ; 
Though the wind hath fallen they drift along ; 
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock — 
Christ I it is the Inchcape rook 1 

KOBERT SOUTHEY. 



THE WRECK OF TIIE HESPERUS. 

It was the schooner Hesperus 

That sailed the wintry sea ; 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter. 

To bear him company. 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax, 
Her cheeks like the dawn of day. 

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, 
That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm ; 

His pipe was in his mouth ; 
And he watched how the veering flaw did blow 

The smoke, now west, now south. 



Then up and spake an old sailor. 

Had sailed the Spanish main : 
" I pray thee, put into yonder port. 

For I fear a hurricane. 



"Last night the moon had a golden ring. 
And to-uight no moon we see ! " 

The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe. 
And a scornful laugh laughed he. 

Colder and louder blew the wind, 

A gale from the northeast ; 
The snow fell hissing in the brine. 

And the billows frothed like yeast. 



Down came the storm, and smote amain 

The vessel in its strength ; 
She shuddered and paused like a frighted steed, 

Then leaped her cable's length. 



" Come hither ! come hither ! my little daugh- 
ter. 

And do not tremble so ; 
For I can weather the roughest gale 

That ever wind did blow." 



He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat 

Against the stinging blast ; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar. 

And bound her to the mast. 



" father ! I hear the church-bells ring ; 

Oh say, what may it be ? " 
" 'T is a fog-beU on a rock-bound coast ! " 

And he steered for the open sea. 

" O father ! I hear the sound of guns ; 

Oh say, what may it be ? " 
" Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea ! " 

" father ! I see a gleaming light ; 

Oh say, what may it be ? " 
But the father answered never a word — 

A frozen corpse was he. 



4S4 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Lashed to the holm, all stiff and stark, 
With his face turned to the skies, 

The lantern gleamed through the gleaming 
snow 
On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

Thou the maiden clasped her hands and 
prayed 
That saved she might he ; 
.tVud she thought of Christ, who stilled the 
wave 
On the Lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and 
drear, 

Through the whistling sleet and snow, 
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 

Towai-ds the reef of Kormau's Woe. 

And ever, the litful gusts between, 
A sound came from the land ; 

It was the sound of the trampling surf 
On the rooks and the hard sea-sand. 

The breakers were right beneath her bows ; 

She drifted a dreary wreck ; 
And a whooping billow swept tlie crew, 

Like icicles, from her deck. 

She struck where the white and fle«cy waves 

Looked soft svs carded wool ; 
But the cruel rooks they gored her side 

Like tbe borns of an angry bull. 

Her rattling shronds, all sheathed in ice, 
With the msist went by the board ; 

Like a vessel of ghnss, she stove and sank — 
Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! 

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fishermim stood agliast, 
To see the form of a maiden fair, 

Lsislied close to a drifting mast. 

The salt sea was fi-ozen on her breast, 

The siilt tears in her eyes ; 
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea- weed, 

On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 
In the midnight and the snow ; 

Christ save ns all from a death like this, 
Ou the roof of Norman's Woe ! 

IIkney Wapswortd LosorxLLOvr. 



THE MAEESTEE'S DEEAM. 

In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay ; 
His hammock swung loose at the sport of 
the wind ; 
But watch-worn and weary, his cares tlew 
away, 
And visions of happiness danced o'er his 
mind. 

He dreamt of his home, of his dear native 

bowei-s. 
And pleasures that waited on life's merry 

morn ; 
While memory stood sideways half covered 

with tlowers, 
And restored every rose, but secreted its 

thorn. 

Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide, 
And bade tlie young dreamer in ecstasy 

rise ; 
Xow far, far behind him the green waters 

glide, 
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his 

eyes. 

The jessamine dambers in flowers o'er the 
thatch. 
And tlie swallow chirps sweet from her 
nest in the wall ; 
All trembling with transport, he raises the 
latch, 
And the voices of loved ones reply to his 
call. 

A father bends o"or iiim with looks of de- 
light ; 
His cheek is impcirledwitliamoUiersWiirm 

tear; 
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite 
With the lips of the maid whom his bosom 
holds dear. 

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his 
bre.ist ; 
Joy quickens his pulses — ^his hardships seem 
o'er; 



HOW'S MY BOY. 



485 



And a nuirmnr of happiness steals throuKli 
Ills rest — 
" O God ! thou hast blest me — I ask for no 
more." 

Ah ! whence is that flame whieli now bnr.sts 
on his eye ? 
Ah I wliat is that sound whinh now 'larms 
on liis ear? 
'T is the lightning's red gleam, painting hell 
on the sky 1 
'T is the crashing of thunders, the groan of 
the sphere 1 

He springs from his hammock — he flies to 
the deck ; 
Amazement confronts him with images 
dire; 
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel 
a wreck ; 
The masts fly in splinters ; the shrouds fu-o 
on fire. 

Like mountains the billows tremendously 
swell ; 
In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to 
save ; 
Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell. 
And the death-angel flaps his broad wings 
o'er the wave ! 

O sailor boy, woe to thy dream of delight ! 
In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work 
of bliss. 
Where now is the picture that fancy touched 
bright — 
Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's 
honeyed kiss ? 

O s.iilor boy I sailor boy ! never again 
Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes 
repay; 
Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the 
main. 
Full many a fathom, thy frame shall decay. 

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for 
thee, 
Or redeem form or fame from the merciless 
surge , 



But the white foam of waves shall thy wind- 
ing-sheet be, 
And winds in the midnight of winter thy 
dirge! 

On a bed of green sea-flowers thy limbs shall 
bo laid — 
Around thy white bones tlie red coral sluill 
grow ; 
Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be 
made, 
And every part suit to thy mansion below. 

Days, monthS; years, and ages shall circle 
away. 
And still the vast waters above thee shall 
roll; 
Earth loses thy pattern forever and aye — 
sailor boy ! sailor boy I peace to tby 
soul I 

AViLLIAM DlMOND. 



HOW'S MY BOY? 

" IIo, sailor of the seal 

riow 's my boy — my boy ? " 

" What 's your boy's name, good wife. 

And in what good ship sailed he ? " 

" My boy John — 

lie that went to sea — 

What care I for the ship, sailor ? 

My boy's my boy to me. 

" You come back from sea. 

And not know my .John ? 

I might as well have asked some landa- 

man. 
Yonder down in the town. 
There 's not an ass in all the parisli 
But knows my John. 

" How 's my boy — my boy ? 
And unless you let me know 
I '11 swear you are no sailor, 
Blue jacket or no — 
Brass buttons or no, sailor, 
Anchor and crown or no — 



48G POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 


Sure his ship was the ' Jolly Briton' " — 


Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather, 


" Speak low, -woman, speak low !" 


When He, who all commands, 




Shall give, to call life's crew together, 


"And why should I speak low, sailor, 
About my own boy John ? 
If I was loud as I am proud 
I 'd sing him over the town ! 


The word to pipe all hands. 
Thus death, who kings and tars despatchea 

In vain Tom's life has doffed ; 
For, though his body's under hatches, 

His soul is gone aloft. 

CHAEI.E9 DiBDIN. 


Why should I speak low, sailor? " — 
" That good ship went down." 

" How 's my boy — my boy ? 
What care I for the ship, sailor — 


THF, MOON WAS A- WANING. 


I was never aboard her. 




Be she afloat or be she aground. 


The moon was a-waning. 


Sinking or swimming, I 'U be bound 


The tempest waa over; 


Her owners can afford her ! 


Fair was the maiden, 


I say, how 's my John ? " — 


And fond was the lover ; 


" Every man on board went down, 


But the snow was so deep 


Every man aboard her." 


That his heart it grew weary ; 




And he sunk down to sleep. 


" How 's my boy — my boy ? 


In the moorland so dreary. 


What care I for the men, sailor? 




I 'm not their mother — 


Soft was the bed 


How 's my boy — my boy ? 


She had made for her lover. 


Tell me of him and no other ! 


White were the sheets 


How 's my boy — my boy ? " 


And embroidered the cover ; 


Stdxey Dobell 


But his sheets are more white, 




And his canopy grander ; 


• 


And sounder he sleeps 




Where the hill foxes wander. 


TOM BOWLING. 






Alas, pretty maiden. 


Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, 


What sorrows attend you ! 


The darling of our crew ; 


I see you sit shivering, 


No more he '11 hear the tempest howling — 


With lights at your window ; 


For death has broached him to. 


But long may you wait 


His form was of the manliest beauty ; 


Ere your arms shall enclose him ; 


His heart was kind and soft ; 


For still, stiU he lies, 


Faithful below, he did his duty ; 


With a wreath on his bosom ! 


But now he 's gone aloft. 






How painful the task 


Tom never from his word departed — 


The sad tidings to teU you! — 


His virtues were so rare ; 


An orphan you were 


His friends were many and true-hearted ; 


Ere this misery befell you ; 


His Poll was kind and fair. 


And far in yon wild. 


And then he 'd sing so blitlie and jolly — 


Where the dead-tapers hover. 


Ah, many's the time and oft ! 


So cold, cold and wan. 


But mirth is turned to melancholy. 


Lies the corpse of your lover ! 


For Tom is gone aloft. 


Jambs Hogq. 



THE DREAM OF EUGENE AKAM. 



487 



THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 

'T TV AS in the prime of summer time, 

An evening calm and cool, 
And four-and-twenty happy hoys 

Came hounding out Of school ; 
There were some that ran and some that 
leapt. 

Like troutlets in a pool. 

Away they sped with gamesome minds 

And souls untouched by sin ; 
To a level mead they came, and there 

Tliey drave the wickets in : 
Pleasantly shone the setting sun 

Over the town of Lynn. 

Like sportive deer they coursed about, 

And shouted as they ran — 
Turning to mirth all things of earth, 

As only boyhood can ; 
But the usher sat remote from all, 

A melancholy man ! 

His hat was off, his vest apart. 
To catch heaven's blessed breeze ; 

For a burning thought was in his brow, 
And his bosom iU at ease ; 

So he leaned his head on his hands, and 
read 
The book between his knees ! 

Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er, 

Nor ever glanced aside ; 
For the peace of his soul he read that book 

In the golden eventide ; 
Much study had made him very lean, 

And pale, and leaden-eyed. 

At last he shut the ponderous tome; 

With a fast and fervent grasp 
He strained the dusky covers close, 

And fixed the brazen hasp : 
" O, God! could I so close my mind, 

And clasp it with a clasp ! " 

Then leaping on his feet upright. 
Some moody turns he took — ■ 



Now up the mead, then down the mead, 

And past a shady nook — • 
And, lo ! he saw a little boy 

That pored upon a book ! 

"My gentle lad, what is 't you read- 
Romance or fairy fable ? 

Or is it some historic page. 

Of kings and crowns unstable ? " 

The young boy gave an upward glance — 
" It is ' The Death of Abel.' " 

The usher took six hasty strides. 
As smit with sudden pain — 

Six hasty strides beyond the place. 
Then slowly back again ; 

And down he sat beside the lad. 
And talked with him of Cain ; 



And, long since then, of bloody men, 
Whose deeds tradition saves; 

And lonely folk cut off unseen, 
And hid in sudden graves ; 

And horrid stabs. La groves forlorn. 
And murders done in caves ; 



And how the sprites of injured men 
Shriek upward from the sod ; 

Aye, how the ghostly hand will point 
To show the burial clod ; 

And unknown facts of guilty acts 
Are seen in dreams from God I 



He told how murderers walk the earth 

Beneath the curse of Cain — 
With crimson clouds before their eyes, 

And flames about their brain ; 
For blood has left upon their souls 

Its everlasting stain ! 

"And well," quoth he, "I know, for 
truth. 

Their pangs must be extreme — 
Woe, woe, unutterable woe — 

Who spill life's sacred stream I 
For why ? Methought, last night I wrought 

A murder, in a dream ! 



488 POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 


" One that had never done me wrong— 


" And I took the dreary body up, 


A feeble man and old ; 


And cast it in a stream — 


I led him to a lonely field — 


The sluggish water, black as ink. 


The moon shone clear and cold: 


The depth was so extreme : 


Now here, said I, this man shall die, 


My gentle boy, remember 1 this 


And I will have his gold ! 


Is nothing but a dream ! 


" Two sadden blows with a ragged stick, 


"Down went the corse with a hollow 


And one with a heavy stone, 


plunge. 


One hurried gash with a hasty knife — 


And vanished in the pool ; 


And then the deed was done : 


Anon I cleansed my bloody hands, 


There was nothing lying at my feet 


And washed my forehead cool. 


But lifeless flesh and bone ! 


And sat among the urchins young. 




That evening in the school. 


" Nothing but lifeless flesh and hone. 


"0 heaven! to think of their white souls, 


That could not do me ill ; 


And mine so black and grim ! 


And yet I feared him all the more, 


I could not share in childish prayer. 


For lying there so still : 


Nor join in evening hymn ; 


There was a manhood in his look. 


Like a devil of the pit I seemed, 


That murder could not kill! 


'Mid holy cherubim ! 


" And, lo ! the universal air 


" And peace went with them, one and all 


Seemed lit with ghastly flame ; — 


And each calm pillow spread ; 


Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes 


But guilt was my grim chamberlain, 


"Were looking down in blame ; 


That lighted me to bed. 


I took the dead man by his hand, 


And drew my midnight curtains round 


And called upon his name ! 


With fingers bloody red ! 


" God ! it made me quake to see 


" All night I lay in agony. 


Such sense within the slain ! 


In anguish dark and deep ; 


But -when I touched the lifeless day, 


My fevered eyes I dared not close. 


The blood gushed out amain ! 


But stared aghast at sleep ; 


For every clot a burning spot 


For sin had rendered unto her 


Was scorching in my brain ! - 


The keys of hell to keep I 


" My head was like an ardent coal — 


" All night I lay in agony. 


My heart as solid ice ; 


From weary chime to chime ; 


My -wretched, wretched soul, I knew, 


With one besetting horrid hint. 


Was at the devil's price. 


That racked me all the time — 


A dozen times I groaned — the dead 


A mighty yearning, like the first 


Had never groaned but twice ! 


Fierce impulse unto crime — 


" And now, from forth the frowning sky. 


" One stern tyrannic thought, that made 


From the heaven's topmost height. 


All other thoughts its slave ! 


I heard a voice — the awful voice 


Stronger and stronger every pulse 


Of the blood-avenging sprite : 


Did that temptation crave — 


' Thou guilty man ! take up thy dead. 


Still urging me to go and see 


And hide it from my sight ! ' 


The dead man in his grave ! 



YOUNG 


AIKLT. 489 


" Heavily I rose up, as soon 


"And stiU no peace for the restless clay 


As light -was in the sky, 


Will wave or mould allow ; 


And sought the black accursed pool 


The horrid thing pursues my soul — 


With a wild misgiving eye ; 


It stands before me now ! " 


And I saiv the dead in the river bed, 


The fearful boy looked up, and saw 


For the faithless stream was dry. 


Huge drops upon his brow. 


" Merrily rose the lark, and shook 


That very night, while gentle sleep 


The dew-drop from its wing; 


The urchin's eyelids kissed, 


But I never marked its morning flight — 


Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn 


I never heard it sing ; 


Through the cold and heavy mist; 


For I was stooping once again 


And Eugene Aram walked between, 


Under the horrid thing. 


With gyves upon his wrist. 




Thomas Hocd. 


"With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, 




I took him up and ran ; * 




There was no time to dig a grave 




Before the day began — 


YOUNG AIRLY. 


Tn a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves. 




I hid the murdered man ! 


Ken ye aught of brave Lochiel ? 




Or ken ye aught of Airly ? 


"And all that day I read in school, 


They have belted on their bright broad swords, 


But my thought was other where ; 


And oflf and awa' wi' Charlie. 


As soon as the mid-day task was done, 


Now bring me fire, my merry, merry men, 


In secret I was there — ■ 


And bring it red and yarely — 


And a mighty wind had swept the leaves. 


At mirk midnight there flashed a light 


And still the corse was bare ! 


O'er the topmost towers of Airly. 




What lowe is yon, quo' the gude Lochiel, 


" Then down I cast me on my face. 


Which gleams so red and rarely ? 


And first began to weep, 


By the God of my kin, quo' young Ogilvie, 


For I knew my secret then was one 


It 's my ain bonnie hame of Airly ! 


That earth refused to keep — 


Put up your sword, said the brave Lochiel, 


Or land or sea, though he should be 


And calm your mood, quo' Charlie ; 


Ten thousand fathoms deep. 


Ere morning glow we 'U raise a lowe 




Far brighter than bonnie Airly. 


" So wills the fierce avenging sprite. 




Till blood for blood atones ! 


Oh, yon fair tower 's my native tower ! 


Aye, though he 's buried in a cave. 


Nor will it soothe my mourning. 


And trodden down with stones, 


Were London palace, tower, and town, 


And years have rotted off his flesh — 


As fast and brightly burning. 


The world shall see his' bones! 


It 's no my hame — my father's hame. 




That reddens my cheek sae sairlie — 


" God ! that horrid, horrid dream 


But my wife, and twa sweet babes I left 


Besets me now awake ! 


To smoor in the smoke of Airly. 


Again — again, with dizzy brain. 


ANONTilOUB 


The human life I take ; 




And my red right hand grows raging hot. 


* 


Like Cranmer's at the stake. 





490 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



A SNOW-STORM. 



SCEira: IN A TERMONT TTINTEI!. 



'T IS a fearful niglit in the winter time, 

As cold as it ever can be ; 
The roar of the blast is beard like the chime 

Of the waves oij an angry sea. 
The moon is full ; bilt her silver light 
The storm dashes out with its wings to-night ; 
And over the sky from south to north 
Not a star is seen, as the wind comes forth 

In the strength of a mighty glee. 

n. 

All day had the snow come down — all day 

As it never came down before ; 
And over the bills, at sun-set, lay 

Some two or three feet, or more ; 
The fence was lost, and the wall of stone ; 
The windows blocked and the well-curbs 

gone; 
The b.aystack had grown to a mountain lift, 
iVnd the wood-pilo looked like a monster 
drift. 

As it lay by the farmer's door. 

The night sets in on a world of snow, 
Wliile the air grows sharp and chill. 

And the warning roar of a fearftd blow 
Is heard on the distant hill ; 

And the norther, see ! on the mountain peak 

In his breath how the old trees writhe and 
shriek ! 

lie shouts on the plain, bo-ho ! ho-ho ! 

lie drives from his nostrils the blinding snow, 
And growls with a savage will. 



Such a night as this to be found abroad. 
In the drifts and the freezing air. 

Sits a shivering dog, in the field, by the road, 
With the snow in his shaggy hair. 

lie shuts his eyes to the wind and growls ; 

Ho lifts his head, and moans and howls ; 

Then crouching low, from the cutting sleet, 

His nose is pressed on his quivering feet — 
Pray what does the dog do there ? 



A farmer came from the village plain — 

But he lost the travelled way ; 
And for hours he trod with might and main 

A path for bis horse and sleigh ; 
But colder still the cold winds blew. 
And deeper still the deep drifts grew. 
And his mare, a beautiful Morgan brown, 
At last in her struggles floundered down. 

Where a log in a hollow lay. 

In vain, with a neigh and a frenzied snort, 

She plunged in the drifting snow, 
WbUe her master urged, tiU his breath grew 
short, 
With a word and a gentle blow ; 
But the snow was deep, and the tugs were 

tight ; 
His hands were numb and had lost their 

might ; 
So he wallowed back to his half-filled sleigh, 
And strove to shelter himself tiU day. 
With his coat and the buffalo. 



He has given the last faint jerk of the rein. 

To rouse up liis dying steed ; 
And the poor dog howls to the blast in vain 

For help in his master's need. 
For a while he strives with a wistful cry 
To catch a glance from his drowsy eye, 
And wags his tail if the rude winds flap 
The skirt of the buffiilo over his lap. 

And whines when he takes no heed. 



The wind goes down and the storm is o'er — 

'T is the hour of midnight, past ; 
The old trees writhe and bend no more 

In the whirl of the rushing blast. 
The silent moon with her peaceful light 
Looks down on the hills with snow all white ; 
And the giant shadow of Camel's Hump, 
The blasted pine and the ghostly stump. 
Afar on the plain are cast. 

But cold and dead by the hidden log 
Are they who came from the town — 

The man in his sleigh, and his faithful dog. 
And his beautiful Morjran brown — 



SOFTLY WOO AWAY HER BREATH. 



491 



111 the wide snow-desert, far and grand, 
Witli bis cap on bis head and tlie reins in liis 

hand — 
Tlie dog with liis nose on his master's feet. 
And the mare half seen through the crusted 
sleet, 
Where she lay when she floundered down. 
Charles Gamage Eastman. 



THE HUNTER'S VISION. 

Upon a rook that, high and sheer, 
Rose from the mountain's breast, 

A weary hunter of the deer 
Had sat him down to rest. 

And bared to the soft summer air 

His hot red brow and sweaty hair. 

All dim in haze the mountains lay. 
With dimmer vales between ; 

And rivers glimmered on their way, 
By forests faintly seen ; 

While ever rose a murmuring sound. 

From broolis below and bees around. 

He listened, till he seemed to hear 

A strain, so soft and low 
That whether in the mind or ear 

The listener scarce might know; 
With such a tone, so sweet, so mild, 
The watching mother lulls her child. 

" Thou weary huntsman," thus it said, 
"Thou faint with toil and heat, 

The pleasant land of rest is spread 
Before thy very feet. 

And those whom thou wouldst gladly see 

Are waiting there to welcome thee." 

He looked, and 'twixt the earth and sky 

Amid the noontide haze, 
A shadowy region met his eye. 

And grew beneath his gaze, 
As if the vapors of the air 
Had gathered into shapes so fair. 



Groves freshened as be looked, and flowers 
Showed bright on rooky bank. 

And fountains welled beneath the bowers, 
Where deer and pheasant drank. 

Ho saw the glittering streams ; he heard 

The rustling bough and twittering bird. 

And friends, the dead, in boyhood dear. 
There lived and walked again ; 

And there was one who many a year 
Within her grave had lain, 

A fair young girl, the hamlet's pride — 

His heart was breaking when she died. 

Bounding, as was her wont, she came 
Right towards his resting place. 

And stretched her hand and called his name, 
With that sweet smiling face. 

Forward with fixed and eager eyes. 

The hunter leaned in act to rise : 

Forward he leaned — and headlong down 
Plunged from that craggy wall ; 

He saw the rocks, steep, stern, and brown. 
An instant, in his fall — 

A frightful instant, and no more ; 

The dream and life at once were o'er. 

WlLLIAU CnLLEX BeTANT. 



SOFTLY WOO AWAY HER BREATH. 

Softly woo away her breath. 

Gentle death ! 
Let her leave thee with no strife, 

Tender, mournful, murmuring life! 
She hath seen her happy day — 

She hath had her bud and blossom ; 
Now she pales and shrinks away. 

Earth, into thy gentle bosom ! 

She hath done her bidding here, 

Angels dear! 
Bear her perfect soul above, 

Seraph of the skies — sweet love ! 
Good she was, and fair in youth ; 

And her mind was seen to soar, 
And her heart was wed to truth : 

Take her, then, for evermore — 

For ever — evermore ! 

BaBRT COENWALk 



r 



492 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY A\D SORROW. 



THE MAT QUEEX. 



You must wake and call me earlr, call me 
early, mother dear; 

To-morrow "11 be the happiest time of all the 
glad new-year — 

Of all the glad new-year, mother, the mad- 
dest, merriest day; 

For I 'm to be queen o' the May, motheF, I 'm 
to be queen o' the May. 



There 's many a black, black eye, they say, 

but none so bright as mine ; 
There 's Margaret and Mary, there 's Kate 

and Caroline ; 
But none so fair as little Alice in all the land, 

they say : 
So I 'm to be qaeen o' the May, mother, I 'm 

to be queen o' the May. 



1 sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall 
never wake, 

If yon do not caU me loud when the day be- 
gins to bre.ak ; 

But I must gather knots of flowers and buds, 
and garlands gay ; 

For I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, 
I 'm to be queen o' the May. 



As I came up the valley, whom think ye 

should I see. 
But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the 

hazel-tree ? 
He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave 

him yesterday, — 
But I'm to be qneen o' the May, mother, 

I 'm to be queen o' the May. 



He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was 

all in white ; 
And I ran by him without speaking, like a 

flash of light. 



They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not 

what they say, 
For I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, 

I 'm to be qneen o' the May. 



They say he's dying all for love — but that 

can never be ; 
They say his heart is breaking, mother — what 

is that to me ? 
There 's many a bolder lad '11 woo me any 

summer day; 
And I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, 

I 'm to be queen o' the May. 



Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to 

the green. 
And you 'U be there, too, mother, to see me 

made the queen ; 
For the shepherd lads on every side 'U come 

from far away ; 
And I 'm to be queen o' the May, mother, 

I 'm to be qneen o' the May. 



The honeysuckle round the porch has woven 

its wavy bowers. 
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint 

sweet cnckoo-flowers ; 
And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire 

in swamps and hollows gray ; 
And I 'm to be queen o' the May, mother, 

I 'm to be queen o' the May. 



The night-winds come and go, mother, upon 

the meadow-grass. 
And the happy stars above them seem to 

brighten as they pass ; 
There wUl not be a drop of rain the whole of 

the livelong day ; 
And I'm to be qneen o' the May, mother, I'm 

to be qneen o' the May. 



All the valley, mother, '11 be fresh and green 

and still. 
And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over 

all the hill. 



THE MAY QUEEN. 



49a 



And tlie rivulet in the flowery dale '11 mer- 
rily glance and play, 

For I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, 
I 'm to be queen o' the May. 



So you must wake and call me early, call me 

early, mother dear. 
To-morrow '11 be the happiest time of all the 

glad new-year: 
To-morrow '11 be of all the year the maddest, 

merriest day. 
For I 'm to be queen o' the May, mother, 

I 'm to be queen o' the May. 



NEW TEAP. 3 EVE. 



If you 're waking, call me early, call me early, 

mother dear, 
For I would see the sun rise upon the glad 

new-year. 
It is the last uew-year that I shall ever see — 
Then you may lay me low i' the mould, and 

think no more of me. 



To-night I saw the sun set — he set and left 

behind 
The good old year, the dear old time, and all 

my peace of mind ; 
And the new-year 's coming up, mother ; but 

I shall never see 
The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon 

the tree. 



Last May we made a crown of flowers ; we 

liad a merry day — 
Beneath the hawthorn on the green they 

made me queen of May ; 
And we danced about the May-pole and in 

the hazel copse. 
Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall 

white chimney-tops. 



There 's not a flower on all the hills — the frost 

is on the pane ; 
I only wish to live till the snowdrops come 

again. 
I wish the snow would melt and the sun come 

out on high — 
I long to see a flower so before the day I die. 



The building rook '11 caw from the windy tall 

elm-tree. 
And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow 

lea. 
And the swallow '11 come back again with 

summer o'er the wave. 
But I shall lie alone, mother, within the 

mouldering grave. 



Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that 
grave of mine. 

In the early, early morning the summer sun '11 
shine. 

Before the red cook crows from the farm up- 
on the hill — 

When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all 
the world is still. 



When the flowers come again, ' mother, be- 
neath the waning light 

You '11 never see me more in the long gray 
fields .at night; 

When from the dry dark wold the summer 
airs blow cool 

On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the 
bulrush in the pool. 



You '11 bury mo, my mother, just beneath the 

hawthorn shade. 
And you'll come sometimes and see me where 

I am lowly laid. 
I shall not forget you, mother ; I shall hear 

you when you pass, 
With your feet above my head in the long 

and pleasant grass. 



494 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



I have been wild and wayward, but 3-ou'll 

forgive me now ; 
You'll kiss me, my own mother, iiijon my 

cheek and brow ; 
Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your 

grief be wild ; 
You sliould not fret for me, mother — you 

have another child. 



If I can, I '11 come again, mother, from out 

my resting-place ; 
Though you 'II not see me, mother, I shall 

look upon your face ; 
Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken 

what you say, 
And be often, often with you wlien you think 

I 'm far away. 



Good-night ! good-night ! when I have said 

good-night for evermore. 
And you see me carried out from tlio threshold 

of the door. 
Do n't let Effie come to see me till my grave 

be growing green — 
She 'U be a better chUd to you than ever I 

have been. 



She '11 find my garden-tools upon the granary 

floor. 
Let her take 'em — they are hers ; I shall never 

garden more. 
But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the 

rose-bush that I set 
About the parlor-window, and the box of 

mignonette. 



Good-night, sweet mother ! Call me before 

the day is born. 
AU niglit I lie awake, but I ftill asleep at 

morn ; 
But I would see the sun rise upon the glad 

new-year — 
So, if yon 're waking, call me, call me early, 

mother dear. 



CONCLTJSION. 

I. 
I THOUGHT to pass away before, and yet alive 

I am ; 
And in the fields all round I hear the bleating 

of the lamb. 
How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of 

the year ! 
To die before the snowdrop came, and now 

the violet 's here. 



Oh sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath 

the skies ; 
And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me 

that cannot rise ; 
And sweet is all the land about, and all the 

flowers that blow ; 
And sweeter far is death than life, to me that 

long to go. 



It seemed so hard at first, mother, to leave 

the blessed sun. 
And now it seems as hard to stay ; and yet, 

His will be done ! 
But still I think it can 't be long before I find 

release ; 
And that good man, the clergyman, has told 

me words of peac6. 



Oh blessings on his kindly voice, and on bis 
silver hair ! 

And blessings on bis whole life long, untd he 
meet me there ! 

Oh blessings on his kindly heart and on his 
silver head ! 

A thousand times I blest him, as he knelt be- 
side my bed. 



He showed me all the mercy, for he taught 

me all the sin ; 
Now, though my lamp was lighted late, 

there 's One will let me in. 
Nor would I now be well, mother, again, if 

that could be ; 
For my desire is but to pass to Him that died 

for me. 



THE MAY QUEEN. 495 


VI. 

I did not bear the dog howl, mother, or the 


XI. 

So now I think my time is near ; I trust it is. 


death-watch beat — 


I know 


There came a sweeter token when the niglit 


The blessed music went that way my soul 


and morning meet ; 


will have to go. 


But sit beside my bed, mother, and put youi 


And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to- 


band in mine, 


day; 


And EfBe on the other side, and I will teU 


But- Effie, yon must comfort her wh«n I am 


the sign. 


past away. 


VII. 


xn. 


All in the wild March-morning I heard the 


And say to Robin a kind word, and tell him 


angels call — 


not to fret ; 


It was when the moon was setting, and the 


There 's many worthier than I would make 


dark was over all ; 


him happy yet. 


The trees began to whisper, and the wind be- 


If I had lived — I cannot teU — I might have 


gan to roll. 


been his wife ; 


And in the wild March-morning I heard them 


But all these things have ceased to be, with 


call my soul. 


my desire of life. 


vm. 


XIU. 


For lying broad avrake, I thought of you and 


Oh look ! the sun begins to rise ! the heavens 


Effie dear; 


are in a glow ; 


I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer 


He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of 


here ; 


them I know. 


With all my strength I prayed for both — and 


And there I move no longer now, and there 


so I felt resigned. 


his light may shine — 


And up the valley came a swell of music on 


Wild flowers in the valley for other hands 


the wind. 


than mine. 


IX. 


XIV. 


I thought that it was fancy, and I listened in 


Oh sweet and strajige it seems tome, that ere 


my bed ; 


this day is done 


And then did something speak to me — I know 


The voice that now is speaking may be be- 


not what was said ; 


yond the sun — 


For great delight and shuddering took hold 


For ever and for ever with those just souls 


of aU my mind. 


and true — 


And up the valley came again the music on 


And what is life, that we should moan? why 


the wind. 


make we such ado ? 


X. 

But you were sleeping; and I said, "It's not 


XV. 

For ever and for ever, all in a blessed home. 


for them — it 's mine ; " 


And there to wait a little while tiU you and 


And if it comes three times, I thought, I take 


Effie come — 


it for a sign. 


To lie within the light of God, as I lie upon 


And once again it came, and close beside the 


your breast — 


window-bars — 


And the wicked cease from troubling, and 


Then seemed to go right up to heaven and 


the weary are at rest. 


die among the stars. 


Alfeed Tenntson. 



49G 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



THE NTMPH COMPLAINING FOE THE 
DEATH OF HER FAWN. 

The wanton troopers, riding by, 

n.ive shot my fawn, and it will die. 

Ungcntls men ! tliey cannot thrive 

Who killed thee. Thou ne'er didst, alive, 

Them any harm; alas! nor could 

Thy death yet do them any good. 

I 'm sm-e I never wished them ill — 

Nor do I for aU this, nor will ; 

But, if my simple prayers may yet 

Prevail with heaven to forget 

Thy murder, I will join my tears, 

Bather than fail. But, oh my fears ! 

It cannot die so. Heaven's king 

Keeps register of every thing ; 

And nothing may we use in vain ; 

Even beasts must be with justice slain — 

Else men are made their deodands. 

Though they should wash their guilty hands 

In this warm life-blood, which doth part 

From thine and wound me to tlie heart. 

Yet could they not be clean — their stain 

Is dyed in such a purple grain ; 

There is not such another in 

The world to ofter for their siu. 

Inconstant Sylvio ! when yet 
I had not found him counterfeit. 
One morning (I remember well). 
Tied in this silver chain and bell, 
Gave it to me ; nay, and I know 
What he said then — I 'm sure I do : 
Said he, '' Look how your huntsman here 
Ilath taught a fawn to bunt his dear!" 
But Sylvio soon had me beguiled — 
This waxed tame, while he grew wild ; 
And, quite regardless of my sm.art, 
Left me his fawn, but took his heart. 

Thenceforth, I set myself to play 
My solitai'y time away. 
With this ; and, very well content, 
Could so mine idle hfe have spent. 
For it was full of sport, and light 
Of foot and heart, and did invite 
Me to its game. It seemed to bless 
Itself in me ; how could I less 
Than love it ? Oh I cannot be 
Unkind t' a beast that loveth me. 



Had it lived long, I do not know 
Whether it, too, might have done so 
As Sylvio did — his gifts might be 
Perhaps as false, or more, than he. 
For I am sure, for aught that I 
Could in so short a time espy, 
Thy love was far more better than 
The love of false and cruel man. 

With sweetest milk, and sugar, first 
I it at mine own lingers nursed ; 
And as it grew, so every day 
It waxed more white and sweet than they. 
It had so sweet a breath ! and oft 
I blushed to see its foot more soft 
And white — shall I say than my Land? 
Nay, any lady's of the land. 

It is a wondrous thing how fleet 
'T was on those little silver feet ! 
With what a pretty, skipping grace 
It oft would challenge me the race ! 
And when 't had left me far away, 
'T would stay, and run again, and stay; 
For it was nimbler, much, than hinds, 
And trod as if on the four winds. 

I have a garden of my own — 
But so with roses overgrown, 
And lilies, that you would it guess 
To be a little wilderness ; 
And all the spring-time of the year 
It only loved to be there. 
Among the beds of lilies I 
Have sought it oft, where it should lie ; 
Yet could not, tUl itself would rise, 
Find it, althougb before mine eyes ; 
For in the flaxen lilies' shade 
It like a bank of lilies laid. 
Upon the roses it woidd feed, 
Until its lips ev'n seemed to bleed ; 
And then to me 't would boldly trip, 
And print those roses on my lip. 
But all its chief delight was still 
On roses thus itself to fill ; 
And its pure virgin limbs to fold 
In whitest sheets of lilies cold. 
Had it lived long, it would have been 
Lilies without, roses within. 

Oh help I oh help ! I see it faint, 
And die as calmly as a saint ! 
See how it weeps ! the tears do come, 
Sad, slowly, dropping like a gum. 
So weeps the wounded balsam ; so 



LAMENT OF THE IRISU EMIGRANT. 



497 



The holy frankincense doth flow ; 

Tlio brotherless Ileliades 

Melt in such amber tears as these. 

I in a golden vial will 
Keep these two crystal tears ; and fill 
It, till it do o'erflow, witli mine ; 
Then place it in Diana's shrine. 

Now my sweet fawn is vanished to 
Whither the swans and turtles go ; 
In fair Elysium to endure, 
With milk-white lambs, and ermins pure. 
Oh do not run too fast ! for I 
Will but bespeak tliy grave, and die. 

First my unhappy statue shall 
Be cut in marble ; and withal. 
Let it bo weeping too ! But there 
Th' engraver sure his art may spare. 
For I so truly theo bemoan 
That I shall weep though I be stone ; 
Until my tears, still drooping, wear 
My breast, tliemselves engraving there. 
There at my feet shalt thou bo laid, 
Of purest alabaster made ; 
For I would have thine imago bo 
White as I can, though not as thee. 

Andrew Mabvell. 



LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGPvANT. 

I 'j[ sittin' on the stile, Mary, 

Wliero we sat side by side 
On a bright May mornin' long ago. 

When first you were my bride ; 
The corn was springin' fresh and green. 

And the lark sang loud and high ; 
And the rod was on your lip, Mary, 

And the love-light in your eye. 

The place is little changed, Mary ; 

The day is bright as then ; 
The lark's loud song is in my car. 

And the corn is green again ; 
But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, 

And your breath, warm on my cheek ; 
And I still keep list'nin' for the words 

You never more will speak. 

'T is but a step down yonder lane. 
And the little church stands near — 
33 



The church where we were wed, Mary; 

I see tlio spire from here. 
But the grave-yard lies between, Mary, 

And my step might break your rest — 
For I 've laid you, darling, down to sleep, 

With your baby on your breast. 

I 'm very lonely now, Mary — 

For tlie poor make no new friends ; 
But, oh ! they love the better still 

The few our Father sends I 
And you were all I had, Mary — 

My blessin' and my pride : 
There 's nothing left to care for now. 

Since my poor Mary died. 

Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, 

That still kept hoping on. 
When the trust in God had left my soul, 

And my arm's young strength was gone ; 
There was comfort ever on your lip, 

And the kind look on your brow — 
I bless yon, Mary, for that same, 

Though you cannot hoar me now. 

I thank you for the patient smile 

When your heart was fit to break— 
Wlicji the hunger pain was gnawin' there. 

And you hid it for my sake ; 
I bless you for the pleasant word. 

When your heart was sad and sore — 
Oh! I 'm thankful you are gone, Mary, 

Where grief can't reach you more ! 

I 'm biddin' you a long farewell, 

My Mary — kind and true I 
But I 'U not forget you, darling, 

In tlie land I 'm goin' to ; 
Tliey say there 's bread and work for aU, 

And the sun sliines always there — 
But I '11 not forget old Ireland, 

Were it fifty times as fair ! 

And often in those grand old woods 

I '11 sit, and shut my eyes. 
And my heart will travel back again 

To the place where Mary lies; 
And I '11 think I see the little stile 

Where we sat side by side, 
And the springin' corn, and the bright May 
morn. 

When first you were my bride. 

IjADT DUFFEBIN. 



498 POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 




Alas! for the rarity 


THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 


Of Christian charity 




Under the sun ! 


"Drowned! Drowned ! "—HiULET. 


Oh! it was pitiful ! 


One more unfortunate, 


Near a whole city full, 


Weary of breath, 


Home she had none. 


Eashly importunate. 
Gone to her death ! 


Sisterly, brotherly, 




Fatherly, motherly 


Take her up tenderly, 


Feelings had changed — 


Lift her with care ! 


Love, by harsh evidence. 


Fashioned so slenderly — 


Thrown from its eminence ; 


Young, and so fair I 


Even God's providence 




Seeming estranged. 


Look at her garments 




Clinging like cerementi. 


Where the lamps quiver 


WhUst the wave constantly 


So far in the river. 


Drips from her clothing ; 
Take her up instantly, 


With many a light 

From window and casement, 


Loving, not loathing ! 


From garret to basement. 




She stood, with amazement, 


Touch her not scornfully ! 


Houseless by night. 


Think of her mournfully. 
Gently and humanly — 


The bleak wind of March 


Not of the stains of her ; 


Made her tremble and shiver ; 


AH that remains of her 


But not the dark arch. 


Now is pure womanly. 


Or the black flowing river ; 




Mad from life's history. 


Make no deep scrutiny 


Glad to death's mysterj', 


Into her mutiny. 


Swift to be hurled — 


Rash and nndutiful ; 


Any where, any where 


Past all dishonor. 


Out of the world ! 


Death has left on her 




Only the beautiful. 


In she plunged boldly — 




No matter how coldly 


Still, for all slips of hers— 


The rough river ran — 


One of Eve's family — 


Over the brink of it ! 


Wipe those poor lips of hers. 


Picture it — think of it ! 


Oozing so clammily. 


Dissolute man ! 




Lave in it, drink of it. 


Loop up her tresses 


Then, if you can ! 


Escaped from the comb — 




Her fair auburn tresses — 


Take her up tenderly— 


Whilst wonderment guesses 


Lift her with care ! 


Where was her home ? 


Fashioned so slenderly — 




Young, and so fair ! 


Who was her father ? 




Who was her mother ? 


Ere her limbs, frigidly, 


Had she a sister ? 


Stiffen too rigidly, 


Had she a brother ? 


Decently, kindly. 


Or was tJiere a dearer one 


Smooth and compose them ; 


Still, and a nearer one 


And her eyes, close them. 


Yet, than all other? 


Staring so blindly 1 



THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. 



4'J9 



Dreadfully staring 
Through muddy impurity, 
As when with the daring 
Last look of despairing 
Fixed on futurity. 

Perishing gloomily, 
Spurred by contumely, 
Cold inhumanity, 
Burning insanity, 
Into her rest ! 
Cross her hands humbly, 
As if praying dumbly. 
Over her breast ! 

Owning her weakness. 
Her evil behavior. 
And leaving, with meekness, 
Her sins to her Saviour ! 

Thomas Hood, 



THE MOTHER'S LAST SONG. 

Sleep!— The ghostly winds are blowing ! 
No moon abroad — no star is glowing ; 
The river is deep, and the tide is flowing 
To the land where you and I are going! 

We are going afar. 

Beyond moon or star. 
To the land where the sinless angels are ! 

I lost my heart to your heartless sire, 
('T was melted away by his looks of fire) — 
Forgot my God, and my father's ire, 
All for the sake of a man's desire ; 
But now we '11 go 
Where the waters flow. 
And make us a bed where none shall 
know. 

The world is cruel — the world is untrue ; 
Our foes are many, our friends are few ; 
No work, no bread, however we sue ! 
What is there left for me to do, 
But fly— fly 
From the cruel sky, 
And hide in the deepest deeps — and die ! 
Bakey Cornwall. 



THE SONG OF THE SHHIT. 

With fingers weary and worn. 

With eyelids heavy and red, 
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, 

Plying her needle and thread — 
Stitch! stitch! stitch! 
In poverty, hunger, and dirt ; 

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch 
She sang the " Song of the Shirt ! " 

"Work! work! work! 

While the cock is crowing aloof! 
And work — work — work, 

Till the stars shine through the roof! 
It 's oh ! to be a slave 

Along with the barbarous Turk, 
Where woman has never a soul to save, 

If this is Christian work ! 

" Work — work — work 

Till the brain begins to swim ! 
Work — work — work 

Till the eyes are heavy and dim ! 
Seam, and gusset, and band. 

Band, and gusset, and seam — 
Till over the buttons I fall asleep, 

And sew them on in a dream ! 

" O men, with sisters dear I 

O men, with mothers and wives ! 
It is not linen you 're wearing out. 

But human creatures' lives ! 
Stitch — stitch — stitch. 

In poverty, hunger, and dirt — 
Sewing at once, with a double thread, 

A shroud as well as a shirt! 

" But why do I talk of death— 

That phantom of grisly bone ? 
I hardly fear his terrible shape. 

It seems so like my own — 

It seems so like my own 

Because of the fasts I keep ; 
God ! that bread should be so dear, 

And flesh and blood so cheap ! 

" Work — -work — work ! 

My labor never flags ; 
And what are its wages ? A bed of straw, 

A crust of bread — and rags, 



500 POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 


That shattered roof — and this naked floor — 




A table — a broken chair — 


SOXG OF THE SILENT LAND. 


And a wall so blank uiy shadow I thank 




For sometimes falling there ! 


Into the silent land ! 




Ah! who shall lead us thither? 


" Work — work — work ! 


Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gatlicr. 


From weary chime to chime ! 


And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand ; 


Work — work — work — 


Who leads us with a gentle hand 


As prisoners work lor crime ! 


Thither, oh, thither! 


Band, and gusset, and seam, 


Into the silent land 1 


Seam, and gusset, and band — 




Till the heai't is sick and the brain benumbed. 


Into the silent land ! 


As well as the weary hand. 


To you, ye boundless regions 




Of all perfection ! Tender morning-visions 


" Work — work — work 


Of beauteous souls ! The future's pledge and 


In the dull December light ! 


bandl 


And work — work — work. 


Who in life's battle firm doth stand 


When the weather is warm and bright !— 


Shall bear hope's tender blossoms 


While underneath the eaves 


Into the silent land ! 


The brooding swallows cling, 




As if to show me their sunny backs, 


land! land! 


And twit me with the Spring. 


For all the broken-hearted 




The mildest herald by our fate allotted 


'■ Oh! but to breathe the breath 


Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand 


Of the cowslip and primrose sweet — 


To lead us with a gentle hand 


With the sky above ray head. 


Into the land of the great departed — 


And the grass beneath my feet ! 


Into the silent land ! 


For only one short hour 


JoHAKN Gaiide>'z VOX SAL13. (German.) 


To feel as I used to feel, 


Translation of H. TV. Lokgfellow. 


Before I knew the woes of want 




And the walk that costs a meal ! 


. -^- 


'• Oh ! but for one short hour — 


THE PAUPER'S DEATHBED. 


A respite however brief! 




No blessed leisure for love or hope, 


Tread softly 1 bow the head — 


But only time for grief! 


In reverent silence bow ! 


A little weeping would ease my heart ; 


No passing bell doth toll ; 


But in their briny bed 


Yet an immortal soul 


My tears mast stop, for every drop 


Is passing now. 


Hinders needle and thread ! " 




Stranger, however great. 


With fingers weary and worn. 


With lowly reverence bow ! 


With eyelids heavy and red, 


There 's one in that poor shed — 


A woman sat, in unwomanly rags. 


One by that paltry bed — 


Plying her needle and thread — 


Greater than thou. 


Stitch! stitch! stitch! 




In poverty, hunger, and dirt ; 


Beneath that beggar's roof, 


And still, with a voice of dolorous pitch — 


Lo ! Death doth keep his state ! 


Would that its tone could reach the rich ! — 


Enter ! — no crowds attend — 


She sang this " Song of the Shirt ! " 


Enter ! — no guards defend 


Thomas Hood. 


This palace gate. 



THE LAST JOURNEY. 



501 



That pavement damp and cold 
No smiling courtiers tread ; 

One silent woman stands, 

Lifting with meagre hands 
A dying head. 

No mingling voices sound — 

An infant wail alone ; 
A sob suppressed — again 
That short deep gasp^and then 

The parting groan ! 

Oh ! change — oh ! wondrous change ! 

Burst are the prison bars! 
This moment there, so low, 
So agonized — and now 

Beyond the stars ! 

Oil ! change — stupendous change I 
There lies the soulless clod! 

The sun eternal breaks ; 

The new immortal wakes — 
Wakes with his God. 

Caroline Bowles SoDTOEr. 



THE LAST JOURNEY. 

Slowly, with measured tread, 
Onward we bear the dead 

To his lone home ; 
Short grows the homeward road- 
On with your mortal load ! — 

O grave 1 we come. 

Yet, yet — ah ! hasten not 
Past each remembered spot 

Where ho hath been — 
Where late he walked in glee, 
These from henceforth to be 

Never more seen I 

Best ye — set down the bier ! 
One he loved dweUeth here ; 

Let the dead lie 
A moment that door beside, 
Wont to fly open wide 

Ere he drew niirh. 



Hearken ! — ho speakoth yet I — 
" O friend ! wilt thou forget 

(Friend — more than brother !) 
How hand in hand wo 've gone, 
Heart with heart linked in one — 

All to each other ? 



" friend I I go from thee — 
Where the worm feasteth free, 

Darkly to dwell ; 
Giv'st thou no parting ki.ss? 
Friend I is it come to this? 

O friend, farewell ! " 

Uplift your load again ! 

Take up the mourning strain — 

Pour the deep wail I 
Lo I the expected one 
To his place passetli on — 

Grave ! bid him hail ! 

Yet, yet — ah I slowly move 1 
Bear not the form we love 

Fast from our sight — 
Let the air breathe on him, 
And the sun beam on him 

Last looks of light. 

Here dwells his mortal foe ; 
Lay the departed low. 

Even at his gate ! 
Will the dead speak again — 
Utt'ring proud boasts, and vain 

Last words of hate ? 

Lo I the cold lips unclose — 
List! list I what sounds are those. 

Plaintive and low ? 
" thou, mine enemy ! 
Come forth and look on me. 

Ere hence I go. 

" Curse not thy foemen now — 

Mark 1 on his paUid brow 
Whose seal is set ! 

Pardoning I pass thy way ; 

Then wage not war with clay- 
Pardon — forget ! " 



502 POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORKOW. 


Now all Lis labor 's done ! 


He 's taking a drive in his carriage at last ; 


Now, now the goal is won ! 


But it will not be long, if he goes on so fast : 


grave, we come ! 


Rattle his lones over the stones ! 


Seal up the precious dust — 


He's only apanper, whom nobody owns! 


Land of the good and just, 




Take the soul home ! 


You bumpkins! who stare at your brother 


Cabolcje Bowles Southet. 


conveyed — 




Behold what respect to a cloddy is paid ! 




And be joyful to think, when by death you 're 
laid low. 






You 've a chance to the grave like a gemman 


THK PAUPER'S DEIVE. 


to go! 




Rattle Ills bones oter the stones ! 


There 's a grim one-horse hearse in a jolly 


He 's only a pauper, whom nobody owns ! 


round trot — 




To the church-yard a pauper is going, I wot ; 


But a truce to this strain ; for my soul it is 


The road it is rough, and the hearse has no 


sad. 


spriugs ; 


To think that a heart in humanity clad 


And hark to the dirge which the mad driver 


Should make, like the brutes, such a desolate 


sings: 


end, 


Rattle Ms hones over the stones! 


And depart from the light without leaving a 


Ee '« only a pauper, icJiom nolody oiens ! 


friend ! 




Bear soft his bones over the atones! 




Though a pauper, he's one whom his Maier 


Oh, where are the mourners ? Alasl there are 


yet owns ! 

Tdouas Nokl. 


none — 


He has left not a gap in the world, now he 's 
gone — 






Not a tear in the eye of child, woman, or 




man ; 


THE DEATH-BED. 


To the grave with his carcass as fast as you 




can: 


"We watched her breathing thro' the night, 


Sattle his lones over the stones! 


Her breathing soft and low. 


He's only a pauper, whom nolody owns! 


As in her breast the wave of life 




Kept heaving to and fro. 


What a jolting, and creaking, and splashing. 




and din ! 


So silently we seemed to speak. 


The whip how it cracks! and the wheels, how 


So slowly moved about. 


they spin ! 


As we had lent her half our powers 


How tlie dirt, right and left, o'er the hedges 


To eke her living out. 


is hurled ! — 




The pauper at length makes a noise in the 


Our very hopes belied our fears, 


world ! 


Our fears our hopes belied — 


Rattle his bones over the stones ! 


We thought her dying when she slept, 


ffe^s only apanper, whom nobody owns! 


And sleeping when she died. 




For when the morn came, dim and sad. 


Poor pauper defunct 1 he has made some ap- 


And chiU with early showers. 


proach 


Her quiet eyelids closed — she had 


To gentility, now that he 'a stretched in a 


Another morn than ours. 


coach ! 


Thomas Hood. 



HESTER. 503 


A DEATH-BED. 


HESTER. 


Her suffering ended with the day ; 

Yet lived she at its close, 
And breathed the long, long night away, 

In statue-like repose. 


When maidens such as Hester die. 
Their place ye may not well supply, 
Though ye among a thousand try. 
With vain endeavor. 


But when the sun, in all his state, 

Illumed the eastern skies. 
She passed through glory's morning-gate, 

And walked in Paradise ! 

James Aldeich. 


A month or more hath she been dead, 
Yet cannot I by force be led 
To think upon the wormy bed 
And her, together. 


PEACE! WHAT DO TEARS AVAIL? 


A springy motion in her gait, 
A rising step, did indicate 
Of pride and joy no common rate. 
That flushed her spirit; 


Peace 1 what can tears avail ? 
She lies all dumb and pale. 

And from her eye 
The spirit of lovely life is fading — 

And she must die ! 


I know not by what name beside 
I shall it call : — if 't was not pride. 
It was a joy to that allied, 
She did inherit. 


Why looks the lover wroth — the friend up- 




braiding ? 
Reply, reply ! 


Her parents held the Quaker rule. 
Which doth the human feeling cool; 


Hath she not dwelt too long 
'Midst pain, and grief, and wrong? 

Then why not die ? 
Why suffer again her doom of sorrow, 

And hopeless lie ? 
Why nurse the trembling dream until to-mor- 
row? 


But she was trained in nature's school — 
Nature had blessed her. 

A waking eye, a prying mind, 
A heart that stirs, is bard to bind ; 
A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind — 
Ye could not Hester. 


Reply, reply ! 




Death ! Take her to thine arms, 
In aU her stainless charms ! 

And with her fly 
To heavenly haunts, where, clad in bright- 


My sprightly neighbor, gone before 
To that unknown and silent shore ! 
Shall we not meet, as heretofore. 
Some summer morning. 


ness, 
The angels lie ! 
Wilt bear her there, d«ath! in all her 

whiteness? 
Rei>ly, reply ! 

Babet Cohitwall. 


When from thy cheerful eyes a ray 
Hath struck a bliss upon the day^ 
A bliss that would not go away— 
A sweet fore- warning ? 

Charles Lamb. 







604 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SOREOTT. 



LYCIDAS. 

Yet once more, O yo laurels, aiul oiico more 

To luyrtles brown, with ivy novor soro, 

I oomo to i>luolc your berries linrsh luui crude, 

And with forced tiugors rude 

[>liatter your loaves before the ineUowiii^ 

year. 
Kilter ooustraint, and sad occasion dear, 
Compels mo to disturb your season due ; 
For Lycidas is dead, dead ero his prime, 
Youuu: Lycidas, and liath not left his peer. 
AVlio would not sin_:j for Lycidas? he knew 
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. 
lie nmst not float upon his watery bier 
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, 
■Witliout the meed of some melodious tear. 

Begin then, sisters of the sacred well. 
That from beueath the seat of Jovo doth 

spriuii, 
Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. 
Heuee with denial vain, and coy esouse; 
So may some gentle muse 
With lucky words favor my destined urn, 
And as ho passes turn, 
And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud ; 
For we were nursed upon the self-same hill. 
Fed the s;»me llock by fountain, shade, and 

rill. 
Together both, ero the high lawns appear- 
ed 
Under the opening eyelids of the morn, 
Wo drove a-lield, and both together heard 
AVhat time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, 
Battening our tiocks with the fresh dews of 

night, 
Ot\ till the stai- that rose at evening bright 
Toward heaven's descent had sloped his 

westering wheel. 
Mesuiwhilo the rural ditties were not mute. 
Tempered to the oaten flute ; 
Rough satyre danced, and fauns with cloven 

heel 
From the glad song would not be absent long. 
And old Daina>tas loved to hear onr song. 
But oh, the heavy change, now thou .irt 

gone — 
Now thou art gone, and never nuist return ! 
Thee, shepherd, thee the woods, and desert 

caves, 



With wild thyme and the gadding vino o'er- 

grown. 
And all their echoes, mourn ; 
The willows, and the hazel copses green, 
Shall now no more be seen, 
Fanning their joyous leaves to tliy soft lays. 
As killing as the canker to the rose. 
Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that 

graze. 
Or frost to flowers, that tlieir gay wai-drobe 

weiir, 
■\Vhen first the white-thorn blows ; 
Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear. 
■Where were ye, nymphs, when the re- 
morseless deep 
Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas ? 
For neither were ye playing ou tho steep. 
Where your old bards, tho famous druids, 

lie, 
Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, 
Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard 

stream — 
Ay mo I I fondly dream. 
Had ye been there ; for what could that have 

done ? 
What coiUd the muse herself that Orpheus 

bore. 
The nnise herself foT her enchanting son. 
Whom univers.al nature did lament, 
When, by the rout that made tho hideoua 

roar, 
nis gory visage down the stream was sent, 
Down the swift Ilebrus to the Lesbian shore? 

Alas ! what boots it with incessant care 
To tend the liomely, slighted shepherd's trade, 
And strictly meditate the thankless muse i 
Wore it not better done, as others use. 
To sport with Amaryllis in tho shade, 
Or with the tangles of Nea^ra's hair? 
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth 

raise 
(That last intinuity of noble minds") 
To scorn delights, and live laborious days ; 
But tho fair guerdon when we hope to find. 
And think to burst out into sudden blaze. 
Comes the blind fury with the abhorred 

shears. 
And slits the thin-spnn life. But not the 

praise, 
Pho>bus replied, and touched my trembling 

oars ; 



LYCIDAS. 



Bor. 



I'ainc is no plant that grows on mortal soil, 
Nor in tliO glistering foil 
Kut oil" to tlio world, nor in broad rumor lies; 
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes 
And perfect witness of all-judging Jove ; 
As lie jirouounces lastly on each deed, 
Of so nuich fame in heaven expect tliy meed. 
O fountain Arethuse, and tliou honored 

flood, 
Sniooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal 

reeds, 
That strain I heard was of a higher mood ; 
But now my oat proceeds. 
And listens to the herald of the sea 
That came in Neptune's plea ; 
lie asked tlio waves, and asked the felon 

winds, 
What liard mishap hath doomed this gentle 

Bwain ? 
And questioned every gust of rugged winds 
That Mows from off each beaked promontory ; 
They knew not of his story ; 
And sago llippotades their answer brings. 
That not a blast was from his dungeon 

strayed ; 
The air was calm, and on the level brine 
Sleek Panope with all her sisters played. 
It was tliat fatal and perfidious bai'k, 
Built in th' eclipse, and rigged with curses 

dark. 
That sunk so low that sacred head of tliine. 
Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing 

slow. 
His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge. 
Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge. 
Like to that sanguine flower, inscribed with 

woe. 
Ah I who hath reft (quoth he) my dearest 

pledge ? 
Last came, and last did go. 
The pilot of the (Jaliiean Lake ; 
Two massy keys he bore of metals twain 
(The t?"!'!*-'" opes, the iron shuts amain); 
lie shook liis mitred locks, and stern bespako : 
Ilow well could I have spared for thee, young 

swain. 
Enow of such as for their bellies' sake 
Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold ? 
Of other care they little reckoning make, 
Thau how to scramble at the shearers' feast, 
And shove away the worthy bidden guest ; 



Blind mouths 1 that scarce themselves know 

how to hold 
A shecji-hook, or have learned aught else the 

least 
That to the faithful herdsman's art belongs ! 
What rocks it them? what need they? thoy 

are sped ; 
And when they list, their loan and flashy 

songs 
Grate on their serannol pijios of wretched 

straw ; 
The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed. 
But, swollen witli wind and tlio rank mist 

they draw. 
Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread; 
Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw 
Daily devours apace, and nothing said ; 
But that two-handed engine at the door, 
Stands ready to smite once, and smite no 
more. 
Keturn, Alpheus, the dread voice is jiast. 
That sliruuk thy streams ; return Sicilian 

iiuiso, 
And call the vales, and bid them hither cast 
Their bells, and flowerets of a thousand lines. 
Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use 
Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing 

brooks. 
On whoso fresh lap the swart-star sparely 

looks. 
Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes, 
That on the green turf suck the honied show- 
ers. 
And purple all the ground with vernal flow- 
ers. 
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, 
The tufted crow-too, and pale jessamine. 
The white pink, and the pansy freaked with 

The glowing violet. 

The musk-rose, and tho wcll-attired wood- 
bine, 

With cowslips wan that hang the jieiisive 
head, 

And every flower that sad emliroidery wears; 

Bid araaranthus all his beauty shed. 

And dafibdilhes fill their cups with tears. 

To strew tho laureat hearse where Lycid lies. 

For so to interpose a little ease. 

Let our frail thoughts dally with false sur- 
mise. 



E06 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Ay me I whilst thee the shores and sounding 

seas 
Wash far away where'er thy bones are hurled, 
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, 
Where thou perhaps under the whehuing tide 
Visit'st the bottom of tlio monstrous world ; 
Or whether thou to our moist vows denied, 
Sleep'st by the faldo of Kellorus old, 
MHiere the jjreat vision of tlie guarded mount 
Looks towards Namancos and Bayona's bold; 
Look homeward angel now, and melt with 

ruth! 
And, ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth ! 
Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no 
more! 
For Lyeidas your sorrow is not dead, 
Sunk though he be beneath tlie watery floor. 
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed. 
And yet anon repairs his drooping head, 
And tricks bis beams, and with new-spangled 

ore 
Flames in the forehead of tlie morning sky; 
So Lyeidas sunk low, but mounted high, 
Tlirough the dear might of Ilim tliat walked 

the waves, 
Wliere, other groves and other streams along, 
"With nectar pure his oozy locks ho laves. 
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song. 
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. 
There entertain bim all the saints above, 
In solenm troops and sweet societies, 
That sing, and singing in their glory move, 
And wipe the tears forever from his eyes. 
Now, Lyeidas, the shepherds weep no more ; 
Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore, 
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good 
To all that wander in that perilous Hood. 
Tlius sang the uncouth swain to th' oaks 
and rills. 
While the still morn went out with sandals 

gray ; 
He touclied the tender stops of various quills. 
With eager thought warbling bis Doric lay. 
And now the sun had stretched out all the 

hills. 
And now was dropt into the western bay ; 
At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue : 
To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new. 

John Milton, 



IX REMEMBRxVNCE OF TILE IIOM. 
EDWAKD ERNEST VILLIERS. 



A GRACE though melancholy, manly too, 
Moulded his being; pensive, grave, serene, 
O'er his habitual bearing and his mien 
Unceasing pain, by patience tempered, threw 
A shade of sweet austerity. But seen 
In happier hours and by the friendly few. 
That curtain of the spirit was withdi-nwn, 
And fancy light and playful as a fawn, 
And reason iraped with inquisition keen. 
Knowledge long sought with ardor ever new, 
And wit love-kindled, showed in colors true 
What genial joys with sufterings can consist. 
Then did all sternness melt as melts a mist 
Touched by the brightness of the golden 

dawn, 
Aerial heights disclosing, valleys green, 
And sunlights thrown the woodland tufts be- 
tween. 
And flowers aud spangles of the dewy lawn. 



And even the stranger, though he saw not 

these. 
Saw what would not be willingly passed by. 
In his deportment, even when cold and shy, 
Was seen a clear collectedness and case, 
A simple grace and gentle dignity. 
That failed not at the first accost to please ; 
And as reserve relented by degrees, 
So winning was his aspect and address. 
His smUe so rich in sad felicities. 
Accordant to a voice which charmed no less, 
Th.at who but saw him once remembered 

long, 
Aud some in whom such images are strong 
Have hoarded the impression in their heart 
Fancy's fond dreams and memory's joys 

among. 
Like some loved relic of romantic song, 
Or cherished masterpiece of ancient art. 



His life was private; safely led, aloof 
From the loud world, — which yet he under- 
stood 



ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON. 



m 



Largely and wisely, as no worldling could. 
For ho by privilege of his nature proof 
Against false glitter, from beneath the roof 
Of privacy, as from a cave, surveyed 
With steadfast eye its flickering light and 

shade. 
And gently judged for evil and for good. 
But whilst he mixed not for his own behoof 
In public strife, his spirit glowed with zeal. 
Not shorn of action, for the public weal, — 
For truth and justice as its warp and woof, 
For freedom as its signature and seal. 
His life thus sacred from the world, discharged 
From vain ambition and inordinate care, 
In virtue exercised, by reverence rare 
Lifted, and by humility enlarged, 
Became a temple and a place of prayer. 
In latter years he walked not singly there ; 
For one was with him, ready at all hours 
His griefs, his joys, his inmost thoughts to 

share, 
Who buoyantly his burthens helped to bear, 
And decked his altars daily with fresh flowers. 



But farther may we pass not; for the ground 
Is holier than the muse herself may tread ; 
Nor would I it should echo to a sound 
Less solemn than the service for the dead. 
Mine is inferior matter, — my own loss, — 
The loss of dear delights for ever fled. 
Of reason's converse by affection fed. 
Of wisdom, counsel, solace, that across 
Life's dreariest tracts a tender radiance shed. 
Friend of my youth ! though younger yet my 

guide, 
IIow much by thy unerring insight clear 
I shai)ed my way of life for many a year, 
What thoughtful friendship on thy death-bed 

died! 
Friend of my youth ! whilst thou wast by my 

side 
Autumnal days still breathed a vernal breath ; 
IIow like a charm thy life to me supplied 
All waste and injury of time and tide, 
Uow like a disenchantment was thy death ! 
Heney Taylor. 



ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW 
HENDERSON. 

O Death 1 thou tyrant fell and bloody 1 
The nmckle devil wi' a woodie 
Ilaurl thee harao to bis black sraiddie. 

O'er bureheon hides, 
And like stockfish come o'er his stnddie 

Wi' thy auld sides ! 

He 's gane I he 's gane ! be 's frae us torn, 
The ae best fellow e'er was born ! 
Thee, Matthew, nature's sel' shall mourn 

By wood and wild. 
Where, haply, pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exiled. 

Ye hills, near neebors o' the stama. 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns 1 
Ye cliffs, the liaunts of sailing yearns. 

Where echo slumbers! 
Come join, ye nature's sturdiest bairns. 

My wailing numbers! 

Mourn, ilka grove tlio cushat kens ! 
Ye hazelly shaws and briery dens ! 
Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens, 

Wi' toiilin' din, 
Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens, 

Frae luin to linn. 

Mourn, little harebells owre the lea; 
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 
Ye woodbines hanging honnilie, 

In scented bowers ; 
Ye roses on your thorny tree, 

The first o' flowers! 

At dawn, when every grassy blade 

Droops with a diamond at his head. 

At even, when beans their fragrance shed 

1' th' rustling gale. 
Ye maukins, whiddin' through the glade. 

Come, join my wail ! 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood; 
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud ; 
Ye curlews calling through a clud; 

Ye whistling plover; 
And mourn, yo whimng paitrick brood; 

He's gane for ever! 



SOS 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teiils ; 
Yo fisher herons, watching eels; 
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 

Circling the lake ; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

Rair for his sake 1 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks, at close o' day, 
'Mang fields o' flowering clover gay ! 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our eauld shore. 
Tell thae far worlds whu lies iu clay, 

Wham wo deplore. 

Ye howlcts, frae your ivy bower. 
In some auld tree, or eldritch tower. 
What time the moon, wi' silent glower. 

Sets up her horn, 
Wail through the weary midnight hour 

Till waukrtfe morn ! 

O rivers, forests, hills, and plains ! 
Oft have ye heard my cantic strains; 
But now, what else for me remains 

But tales of woe ; 
And frae my een the drapping rains 

Maun over flow ! 

Mourn, spring, thou darling of the year ! 
Ilk cowslip cup shall kcp a tear ; 
Thou, sinnuer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up his head. 
Thy gay, green, tiow'ry tresses shear, 

For him that 's dead 1 

Then autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, winter, hurling through the air 

The roaring blast, 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we 've lost! 

Mourn him, thou sun, great source of light ! 
Mourn, empress of the silent night ! 
And you, ye twinkling starnics bright, 

]My Matthew mourn ! 
For through your orbs ho 's taen his flight, 

Ne'er to return. 

O Henderson I the man I the brother ! 
And art thou gone, and gone for ever ? 
And hast thou crossed that unknown river. 

Life's dreary bound ? 
Like thee, where shall I find another. 

The world around ? 



Go to your sculptured tombs, ye great, 
In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
But by thy honest turf I 'U wait 

Thou man of worth ! 
And weep tlie ae best fellow's fate 

E'er lay in earth. 

EoBERT Burns, 



A FUNERAL HYMN. 

Ye midnight shades, o'er nature spread 1 

Dumb silence of the dreary hour ! 
In honor of th' approaching dead, 
Around your awful terrors pour. 

Yes, pour around. 

On this pale ground. 
Through all this deep surrounding gloom, 

The sober thought. 

The tear untaught. 
Those meetest mourners at a tomb. 

Lo! as the surpliced train draw near 

To this last mansion of mankind. 
The slow sad bell, the sable bier, 
In holy musings wrap the mind ! 

And while their beam. 

With trembling stream. 
Attending tapers faintly dart. 

Each mouldering bone. 

Each sculptured stone, 
Strikes mute instruction to the heart 1 

Now, let the sacred organ blow, 
With solemn pause, and sounding slow ; 
Now, let the voice due measure keep. 
In strains that sigh, and words that weep ; 
Till all the vocal current blended roll, 
Not to depress, but lift the soaring soul — 

To lift it to the Maker's praise, 

Who first informed our frame with breath 
And, after some few stormy days. 
Now, gracious, gives us o'er to death. 

No king of fears 

In him appears. 
Who shuts the scene of human woes ; 

Beneath his shade 

Securely laid, 
The dead alone find true repose. 



oil! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. 



509 



Then, while we mingle dust with (lust, 

To Odo, supremely good aud wise, 
Raise ballelujabs ! God is just. 

And man most happy when he dies! 
His winter past, 
Fair spring at last 
Receives him on her flowery shore ; 
Where pleasure's rose 
Immortal blows. 
And sin and soitow are no more! 

David Mallett. 



GANE WERE BUT THE WINTER 
CAUID. 

Gane were but the winter cauld, 
And gane were but the snaw, 

I could sleep in the wild woods, 
Where primroses blaw. 

Cauld 's the snaw at my head. 

And cauld at my feet. 
And the finger o' death 's at my een, 

Closing tbeni to sleep. 

Let nane tell my father, 

Or my mither sao dear ; 
I '11 meet them baith iu heaven 

At the spring o' the year. 

Allan Cunningham. 



Oil! 



SNATCHED AWAY IN BEAUTY'S 
BLOOM. 



On ! snatched away in beauty's bloom. 
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb ; 
But on thy turf shall roses rear 
Their leaves, the earliest of the year ; 
And the wild cy])res3 wave in tender gloom. 

And oft by you blue gushing stream 
Shall sorrow lean her drooping head, 

And feed deep thought with many a dream. 
And lingering pause and lightly tread — 
Fond wretch ! as if her step disturbed the 
dead. 

Away ! we know that tears are vain. 
That death nor heeds nor hears distress : 



Will this unteach us to complain ? 

Or make one mourner weep the less ? 
And thou — -who tell'st mc to forget, 
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. 

LoQD BrBOif. 



CORONACH. 

He is gone on the mountain, 

He is lost to the forest. 
Like a summer-dried fountain, 

When our need was the sorest. 
The font re-appearing 

From tlie rain-drops shall borrow ; 
But to us comes no cheering. 

To Duncan no morrow ! 
The hand of the reaper 

Takes tlie ears that are hoary, 
But the voice of the weeper 

Wails manhood in glory. 
The autumn winds rushing. 

Waft the leaves that are searest. 
But our flower was in flushing. 

When blighting was nearest. 

Fleet foot on the eorrei. 

Sage counsel in cumber, 
Red hand in the foray. 

How sound is thy slumber I 
Like the dew on the mountain. 

Like the foam on the river. 
Like the bubble on the fountain. 

Thou art gone, and for ever. 

SiE Walteb Scott. 



on ! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. 

On ! breathe not his name ! let it sleep in tlio 

shade. 
Where cold and unhonored his relics ai-e laid ; 
Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed, 
As the night dew that falls on the grave o'er 

his head. 

But the night dew that falls, though in silence 

it weeps. 
Shall brighten with verdure the gi-ave where 

he sleeps ; 
And the tear that we shed, though in secret 

it rolls. 
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls. 

TlIO-MAS MOOBE. 



610 



rOEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



A DIRGE. 



Now is done thy long day's work ; 
Fold thy palms across thy breast — 
Fold thine arms, turn to thy rest. 

Let them rave. 
Shadows of the silver birk 
Sweep the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 



Theo nor carketh care nor slander ; 
Nothing but the small cold worm 
Fretteth thine enshrouded form. 

Let them rave. 
Light and shadow ever w.ander 
O'er the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 



Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed ; 
Chauteth not the brooding bee 
Sweeter tones than calumny ? 

Let them rave. 
Thou wilt never raise thine head 
From the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 

IV. 

Crocodiles wept tears for thee ; 

The woodbine and cglatero 

Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear. 

Let them rave. 
Kain makes music in the tree 
O'er the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 



Round thoe blow, self-pleached deep 
Bramble roses, fiiint and pale, 
And long purples of the dale. 

Let them rave. 
These in every shower creep 
Through the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 



The gold-eyed kingcups fine. 
The frail bluebell peereth over 
Kare broid'ry of the purple clover. 

Let them rave. 
Kings have no such couch as thine. 
As the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 

vn. 

Wild words w.ander here and there ; 
God's great gift of speech abused 
Makes thy memory confused — 

But let them rave. 
The balm-cricket carols clear 
In the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 

Alfred Tesntsoh. 



THE DIRGE OF IMOGEN. 

Feak no more the beat o' the sun. 
Nor the furious winter's rages; 

Thou thy worldly task h.ast done, 
Home art gone, .and ta'en thy wages : 

Golden Lads and girls all must, 

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 

Fear no more the frown o' the great — 
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; 

Care no more to clothe and eat ; 
To thee the reed is as the oak. 

The sceptre, learning, physic, must 

All follow this, and come to dust. 

Fear no more the lightning-flash, 
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ; 

Fear not slander, censure rash ; 
Thou h.Tst finislied joy and moan : 

All lovers young, .all lovers must 

Consign to thee, and come to dust. 

No exerciser harm thee ! 
Nor no witchcraft charm thee ! 
Ghost unlaid forbear thee ! 
Nothing iU come neai' thee ! 

Quiet consummation have ; 

And renowned be thy grave 1 

SaAK£SPEAKB, 



DIRGE OF JEPIITHAU'S DAUGHTER. 



fill 



DIRGE OF JEPnTHAH'S DAUGHTER. 

SUNO BY TirU VIRGINS. 

O Tiiou, tho wonder of all dayes! 
O p.'iraf^on, and jjcarl of praise ! 
O virgin-in.artyr, ever blest 

Above the rest 
Of all tlio maiden traine! We come, 
And bring fresli strovifings to thy tombo. 

Thus, tlms, and thus wo compasso round 
Thy luirmlesso and unhaunted ground ; 
And as wo sing thy dirge, we will 

The daffodill, 
And other flowers, lay upon 
Tho altar of our love, thy stone. 

Thou, wonder of all maids, rest here — 
Of daughters all, the docrest deere ; 
Tho eye of virgins ; nay, the queen 

Of this smooth green. 
And all sweet meades from whence we got 
The primrose and tho violet. 

Too soone, too deere, did Jephthah buy, 

By thy sad losse, our liberty ; 

llis was the bond and cov'uaut, yet 

Thou paid'st the debt; 
Lamented maid I ho won tlie day, 
But for tho conquest thou didst pay. 

Thy fatlier brought with him along 
The olivo branch, and victor's song; 
lie slew the Ammonites we know — 

But to thy woe ; 
And in tho purchase of our peace 
Tho cure was worse than the disease. 

For which obedient zeale of thine 
Wo ofl'er here, before thy shrine. 
Our sighs for storax, tearcs for wine ; 

And, to make fine 
And fresh thy herse-cloth, wo will hero 
Four times bestrew tliee every yeere. 

Receive, for this thy praise, our tears; 
Receive this offering of our haires ; 
Receive these christall vials, filled 
With tears distilled 



From teeming eyes ; to these wo bring. 
Each maid, her silver filleting, 

To guild thy tombe ; besides, those caulen, 
These hices, ribbands, and these funics — 
TIicso veilcs, wherewith we use to hide 

Tlio bashfull bride, 
W hen wo conduct her to lier groomo ; 
All, all we lay upon thy tombe. 

No more, no more, since thou art dead. 
Shall wo e'er bring coy brides (o bed ; 
No more, at yeerly festivalls. 

Wo cowslip balls, 
Or chaines of columbines, shall make 
For this or that occasion's sake. 

No, no I our maiden pleasures be 
Wrapt in the winding-sheet with thee ; 
'T is we are dead, though not i' th' grave ; 

Or if wo have 
One seed of life left, 'tis to keep 
A Lent for thee, to fa<!t and weep. 

Sleep in thy peace, thy bed of spice, 
And make this place all paradise ; 
May sweets grow here, and smoke fi-om 
hence 

Fat frankincense ; 
Let balmo and cassia send their scent 
From out thy maiden monument. 

May no wolfo howle, or scrcecli-owlo stir 

A wing about thy sepulchre ; 

No boystorous winds or storms come hither. 

To starve or wither 
Thy soft sweet earth ; but, like a spring. 
Love keep it ever flourishing. 

May all slue maids, at wonted hours. 
Come forth to strew thy tombe with flowers ; 
May virgins, when they come to mourn, 

Male incense burn 
Upon thine altar ; then return, 
And leave thee sleeping in thy urn. 

EOBBUT IIEKKICK, 



fl2 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



DIRGE. 

" Oh dig a grave, and dig it Jeep, 
Wliere I and my true-love may sleep ! " 
IVe 'II dig a grave, and dig it deep, 
Dliere thou and thy true lone shall sleep ! 

" And let it be five fathom low, 
■\Vhere winter winds may never blow ! " 
And it shall he Jive fathoms low, 
Wlicre winter icinds shall never Mow ! 

"And let it bo on yonder hill, 
^Yhore grows the mountain daffodil ! " 
And it shall be on yonder hill. 
Where groics the mountain daffodil ! 

"And plant it round with holy briers. 

To fright away the fairy fires ! " 

IVeHl plant it round with holy liriers, 
To fright away the fairy fires ! 

" And set it round with celandine. 
And nodding heads of columbine ! " 
WeHl set it round with celandine. 
And nodding heads ofcolumUne ! 

" And lot the ruddock build his nest 
Just above my true-love's breast ! " — 
The ruddoch he shall luild his nest 
Just above thy true-love's breast ! — 

"And warblo his sweet wintry song 
O'er our dwelling all day long ! " 
And: he shall warble his siceet song 
O'er your dwelling all day long. 

" Now, tender friends, my garments take. 
And lay me out for Jesus' sake ! " 
And we icill note thy garments taie. 
And lay thee out for Jesus' sale ! 

" And lay me by my true-love's side, 
That I may be a faithful bride ! " 

We'll lay thee by thy truC'love's side. 
That thou may'st le a faithful bride! 

" When I am dead, and buried be, 
Tray to God in heaven for me ! " 
Mw thou art dead, we'll btiry thee. 
And pray to God in heaven for thee! 
Benedicile ! 
Wii.LtAM Stanley Kosoob. 



DIRGE IN CYMBELIKE, 

BUNG BY GUIDERUS AND AEVIEAGUS OVER 
FIDEI.E, SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD. 

To fair Fidelo's grassy tomb 

Soft maids and village hinds shall bring 
Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, 

And rifle all the breathing spring. 

No wailing ghost shall dare appear. 
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove ; 

But shepherd lads assemble here. 
And melting virgins own their love. 

No withered witch shall here be seen- - 
No goblins lead their nightly crew ; 

The female fays shall haunt the green, 
And dress thy grave with pearly dew. 

The redbreast oft, at evening hours, 
Shall kindly lend his little aid, 

With hoary moss, and gathered flowers, 
To deck the ground where thou art laid. 

When howling winds and beating rain 
In tempests shake the sylvan cell, 

Or 'midst the chase, on every plain. 
The tender thought on thee shall dwell, 

Each lonely scene shall thee restore, 
For thee the tear be duly shed ; 

Beloved till life can charm no more, 
And mourned till pity's self be dead. 
William Collins. 



DIEGE. 

Ip thou wilt ease thine heart 
Of love, and all its smart — 

Then sleep, dear, sleep ! 
And not a sorrow 

Hang any tear on your eyelashes; 

Lie still and deep, 
Sad soul, until the sea- wave washes 
The rim o' the sun to-morrow, 
In eastern sky. 



DIRGE FOR A YOUNG GIRL. 



513 



But wilt thou cure thine heart 
Of love, and all its smart — 

Then die, dear, die I 
'T is deeper, sweeter, 
Than on a rose bank to lie dreaming 

"With folded eye ; 
And then alone, amid the beaming 
Of love's stars, thou 'It meet her 
In eastern sky. 

Thomas Lovell Beddoes. 



BRIDAL SONG AND DIRGE. 

A OTPEEss-BouGn and a rose-wreath sweet, 
A wedding-robe and a winding-sheet, 
A bridal-bed and a bier 1 
Thine be the kisses, maid. 

And smiling love's alarms ; 
And thou, pale youth, be laid 
In the grave's cold arms : 
Each in his own charms — 

Death and Hymen both are here. 
So up with scythe and torch. 
And to the old church porch. 
While all the bells ring clear ; 
And rosy, rosy the bed shall bloom, 
And earthy, earthy heap up the tomb. 

Now tremble dimples on your cheek — 
Sweet be your lips to taste and speak, 
For he who kisses is near : 
By her the bridegod fair. 

In youthful power and force ; 
By him the grizard bare. 
Pale knight on a pale horse. 
To woo him to a corse — 

Death and Hymen both are here. 
So up with scythe and torch. 
And to the old church porch, 
While all the bells ring clear ; 
And rosy, rosy the bed shall bloom. 
And earthy, earthy heap up the tomb. 
Thomas Lovell Beddobs. 



I 



34 



DIRGE. 

I. 

Softly I 
She is lying 
With her lips apart. 

Softly I 
She is dying of a broken heart. 



Whisper! 
She is going 
To her final rest. 
Whisper ! 
Life is growing 
Dim within her breast. 



Gently! 
She is sleeping ; 

She has breathed her last 
Gently! 
While you are weeping. 
She to heaven has past ! 

Charles Gamaoe Eastman. 



DIRGE FOR A YOTJNG GIRL. 

Undkeneath the sod low-lying, 

Dark and drear, 
Sleepeth one who left, ij dying 

Sorrow here. 

Yes, they 're ever bending o'er her 

Eyes that weep ; 
Forms, that to the cold grave boro her. 

Vigils keep. 

When the summer moon is shining 

Soft and fair. 
Friends she loved in tears are twining 

Chaplets there. 

Rest in peace, thou gentle spirit, 

Throned above — 

Souls like thine with God inherit 

Life and love ! 

James T. Fields. 



5U POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 




What though for her in vain 


A BRIDAL DIRGE. 


Falls now tho briglit spring-rain. 




Days the soft wind J 


Weave no more the iiian-iage clia'm I 


Yet still, from whore she lies, 


All unmated is tho lover ; 


Should blossod breathings rise. 


Death Las ta'ou tho place of pain ; 


Gracious and kind. 


Lovo doth call on love in vain ; 




Life and years of hope are over I 


Therefore let song and dew, 




Thence, in tho heart renew 


No more want of marriage boll ! 


Life's vernal glow ! 


No more need of bridal favor ! 


And o'er that holy earth 


Wlicro is she to wear them well ? 


Scents of tho violet's birth 


You bosido tho lover, toll ! 


Still come and go ! 


Gone — with all tho lovo Iio gave liorl 






Oh, then, where wild-flowers wave, 


Paler than tho stono she lies — 


Make ye her mossy grave 


Colder than the winter's morning 1 


In tlie free air 1 


Wlioreforo did she thus despise 


Where sliowor and singing-bird 


(She with pity in her eyes) 


'Midst the young leaves are hoard — 


Mother's care, and lover's warning? 


There, lay her there ! 




FeUCU. DOEOTUEA IIE.MAXS. 


Youth and beauty — shall tlicy not 




Last beyond a brief to-morrow ? 
No — a prayer and then forgot! 






This the truest lover's lot, 






THE PHANTOM. 


This the sum of human sorrow ! 




BAKKi- Cornwall. 






Again I sit within the mansion. 




In the old, familiar seat ; 






And shade and sunshine chase each other 


DIRGE. 


O'er the carpet at my feet. 


Where shall we make her grave ? 


But tho sweet-brier's arms have wrestled 


Oh, wlioro tho wiUl-tlowors wave 


upwards 


In the free air ! 


In tho summers that are past, 


When shower and singing bird 


And the willow trails its branches lower 


'Midst the young leaves are heard — 


Than when I saw them last. 


Tliere— lay her there ! 






They strive to shut the sunshine wholly 


Harsh was tho world to her — 


From out tho haunted room — 


Now may sloop minister 


To fill tho house, that once was joyfid. 


B;dm for each 01 ; 


With silence and with gloom. 


Low on sweet nature's breast 




Let the meek heart find rest, 


And many kind, remembered facos 


Deep, deep and still 1 


Within the doorway come — 




Voices, that wake the sweeter music 


Murmur, glad waters, by I 


Of one that now is dumb. 


Faint gales, with happy sigh, 




Come wandering o'er 


They sing, in tones as glad as ever, 


That green and mossy bed, 


The songs she loved to hear ; 


Where, on a gentle head, 


They braid tho rose in summer garlands. 


Storms beat no more ! 


Whose flowers to her were dear. 



ICHABOD. 



515 



And still, her footsteps in the passage, 

Iler hlushes at the door, 
Her timid words of maiden welcome, 

Oome hack to me once more. 

And all forgetfal of ray sorrow, 

Unmindful of my pain, 
I think shfthas hut newly left me. 

And soon will come again. 

She stays without, perchance, a moment, 
To dress her dark-hrown hair ; 

I hear the rustle of her garments — 
Her light step on the stair ! 

O fluttering heart I control thy tumult, 

Lest eyes profane should see 
My cheeks betray the rush of rapture 

Her coming brings to mo ! 

She tarries long : but lo ! a whisper 

Beyond the open door — 
And, gliding through the quiet sunshine, 

A shadow on the floor ! 

Ah ! 'tig the whispering pine that calls me, 
The vino whose shadow strays ; 

And my patient heart must still await her, 
Nor chide her long delays. 

But my heart grows sick with weary wait- 

As many a time before : 
Her foot is ever at the threshold. 
Yet never passes o'er. 

Batabd Taylor. 



EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH L. H. 

"WocLDST thou heare what man can say 

In a little ? — reader, stay ! 

Underneath this stone doth lye 

As much beauty as could dye ; 

Which in life did harbor give 

To more vertue than doth live. 

If at all she had a fault. 

Leave it buried in this vault. 

One name was Elizabeth — 

Th' other, let it sleep with death : 

Fitter, where it dyed to tell, 

Than that it lived at all. Farewell ! 

Ben Jonson. 



ICHABOD. 

So fallen! so lost I the light witbarawu 

Which once ho wore ! 
The glory from his gray hairs gone 

For evermore ! 

Revile him not — the tempter hath 

A snare for all ! 
And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath, 

Befit his fall I 

Oh I dumb is passion's stormy rage. 

When he who might 
Have lighted up and led hia age, 

Falls back in night. 

Scorn! Would the angels laugh, to mark 

A bright soul driven. 
Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark, 

From hope and heaven ? 

Let not the land, once proud of him, 

Insult him now ; 
Nor brand with deeper shame his dim. 

Dishonored brow. 

But let its humbled sons, instead, 

From sea to lake, 
A long lament, as for the dead. 

In sadness make. 

Of all we loved and honored, naught 

Save power remains — 
A fiiUen angel's pride of thought. 

Still strong in chains. 

All else is gone ; from those great eyes 

The soul has fled : 
When faith is lost, when honor dies, 

The man is dead I 

Then, pay the reverence of old days 

To his dead fame ; 
Walk backward, with averted gaze, 

And hide the shame ! 

John Geeenleaf Whittiee. 



510 POEMS OF TUAGEDY AND SORROW. 




Best fight on well, for we taught him — strike 


THE LOST LEADER. 


gallantly. 




Aim at oiu- heart ere we pierce through his 




own ; 


I. 


Then let liim receive the new knowledge and 


Jdst for a handful of silver he left us ; 


wait ns, 


Just for a riband to stick in his coat — 


Pardoned in heaven, the first by the 


Found tlio one gift of whicli fortune bereft us, 


throne ! 


Lost all the others she lets us devote. 


KOBEAT Bfiow^mio. 


They, with the gold to give, doled him out 
silver, 
So much was theirs who so little allowed. 






How all our copper had gone for his service ! 


ox THE FUNERAL OF CHARLES 


R.ngs — were they purple, his heart had been 


THE FIRST, 


proud ! 




We that had loved him so, followed him, hon- 


AT NIGHT IN ST. GKOEQE's CHAPEL, WINDSOR. 


ored him, 


The castle clock had tolled midnight. 


Lived in his mild and magnificent eye, 


With mattock and with sp.ade — 


Learned his great language, caught his clear 


And silent, by the torches' light — 


accents, 


His corse in earth we laid. 


Made him our pattern to live and to die ! 




Shakspeare was of us, Milton was for us, 


The coffin bore his name ; that those 


Burns, Shelley, were with us — they watch 




from their graves ! 


Of other years might know, 
When earth its secrets should disclose. 


He alone breaks from the van and the free- 






Whose bones were laid below. 


men ; 




He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves ! 






'•Peace to the dead! " no children sung, 




Slow pacing up the nave ; 


n. 


No prayers were read, no knell was rung, 


We shall march prosi)ering — not through Lis 


As deep we dug his grave. 


presence ; 




Songs may inspirit us — not from his lyre ; 


We only heard tiie winter's wind, 


Deeds will be done — while he boasts his 


In many a sullen gust. 


quiescence. 


As o'er the open grave inclined, 


Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade 


We murmured, "Dust to dust ! " 


aspire. 




Blot out his name, then — record one lost soul 


A moonbeam from tlie arch's height 


more. 


Streamed, .-w we placed the stone ; 


One task more declined, one more footpath 


The long .aisles started into light, 


untrod, 


And all the windows shone. 


One more triumph for devils, and sorrow for 




angels, 


We tlionght we saw the banners then 


One wrong more to man, one more insult 


That shook along the walls. 


to God ! 


Whilst the s,ad shades of mailed men 


Life's night begins ; let him never come back 


Were gazing on the stalls. 


to us! 




There -would be doubt, hesitation and pain, 


'T is gone ! — Again on tombs defaced 


Forced praise on our part — the glimmer of 


Sits darkness more profound ; 


twilight, 


And only by the torch we traced 


Xever glad, confident morning again 1 


The shadows on the ground. 


33 





ON THE DEATH OF GEORGE THE THIRD. 



r.i7 



And now tlie chilling, freezing air 
AViUiout blew long and loud ; 

Uijon oiu- kneon wo brcatlied ono prayer, 
Wlioro lie slept in liis shroud. 

Wo laid the broken marble floor, — 

No name, no trace aijpears ! 
And when wo closed tlio sounding door, 

Wo thought of him with tears. 

William Lihlb Bowleh. 



BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. 

Not a drum was hoard, nor a funeral note, 
A3 his corse to the rampart wo hurried; 

Not a soldier discharged liis farewell shot 
O'er the grave where our hero wo buried. 

Wo buried him darkly at dead of night. 
The sod with our bayonets turning, 

Ry tho struggling moonbeams' misty light. 
And tho lantern dimly burning. 

Nf> useless coffin inclosed his breast. 

Nor in sheet nor in shroud wo bound him; 

IJut ho lay like a warrior taking his rest, 
With his martial cloak around him ! 

Few and short were tho prayers wo said, 
And wo spoke not a word of sorrow ; 

But wo steadfastly gazed on tho face of the 
dead, 
And wo bitterly thought of tho morrow. 

Wo thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, 
And smoothed down his lonely pillow, 

Tliat the foe and the stranger would tread o'er 
his head, 
And we far away on tho billow! 

Lightly they '11 talk of the spirit that's gone. 
And o'er his cold ashes upbr.aid liim — 

IJutlittlo he'll reck if thoy let him sleep on. 
In tho grave where a Briton has laid him. 

But half of our heavy task was done, 
When the clock struck tho hour for retir- 
ing; 

And we knew by the distant random gun, 
Tliat tho foe was sullenly firing. 



Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 

From tho field of his fame fresh and gory; 

Wo carved not a lino, wo raised not a stone — 
But wo left hira alone in his glory. 

ClIAKLKB 'VVOLPS. 



ON THE DEATH OF GEORGE THE 
THIRD. 

WniTTEN UNDER WIND80I! TEI!I!AOE. 

I SAW him last on this toiTaco proud, 
Walking in health and gladness, 

Begirt with his court; and in all tho crowd 
Not a single look of sadnos.s. 

Bright was tlio sun, tho leaves were green — 
]51ithely tho birds were singing ; 

The cymbals replied to the tambourine, 
And the bells were merrily ringing. 

I liavo stood with tho crowd beside his bier. 
When not a word was spoken— 

When every eye was dim with a tear. 
And tho silence by sobs was broken. 

I have hoard tho earth on his coffin pour 

To tho muffled drums, deep rolling. 
While tho minute-gun, with its solemn roar, 
• Drowned tho death-bells' tolling. 

The time — since ho walked in his glory thus. 

To tho grave till I saw him carried — 
Was an ago of the mightiest change to us, 

But to him a night unvaried. 

A daughter beloved, a queen, a son, 
And a son's sole child, have perished ; 

And sad was each heart, save only the ono 
By which they were fondest cherished; 

For his eyes were sealed and his mind was 
dark. 

And ho sat in his age's lateness — 
Like a vision throned, as a solemn mark 

Of tho frailty of human greatness ; 

His silver beard, o'er a bosom spread 

Unvexcd by life's commotion, 
Like a yearly lengthening snow-drift slied 

On the calm of a frozen ocean. 



518 



rOEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Still o'er Lim oblivion's waters lay, 
Tliovitcb tUo stream of lit'o kept flowing ; 

When tlicy spolio of our king, 't was but to 
say 
Tlio old niaivs strength was going. 

At intervals thns the waves disgorge, 

By weakness rent asunder, 
A i)ieco of the wreck of tlie Royal George, 

To the people's pity and wonder. 

ITo is gone at length — ho is laid in tlie dust^ 
Death's liand liis shnnhers breaking ; 

For the eolliiied sleep of the good ond just 
Is a sure and blissful waking. 

His people's heart is bis funeral urn ; 

And should sculptured stone bo denied him. 
There will bis name be found, when in turn 

Wo lay onr heads beside him. 

IIOBACK SUITU. 



THE "\VARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS. 

A MIST was driving down tlie British chan- 
nel; 
The day was just begun; 
And through the window-panes, on floor and 
panel, 
Streamed the red autumn sun. 

It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pen- 
non. 
And the white sails of ships ; 
And, from the frowning rampart, the black 
cannon 
Hailed it with feverish lips. 

Sandwich and Romuey, Hastings, Hithe, and 
Dover, 

Were all alert that day. 
To see the French wai'-steamers speeding over 

When the fog cleai'ed away. 

Sullen and silei\t, and like couchant lions, 
Their cannon, through the night. 

Holding their breath, had watched in grim 
defiance 
The sea-coast opposite. 



And now they roared, at drum-beat, from 
their stations 
On every citadel ; 
Each answering each, with morning saluta- 
tions, 
Thatall was well! 

And down tho coast, all taking up the burden. 

Replied tho distant forts — 
As if to summon from bis sleep the warden 

And lord of tho Cinque Ports. 

Him shall no sunshine from the fields of 
azure. 
No drum-beat from tlie wall. 
No morning gun from the black forts' embra- 
zure. 
Awaken with their call! 

No more, surveying with an eye impartial 

The long lino of tho coast, 
Shall the gaunt figure of the old field-marshal 

Bo seen upon bis post! 

For in tho night, unseen, a single warrior, 

In sombre harness mailed. 
Dreaded of man, and surnanied the destroyer, 

The rampart wall has scaled ! 

He passed into the chamber of the sleeper — 

The dark and silent room ; 
And, as he entered, darker grew, and deeiier, 

The silence and the gloom. 

He did not pause to parley, or dissemble. 
But smote the warden hoar — 

Ah! what a blow! — that made all England 
tremble 
And groan from shore to shore. 

Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited, 
The sun rose bright o'erhead — 

Nothing in nature's aspect intimated 
That a great man was dead ! 

Henry Wapswokth Lonofrllow. 



STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS HOOD. 



519 



STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF 
THOMAS HOOD. 



Take back into thy bosom, oartli, 

This joyous, May-eyed morrow, 
TIio gentlest child that over mirth 

Gave to bo reared by sorrow I 
'T is liard — while rays half green, lialf gold, 

Through vernal bowers are burning, 
And streams their diamond-mirrors liold 

To summer's face returning — 
To say we're thankful that his sleep 

Shall never more bo ligliter, 
In whoso sweet-tongued companionsliip 

Stream, bower, and beam grow brigliter I 



But all the more intensely true 

His soul gave out each feature 
Of elemental love — each hue 

And grace of golden nature — 
The deeper still beneath it all 

Lurked the keen jags of anguish ; 
The more the laurels clasped his brow 

Their poison made it languish. 
Seemed it that like tlio nightingale 

Of bis own mournful singing, 
The tenderer would his song prevail 

While most the thorn was stinging. 

III. 

So never to the desert-worn 

Did fount bring freshness deeper, 
Than that bis placid rest this morn 

Has brought the shrouded sleeper. 
That rest may lap his weary head 

"Where charnels choke the city. 
Or where, mid woodlands, by his bed 

The wren shall wake its ditty; 
But near or far, while evening's star . 

Is dear 1o hearts regretting, 
Around (bat spot admiring thought 

Shall hover, unforgetting. 



And if this sentient, seething world 

Is, after all, ideal. 
Or in the immaterial furled 

Alone resides the real. 



Freed one! there's a wail for thee this hour 

Through thy loved elves' dominions; 
Hushed is each tiny trumpet-flower, 

And droopetb Ariel's pinions ; 
Even Puck, dejected, leaves his swing, 

To plan, with fond endeavor. 
What iiretty buds and dews shall keep 

'I'ljy pillow bright for ever. 



And higher, if less happy, tribes— 

The race of early childhood — 
Shall miss thy whims of frolic wit. 

That in the suumier wild-wood, 
Or by the Christmas hearth, were hailed. 

And hoarded as a treasure 
Of undecayiug merriment 

And ever-changing pleasure. 
Things from thy lavish humor flung 

I'rofuso as scents, are flying 
This kindling morn, when blooms are boru 

As fast as blooms are dying. 



Sublimer art owned thy control- 

Tho minstrel's mightiest magic, 
With sadness to subdue the soul. 

Or thrill it with the tragic. 
Now listening Aram's fearful dream. 

Wo see beneath the willow 
That dreadfid thing, or watch him steal. 

Guilt-lighted, to his pillow. 
Now with thee roaming ancient groves. 

Wo watch the woodman felling 
The funeral elm, while through its boughs 

The ghostly wind conies knelling. 



Dear worshipper of Dian's face 

Jn solitary places, 
Sh.alt thou no more steal, as of yore, 

To meet her white embnices? 
Is there no purjile in the rose 

Henceforward to thy senses ? 
For thee have dawn and daylight's close 

Lost their sweet influences? 
No I — by the mental night untamed 

Thou took'st to death's dark portal. 
The joy of the wide universe 

Is now to thee immortal 1 



620 POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 


Tin. 


The world and all its manifold creation sleep- 


How fierce contrasts the city's roar 


ing— 


With thy new-conqnered quiet !— 
This stunning hell of -nheels that pour 


The great and small — 
Will there be one, even at that dread hour. 


"NTith princes to their riot I 


■weeping 


Loud clash the crowds— the husy clouds 


For me — for all ? 


With thunder-noise are shaken, 




While pale, and mute, and cold, afar 


When no star twinkles with its eye of glory 


Thou liest, men-forsaken. 


On that low mound, 


Hot life reeks on, nor rooks that one 


And wintry storms have with their ruins 


— The playful, human-hearted— 


hoary 


Who lent its clay less earthiness, 


Its loneness crowned. 


Is just from earth departed. 


Will there be then one versed in misery's 


B. giuuoxs. 


story 




Pacing it round ? 
It may be so — but this is selfish sorrow 




WHEX I BENEATH THE COLD, EED 


To ask such meed — 


EAKTH AM SLEEPING. 


A weakness and a wickedness, to borrow 




From hearts that bleed 


When I beneath the cold, red earth am sleep- 


The wailings of to-day, for what to-morrow 


ing, 


Shall never need. 


Life's fever o'er, 




Will there for me be any bright eye weeping 


Lay me then gently in my narrow dwelling, 


That I 'm no more ? 


Thou gentle heart ! 


Will there be any heart still memory keeping 


And, though thy bosom should with grief be 


Of heretofore? 


swelling. 




Let no tear start ; 


When the great winds, through leafless for- 


It were in vain — for time hath long been 


ests rushing. 


knelling — 


Like fuU hearts break — 


Sad one, depart ! 


When the swoU'n streams, o'er crag and gully 


WlLUAU MOTHEETTELL. 


gushing. 




Sad music make — 
Will there be one, whoso heart despair is 






crushing, 


A POET'S EPITAPH. 


Mourn for my sake ? 






Stop, mortal ! Here thy brother lies — 


When the bright sun upon that spot is shin- 


The poet of the poor. 


ing 


His books were rivers, woods, and skies. 


With purest ray, 


The meadow and the moor ; 


And the smaU tlowers, their buds and blos- 


His teachers were the torn heart's wail, 


soms twining. 


The tyrant and the slave. 


Burst through that clay — 


The sfreet, the factory, the jail. 


Will there be one still on that spot repining 


The palace — and the grave ! 


Lost hopes all day? 


Sin met thy brother every where ! 




And is thy brother blamed? 


When the eight shadows, with the ample 


From passion, danger, doubt, and care, 


sweeping 


He no exemption claimed. 


Of her dark pall. 


The meanest thing, earth's feeblest worii, 



A LAMENT. 



521 



He feared to scorn or hate ; 
But, honoring in a peasant's form 

The equal of the great, 
He blessed the steward, whose wealth makes 

The poor man's little, more ; 
Yet loathed the haughty wretch that takes 

From plundered labor's store. 
A hand to do, a head to plan, 

A heart to feel and dare — 
Tell man's worst foes, hero lies the man 

"Who drew them as they are. 

Ebenezee Elliott. 



SOLITUDE. 

It is not that my lot is low 
That makes this silent tear to flow ; 
It is not grief that bids me moan ; 
It is that I am all alone. 



In woods and glens I love to roam, 
When the tired hedger hies him home ; 
Or by the woodland pool to rest, 
When pale the star looks on its breast. 

Yet when the silent evening sighs 
With liallowed airs and symphonies, 
My spirit takes another tone. 
And sighs that it is all alone. 

The autunm leaf is sere and dead — 
It floats upon the water's bed ; 
I would not be a leaf, to die 
Without recording sorrow's sigh ! 

The woods and winds, with suUen wail, 
Tell all the same unvaried tale ; 
I 've none to smOe when I am free, 
And when I sigh to sigh with me. 

Yet in my dreams a form I view. 
That thinks on me, and loves me too , 
I start, and when the vision 's flown, 
I weep that I am all alone. 

IIe.n-ey Kieee White. 



A LAMENT. 

SwiFTEi! far than summer's flight, 
Swifter far than youth's delight, 
Swifter far than happy niglit, 

Art thou come and gone ; 
As the eartli when leaves are dead, 
As the night wlien sleep is sped, 
As the heart when joy is fled, 

I am left lone, alone. 

The swallow, summer, comes again; 
The owlet, night, resumes her reign ; 
But the wild swan, youth, is fain 

To fly with thee, false as thou. 
My heart each day desires the morrow; 
Sleep itself is turned to sorrow ; 
Vainly would my winter borrow 

Sunny leaves from any bough. 

Lilies for a bridal bed, 
Roses for a matron's head, 
Violets for a maiden dead — 

Pansies let my flowers be ; 
On the living grave I bear. 
Scatter them without a tear. 
Let no friend, however dear, 

Waste one hope, one fear for me. 
Peeoy Byssoe Sdelley. 



A LAMENT. 

O WORLD ! life I O time ! 
On whose last steps I climb, 

Trembling at that where I had stood before, 
When will return the glory of your prime? 

No more — oh, never more ! 

Out of the day and night 
A joy has taken flight ; 

Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar 
Move my faint heart with grief, but with 
delight 
No more — oh, never more ! 

Peect Btssiie Shelley. 



B22 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



" CALM IS THE NIGHT." 

Calm is the night, aad the eity is sleeping— 
Once in this house dwelt a lady fair ; 

Long, long ago, she left it, weeping ; 
Bnt still the old house is standing there. 

Yonder a man at the hearens is staring, 
Wringing his hands as in sorrowful case ; 

He turns to the moonlight, his countenance 
baring — 
Oh, heaven ! he shows me my own sad face ! 



Why mockest thou thus, in the moonhght 
cold, 
The sorrows which here once vexed my being. 
Many a night in the days of old ? 

Henet Heine. (German.) 
Translation of Cuarles G. Leland. 



THE CASTLE BY THE SEA. 

" Hast thou seen that lordly castle, 

That castle by the sea? 
Golden and red, above it 

The clouds float gorgeously. 

" And fain it would stoop downward 
To the mirrored wave below ; 

And fain it would soar upward 
In the evening's crimson glow." 

" Well have I seen that castle, 

That castle by the sea — 
And the moon above it standing. 

And the mist rise solemnly." 

'' The winds and waves of ocean. 

Had they a merry chime ? 
Didst thou hear, from those lofty chambers. 

The harp and the minstrel's rhyme? " 

'• The winds and the waves of ocean. 

They rested quietly ; 
But I heard on the gale a sound of wail, 

And tears came to mine eye." 

" And sawest tliou on the turrets 
Tiie king and his royal bride ? 

And the wave of their crimson mantles? 
And the golden crown of pride ? 



"Led they not forth, in rapture, 

A beauteous maiden there — 
Resplendent as the morning sun, 

Beaming with golden hair? " 

" Well saw I the ancient parents, 

Witliout the crown of pride ; 
They were moving slow, in weeds of woe ; 

No maiden was by their side ! " 

LiTDwio UhlaisT). (German.) 
Translation of Henry TV. Longfellow. 



MOTHER AND POET. 
Turin — after news from gaeta. 1861. 

I. 

Dead ! one of them shot by the sea in the 
east, 
And one of them shot in the west by the 
sea. 
Dead ! both my boys ! When you sit at the 
feast 
And are wanting a great song for Italy free. 
Let none look at me ! 



Yet I was a poetess only last year, 
And good at my art, for a woman, men 
said. 
But this woman, this, who is agonized here. 
The east sea and west sea rhyme on in her 
head 

For ever instead. 



What art can a woman be good at? oh, vain! 
What art is she good at, but hurting her 
breast 
With the milk teeth of babes, and a smile at 
the pain ? 
Ah, boys, how you Imrt! yon were strong 
as you pressed. 
And I, proud by that test. 



What art 's for a woman ! To hold on her 
knees 
Both darlings ! to feel all their arms round 
her throat 



MOTUER AND POET. 523 


Cling, struggle a little ! to sew by degrees 


To be leant on and walked with, recalling the 


And 'broider tlio long-clothes and neat 


time 


little coat ! 


When the first grew immortal, while both 


To dream and to dote. 


of us strained 


T. 


To the height he had gained. 


To teach thoin. . . It stings there. I made 


X. 


them indeed 


Speak plain the word " country," I taught 


And letters still came, — shorter, sadder, more 


them no doubt 


strong. 


That a country 's a thing men should die for 


Writ now hut in one hand. " I was not to 


at need. 


faint. 


I prated of libertj', rights, and about 


One loved me for two . . would be with me 


The tyrant turned out. 


ere long : 




And 'viva Italia' he died for, our saint. 


VI. 


Who forbids our complaint." 


And when their eyes flashed. . . my beau- 




tiful eyes ! . . 


XI. 


I exulted ! nay, let them go forth at the 




wheels 


My Nanni would add " ho was safe, and 


Of the guns, and denied not. — But then the 


aware 


surprise, 


Of a presence that turned otf the balls . . . 


When one sits quite alone ! — Then one 


was imprest 


weeps, then one kneels ! 


It was Guido himself, who knew what I could 


— God ! how the house feels! 


bear. 


Tn. 
At first happy news came, in gay letters 
moiled 


And how 'twas impossible, quite dis- 


possessed, 

To live on for the rest." 


With ray kisses, of camp-life, and glory. 




and how 


XII. 


They both loved me, and soon, coming home 


On which without pause up the telegraph 


to be spoiled, 


line 


In return would fan oif every fly from my 


Swept smoothly the next news from Gaeta: 


brow 


— " Shot. 


With their green laurel-hough. 


Tell his mother." Ah, ah, "his," "their'' 




mother ; not " mine." 


vni. 


No voice says " my motlier " again to me. 


Then was triumph .it Turin. " Ancona was 


What! 


free!" 


You think Guido forgot ? 


And some one came out of the cheers in 




the street 


XIII 


With a face pale as stone, to say something 




to me. 


Are souls straight so happy that, dizzy with 


—My Guido was dead !— I fell down at his 


heaven. 


feet, 


They drop earth's affections, conceive not 


While they cheered in the street. 


of woe ? 




I think not. Themselves were too lately for- 


IX. 


given 


I bore it ; — friends soothed me : my grief 


Through that love and sorrow wliich recon- 


looked sublime 


ciled so 


As the ransom of Italy. One boy remained 


The above and below. 



624 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



O Christ of the seven wounds, who look'dst 
tlirougli the dark 
To the face of thy uiotlier! consider, I pray. 
How we common mother! stand desohite, 
mark, 
Whose sons, not being Christs, die witli 
eyes turned away, 

And no hxst word to say 1 



Both boys dead ! but that 's out of nature ; 
We all 
Have been patriots, yet each liouse must 
always keep one. 
'T wore imbecile, liewing out roads to a wall. 
And when Italy 's made, for what end is it 
done, 

If we have not a son ? 



Ah, ah, ah ! when Gaeta 's taken, what tlien ? 
AVlien the fair wicked queen sits no more 
at her sport 
Of the tire-balls of death crashing souls out 
of men ? 
■\\Tien your guns at Cavalli with final retort 
Have cut the game short. — 



When Venice and Rome keep tbeir now 
jubilee. 
When your flag takes all heaven for its 
white, green, and red. 
When you have your country from mountain 
to sea, 
^V'hen King Victor has Italy's crown on 
his head, 

(And I have my dead,) 

xvm. 
What then ? Do not mock me. Ah, ring 
your bells low, 
And burn your hghts faintly ! — My country 
is there. 
Above the star pricked by the last peak of 
snow, 
My Italy's there, — with my brave civic 
pair, 

To disfranchise despair. 



Forgive me. Some women bear children in 
strength, 
And bite back the cry of their pain in self- 
scorn. 
But the birth-pangs of nations will wrmg us 
at length 
Into such wail as this! — and we sit on 
forlorn 

When the man-child is born. 



Dead ! one of them shot by the sea in the 
west. 
And one of them shot in the east by the 
sea! 
Both I both my boys !— If in keeping the feast 
You want a great song for your Italy free. 
Let none look at me ! 

Elizabeth Babreit Browning. 



THE FISHING SONG, 

Down in the wide, gray river 
Tho current is sweeping strong ; 

Over the wide, gray river 
Floats the fisherman's song. 

The oar-stroke times the singing, 
The song falls with the oar ; 

And an echo in both is ringing, 
I thought to hear no more. 

Out of a deeper current 
The song brings back to me 

A cry from mortal silence 
Of mortal agony. 

Life that was spent and vanished, 
Love that had died of wrong. 

Hearts tliat are dead in living, 

Come back in the fisliermau's song. 

I see the maples leafing. 

Just as they lo.nfed before ; 
The green grass comes no greener 

Down to the very shore — 

With the rude strain swelling, sinking, 
In the cadence of days gone by, 

As the oar, from the water drinking, 
Eijiples the mirrored sky. 



THE DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE. 



525 



Yet the soul liath life diviner ; 

Its past returns no more, 
But in echoes, that answer the minor 

Of the hoat-song, from the shore. 

And tJie ways of God are darkness ; 

Ilis judgment waiteth long; 
He breaks the heart of a woman 

With a iisherman's careless song. 

Kobe Tekby. 



"BREAK, BREAK, BREAK." 

Break, break, break 

On thy cold gray stones, O sea ! 
And I would tliat my tongue could utter 

The thoughts that arise in me. 

Oh well for the fisherman's boy 
That he shouts with his sister at play ! 

Oh well for the sailor lad 
That he sings in his boat on the bay 1 

And the stately ships go on, 

To the haven under the hill; 
But oh for the touch of a vanished hand. 

And tlie sound of a voice that is still ! 

Break, break, break 

At the foot of thy crags, O sea ! 
But the tender grace of a day that is dead 

Will never come back to me, 

Alfbed Tenntbon. 



THE DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE. 

Teaks, idle tears ! I know not what they 
mean. 
Tears, from the depth of some divine despair, 
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, 
In looking on the happy autumn fields. 
And thinking of the days that are no more. 

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail 
That brings our friends up from the under- 
world ; 
Sad as the last which reddens over one 
That sinks with all we love below the verge 
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. 

Ah, sad and strange as in dark svunmer 

dawns 
The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds 
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes 
The casement slowly grows a glimmering 

square : 
So sad, BO strange, the days that are no more. 

Dear as remembered kisses after death. 
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned 
On lips that are for otliers ; deep as love, 
Deep as first love, and wUd with all regret, 
O death in life ! the days that are no more. 
Alfbed Tenktson. 



PART VIII. 



POEMS OP THE IMAGINATION 



I KNOW more than Apollo ; 
For oft, when he lies sleeping, 

I behold the stars 

At mortal wars. 
And the rounded welkin weeping. 
The moon embraces her shepherd; 
And the queen of love her warrior; 

While the first doth horn 

The stars of the morn. 
And the next the heavenly farrier. 

With a host of furious fancies. 
Whereof I am commander — 

With a burning spear. 

And a Iiorse of air, 
To the wilderness I wander; 
With a knight of ghosts and shadows 
I summoned am to tourney, 

Ten leagues beyond 

The wide world's end — 
Methinks it is no journey ! 

TOU O' BXDLAH, 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



KING AETHUR'S DEATH. 

On Trinitye Mondaye in the morne, 
This sore battayle was doomM to be, 

'U'Jiere manye a knighte cry'd, Well-awaye ! — 
Alaoke, it was the more pittie. 

Ere the iirst crowinge of the cocke, 
When as the kinge in his bed laye, 

He thoughte Sir Gawaine to him came, 
And there to him these wordes did saye : 

" Nowe, as you are mine uncle deare, 
And as you prize your life, this daye 

Oh meet not with your foe in fighte ; 
Putt off the battayle, if yee maye ! 

" For Sir Launcelot is nowe in Fraunce, 
And with him many an hardye kniglite. 

Who will within this moneth be backe. 
And will assiste yee in the flghte." 

The kinge then called his nobles all. 
Before the breakinge of the daye, 

And tolde them howe Sir Gawaine came. 
And there to him these wordes did saye. 

His nobles all this oounsayle gave : 
That, earlye in the morning, hee 

Shold send awaye an herauld at armes. 
To aske a parley faire and free. 

Then twelve good knightes King Arthur chose, 
The best of aU that with him were, 

To parley with the foe in field. 

And make with him agreement faire. 
35 



The king he charged all his hoste 

In readinesse there for to bee ; 
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturro, 

Unlesse a sword di-awne they shold see. 

And Mordred, on the other parte. 
Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe, 

The beste of all his companye, 

To holde the parley with the kinge. 

Sir Mordred alsoe charged his hoste 

In readinesse there for to bee ; 
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre. 

But if a sworde drawne they shold see. 

For he durste not his uncle truste, 
Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell ; 

Alacke! it was a woefulle case. 
As ere in Ohristentye bofelle. 

But when they were together mette, 
And both to faire accordance broughte, 

And a month's league betwcene them sette, 
Before the battayle sholde be foughte. 

An addero crepte forthe of a bushe, 

Stunge one o' the king's knightes on the 
knee; 

Alacke ! it was a woefulle chance, 
As ever was in Christentie. 

When the knighte found him wounded sore. 
And sawe the wild-wormp hanginge there, 

His sworde he from his soabberde drewe — 
A piteous case, as ye shall heare. 



530 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



For when the two hostes sawe the sworde 
They joyned battayle iiistantlye ; 

Till of so manye noble knightes 

On one side there were left but three. 

For all were slaine that durst abide, 
And but some fewe that fled awaye ; 

Ah mee I it was a bloodye fielde, 
As ere was foughte on summer's dayo. 

Upon King Arthur's own partye 

Onlye himselfe escaped there, 
And Lukyn, duke of Gloster, free — 

And the king's butler, Bedevere. 

And when the king beheld his knightes 
All dead and scattered on the moldo, 

The teares fast trickled downe his face — 
That manlye face in fight so bolde. 

"Nowe reste yee all, brave knights," he 
said — 

" Soe true and faithful to your trust ! 
And must yee then, yee valiant hearts, 

Be lefte to moulder into dust ? 

" Most loyal have yee been to mee, 
Most true and faithful unto deathe ; 

And, oh ! to rayse yee up againe. 

How freelye could I yield my breathe ! 

"But see, the traitor 's yet alive ! 

Lo where hee stalkes among the deade 1 
Nowe bittcrlye he shall abye. 

And vengeance fall upon his head." 

" Oh staye, my liege! " then sayd tlio duke; 

" Oh staye for love and eharitie ! 
Remember what the vision spake, 

Nor meete your foe, if it may bee." 

"Oh staye mee not, thou worthye wight! 

This debt my loyal knights I owe ; 
Betide me life, betide me death, 

I wUl avenge them of their foe." 

Then straite he gi-asped his trusty speare, 
And on his horse then mounted hee : 

As his butler holpe him to his horse 
His bowels gushed to his knee. 



" Alas ! " then sayd the noble king, 
"That I should live this sight to see! — 

To see this good knight here be slaine. 
All for his love in helping mee I " 

lie put his speare into his reste. 
And to Sir Mordred loud gan crye : 

" Nowe sette thyself upon thy guarde ! 
For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye ! " 

Sir Mordred lifted up his sworde. 
And fierce to meet the king ran hee , 

The king his speare he through him thrust — 
A fathom thorow his bodie. 

When Mordred felt the stroke of death. 
And found that he was wounded soe. 

He thruste himselfe upon, the speare. 
And strucke the king a deadlyc blowe. 

Then grimmlye dyed Sir Mordered, 

Presentlj'e upon that tree ; 
And bloody streames ranne from the kinge. 
Ere to the duke returned hee. 

Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake : 

"Sir kuighte, thou hast been faithfuUe 
tryde ; 
Nowe take my sword Excalibar, 

That hangs so freelye by my syde — 

" Oh take my sworde Excalibar, 
And there into the river throwe ; 

For here, henceforth, benethe this tree, 
All use of weapons I foregoe. 

" And fare thee well, thou trustye sword ! 

A better neer had valiant knighte ; 
With thee full ofte, and many a daye, 

Have I witlistood my foe in fighte. 

" With this good fauchion in my hande. 
Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde ; 

But nowe the fatalle houre is come. 
That never more I may thee weelde." 

Tlio duke to the river side he went. 
And there his owne sword in threwc he; 

But he kept back Excalibar — 
He kept it back in privitie. 



THOMAS THE RHYMER. 



531 



For all of coleyne was tlie blade, 
And all the liilto of precious stoue : 

"And ever alaeke! " then sayd the knighte, 
"Must such a sword awaye be throwne?" 

Then backe ho came unto the kinge, 

Who sayd, "Sir Lukyn, what did yee 
see?"— 

" Nothing, my liege, save that the winde 
Blewe oer the waters faire and free." 

" Oh goo againo," then said the kinge, 
" good Syr Lukyn, goe againe ! 

Into the rivere throwe my sword. 
Nor keepo me lingering here in paine." 

The duke then to the river went. 
And the king's scabbard in threwe hee ; 

But hee kept backe Escalibar, 
And hid it undernethe a tree. . 

Then backe he came to tell the kinge, 
"Who saydo, " Sir Lukyn, sawe ye oughte ? " 

" Nothingo, my liege, save that the winde 
Nowe with the angrye waters fought." 

"O Lukyn, Lukyn," said the kinge, 
"Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye! 

Alaeke ! whom may wee ever traste. 
When suche a knighte soe false can bee ? 

"Saye, wouldst thou have thy master dead. 
All for a sword that wins thine eye ? 

Now goo againe, and throwe it in. 
Or here the one of us shall dye." 

The duke, all shent with this rebuke, 
No aunswere made unto the kinge ; 

But to the rivere tooke the sworde, 
And threwe it far as lie coulde flinge. 

A hande and an arme did meete the sworde, 
And flourished three times in the air ; 

Then sunke benethe the renninge strerae, 
And of the duke was scene noe mair. 

All sore astonied stood the duke — 
He stood as still as still mote bee ; 

Then hastend backe to tell tlie kinge — 
But ho was gone from under the tree. 



But to what place he cold not toll. 
For never after hee did him see ; 

But hee sawe a bai-ge goe from the land. 
And hee heard ladyes howle and crye. 

And whether the kinge were there or not, 
Hee never knewe, nor ever colde ; 

For from that sad and direfulle dayo 
Ilee never more was scene on molde. 

Anonymous. 



THOMAS THE RHYMER. 

True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank ; 

A ferlie he spied wi' his ee ; 
And there he saw a ladye briglit, 

Come riding down by the Eildon tree. 

Her shirt was o' the grass green silk, 
Her mantle o' the velvet fyne ; 

At ilka tctt of her horse's mane 
Himg fifty siller bells and nine. 

True Thomas he pulled aff his cap, 
And louted low down to his knee ; 

"All hail, thou mighty queen of heaven I 
For tliy peer on earth I never did see."^ 

" Oh no, oh no, Thomas ! " she said, 
" That name does not belang to me ; 

I am but the queen of fair EKland, 
That am hither come to visit thee. 

"H.arp and carp, Thomas!" she said 
" Harp and carp along wi' me ! 

And if ye dare to kiss my lips. 
Sure of your bodie I will be." 

"Betide me weal, betide me woe. 
That weird shall never daunton rae." — 

Syne ho has kissed her rosy lips, 
All underneath the Eildon tree. 

"Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said — 
" True Thomas, ye maun go wi' mo ; 

And ye maun serve me seven years. 

Thro' weal or woe as may chance to be." 



53a 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



She mounted on her iiiilk--white steed ; 

She's ta'en true Thomas up behind ; 
And aye, ■whene'er her bridle rung, 

The steed flew swifter than the wind. 

And they rade on, and farther on — 
The steed gaed swifter than the wind ; 

Until they reached a desert wide, 
And living land was left behind. 

"Light down, light down, now, true Thomas, 
And lean your head upon my knee ! 

Abide and rest a little space. 
And I will shew you ferlies three. 

" Oh see ye not yon narrow road, 
So thick beset with thorns and briers ? 

That is the path of righteousness, 
Though after it but few enquires. 

" And see ye not that braid, braid road, 
That lies across that lUy leven ? 

That is the path of wickedness — 

Though some call it the road to heaven. 

"And see not ye that bonny road, 
That winds about the fernie brae ? 

That is the road to fair Elfland, 
Where thou and I this night maun gae. 

"But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue. 

Whatever ye may hear or see ; 
For, if you speak word in Elfyn land, 

Te'll ne'er get back to your ain countrie." 

Oh they rade on, and farther on, 

And they waded through rivers aboon the 
knee ; 
And they saw neither sun nor moon, 

But they heard the roaring of the sea. 

It was mirk, mirk night, and there was nae 
stern light. 
And they waded through red blade to the 
knee; 
For a' the blude that's shed on earth 
Kins through the springs o' that countrie. 

Syne they came on to a garden green. 
And she pu'd an apple frae a tree : 

"Take this for thy wages, true Thomas — 
It will give thee the tongue that can never 
lie." 



" My tongue is mine ain ; " true Thomas said ; 

" A gudely gift ye wad gie to me ! 
I neither dought to buy nor sell. 

At fair or tryst where I may be. 

" I dought neither speak to prince or peer, 
Nor ask of grace from fair ladye." — 

"Now hold thy peace ! " the lady said, 
"For as I say. so must it be." — 

He has gotten a coat of the even cloth, 
And a pair of shoes of velvet green ; 

And till seven years were gane and past,- 
True Thomas on earth was never seen. 

Anonymous. 



THE WEE WEE MAN. 

As I was walking by my lane, 

Atween a water and a wa, 
There sune I spied a wee, wee man — 

He was the least that ere I saw. 

His legs were scant a shathmont's length, 
And sma and limber was his thie ; 

Between his een there was a span. 

Betwixt his shoulders there were ells three. 

He has tane up a meikle stane, 
And flang 't as far as I cold see ; 

Ein thouch I had been Wallace vvicht, 
I dought na lift it to ray knie. 

" O wee, wee m.an, but ye be Strang ! 

Tell me whar may thy dwelling be ? " 
" I dwell beneth that bonnie bouir— 

Oh will ye gae wi me and see? " 

On we lap, and awa we rade. 

Till we cam to a bonny green ; 
We lichted syne to bait our steid. 

And out there cam a lady sheen— 

Wi four and twentie at her back, 
A comely cled in glistering green ; 

Thouch there the king of Scots had stnde. 
The warst micht well hae been his queen. 



THE MERRY PRANKS OF ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW. 



033 



On syne we past wi wondering cheir, 

Till we cam to a bonny ha ; 
The roof was o' the beaten gowd, 

The flure was o' the crystal a'. 

When we cam there, wi wee, wee knichts 
War ladies dancing, jimp and sma ; 

But in the twinkling of an eie 

Baith green and ha war clein awa. 

Anonymous. 



THE MERRY PRANKS OF ROBIN 
GOOD-FELLOW 

From Oberon, in foiry land. 

The king of ghosts and shadowes there, 
Mad Robin, I, at his command. 
Am sent to view the night-sports here. 
What revell rout 
Is kept about 
In every corner where I go, 
I will o'ersee. 
And merrie be. 
And make good sport with ho, ho, ho ! 

More swift than lightning can I flye 

About the aery welkin soone, 
And in a minute's space desorye 
Eacli thing that 's done helowe the moone. 
There 's not a hag 
Or ghost shall wag. 
Or cry 'ware goblins ! where I go ; 
But Robin, I, 
Their feates will spy, 
And send them home with ho, ho, ho I 

Whene'er such wanderers I meete. 

As from their night-sports they trudge homo. 
With counterfeiting voice I greete. 
And call them on with me to roame. 
Thro' woods, thro' lakes. 
Thro' bogs, thro' brakes. 
Or else unseene, with them I go — 
All in the nicke, 
To play some tricke. 
And frolick it with ho, ho, ho 1 



Sometimes I meete them like a man — 

Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound ; 
And to a horse I turn me can. 
To trip and trot about them round ; 
But, if to ride. 
My backe they stride. 
More swift tlian wind away I goe ; 
O'er hedge and lands. 
Through pools and ponds, 
I whirry, laughing ho, ho, ho ! 

When lads and lasses merry be. 

With possets, and with junkets fine, 
Unseene of all the company, 

I eat their cakes, aud sip their wine ; 
And to make sport, 
I fume aud snort. 
And out the caudles I do blow. 
The maids I kiss ; 
They shrieke. Who's this? 
I answer nought but ho, ho, ho ! 

Yet now and then, the maids to please, 

At midnight I card up their wooll ; 
And while they sleepe and take their ease. 
With wheel to threads their flax I pull. 
I grind at mill 
Their malt up still ; 
I dress their hemp, I spin their tow. 
If any wake, 
And would me take, 
I wend mo laughing ho, ho, ho 1 

When house or hearth doth sluttish lye, 

I pinch the maidens black and blue ; 
The bedd-clothes from the bedd pull I, 
And in their ear I bawl too-whoo ! 
'Twixt sleepe and wake 
I do them take. 
And on the clay-cold floor them throw ; 
If out they cry. 
Then forth I fly. 
And loudly laugh out ho, lio, ho ! 

When any need to borrow ought. 

We lend them what they do require ; 
And for the use demand wo naught — 
Our owne is all we do desire. 
If to repay 
They do delay. 



53 i 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Abroad amongst tliem then I go ; 

And night by night 

I them affright, 
"With pinchings, dreams, and ho, ho, ho ! 

When lazie queans have nought to do 

But study how to cog and lye, 
To make debate and mischief too, 
'Twixt one another secretly, 
I marke their gloze. 
And it disclose 
To them -n-hom they have wronged so. 
"Wlien I have done 
I get me gone, 
And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho ! 

When men do traps and engines set 

In loops holes, where the vermine creeps, 
Who from their foldss and houses get 
Their duckes and geese, and lambes and 
sheepe, 

I spy the gin, 
And enter in. 
And seeme a vermin taken so ; 
But when they there 
Approach me neare, 
I leap out laughing ho, ho, ho ! 

By wells and rills, in meadowes green. 
We nightly dance our hey-day guise ; 
And to our fairye kicge and qneene 

We chaunt our moon-liglite minstrelsies. 
When larkes gin singe 
Away we flinge. 
And babes new-born steale as we go ; 
And shoes in bed 
We leave instead. 
And wend us laughing ho, ho, ho ! 

From hag-bred Merlin's time have I 
Thus nightly revelled to and fro ; 
And, for my prankes, men call me by 
The name of Robin Good- Fellow. 

Friends, ghosts, and sprites 
Who hauut the niglites. 
The hags and gobblins, do me know ; 
And beldames old 
My feates have told — 
So vale, tale ! Ho, ho, ho ! 

Akontmous. 



THE FAIET QUEEJf. 

Come, follow, follow me — 
Tou, fairy elves that be. 
Which circle on the green — 
Come, follow Mab, your queen ! 
Hand in hand let 's dance around. 
For this place is fairy ground. 

When mortals are at rest, 

And snoring in their nest, 

Unheard and unespied. 

Through keyholes we do glide ; 
Over tables, stools, and shelves. 
We trip it with our fairy elves. 

And if the house bo foul 

With platter, dish, or bowl, 

Up stairs we nimbly creep, 

And find the sluts asle«p ; 
There we pinch their arms and thighs- 
None escapes, nor none espies. 

But if the house be swept, 
And from nncleanness kept. 
We praise the household maid, 
And duly she is paid ; 

For wo use, before we go. 

To drop a tester in her shoe. 

Upon a mushroom's head 

Our table cloth we spread ; 

A grain of rye or wheat 

Is manchet, which we eat ; 
Pearly drops of dew we drink, 
In acorn cups, filled to the brink. 

The brains of nightingales, 
With unctuous fat of snails, 
Between two cockles stewed. 
Is meat that 's easily chewed ; 
Tails of worms, and marrow of mice, 
Do make a dish that 's wondrous nice. 

The grasshopper, gnat, and fly. 

Serve us for our minstrelsy ; 

Grace said, we dance a while, 

And so the time beguile ; 
And if the moon doth hide her head, 
The glow-worm lights us home to bed. 



FAIRY 


SONG. 535 


On tops of dewy grass 


Then we change our wily features 


So nimbly do we pass, 


Into yet for smaller creatures. 


The young and tender stalk 


And dance in joints of gouty toes. 


Ne'er bends wben we do walk ; 


To painful tunes of groans and woes. 


Yet in the morning may be seen 


Anonvmodb. 


Where we the night before have been. 
Anontmous. 




SONG OF THE FAIRY. 




THE FAIEEES' SONG. 


Over hill, over dale, 




Thorough bush, thorough brier, 


We dance on hills above the wind, 


Over pai-k, over pale. 


And leave our footsteps there behind ; 


Thorough flood, thorough fire, 


Which shall to after ages last, 


I do wander every where. 


When all our dancing days are past. 


Swifter than the moon's sphere ; 




And I serve the fairy queen. 


Sometimes wo dance upon the shore, 


To dew her orbs upon the green ; 


To whistling winds and seas that roar ; 


The cowslips tall her pensioners be ; 


Then we make the wind to blow. 


In their gold coats spots you see : 


And set the seas a-dancing too. 


These be rubies, fairy favors — 




In those freckles live their savors. 


The thunder's noise is our delight. 


I must go seek some dewdrops here, 


And lightnings make us day by night ; 


And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 


And in the air we dance on high, 


Shakespeare. 


To the loud music of the sky. 
About the moon we make a ring, 






And falling stars we wanton fling, 


FAIRY SONG. 


Like squibs and rockets, for a toy ; 




While what frights others is our joy. 


Shed no tear ! oh shed no tear ! 




The flower will bloom another year. 


But when we 'd hunt away our cares, 


Weep no more ! oh weep no more ! 


We boldly mount the galloping spheres ; 


Young buds sleep in the root's white core. 


And, riding so from east to west, 


Dry your eyes ! oh dry your eyes ! 


We chase each nimble zodiac beast. 


For I was taught in Paradise 




To ease my breast of melodies — 


Thus, giddy grown, we make our beds, 


Shed no tear. 


With thick, black clouds to rest our heads. 




And flood the earth with our dark showers. 


Overhead ! look overhead ! 


Tliat did but sprinkle these our bowers. 


'ilong the blossoms white and red— • 




Look up, look up ! I flutter now 


Thus, having done with orbs and sky, 


On this fresh pomegranate bough. 


Those mighty spaces vast and high, 


See me ! 't is this silvery bill 


Then down we come and take the shapes. 


Ever cures the good man's ill. 


Sometimes of cats, sometimes of apes. 


Shed no tear ! oh shed no tear ! 




The flower will bloom another year. 


Next, turned to mites in cheese, forsooth, 


Adieu, adieu — I fly — adieu ! 


We get into some hollow tooth ; 


I vanish in the heaven's blue — 


Wherein, as in a Christmas ball, 


Adieu, adieu I 


We frisk and dance, the devil and all. 


JonN KEAT& 


34 





636 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



SONG OF FAIEIES. 

We the fairies, blithe and antic, 
Of dimensions not gigantic. 
Though the moonshine mostly keep ns, 
Oft in orchards frisk and peep iis. 

Stolen sTveets are always sweeter ; 
Stolen kisses much completer ; 
Stolen looks are nice in chapels : 
Stolen, stolen be your apples. 

■When to bed the world are bobbing, 
Then 's the time for orchard-robbing ; 
Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling 
Were it not for stealing, stealinc;. 



Thomas Eandolph. 
Translation of Leioh Hunt. 



(Latin.) 



LA BELLE D^UIE SANS MERCL 



A BALLAD. 



On what can ail thee, knight-at-arms ! 

Alone and palely loitering ? 
The sedge has withered from the lake. 

And no birds sin" 



Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms I 
So haggard and so woe-begone ? 

The squirrel's granary is full. 
And the harvest 's done. 

in. 

I see a lily on thy brow. 

With anguish moist and fever dew ; 
And on thy cheeks a fading rose 

Fast withereth too. 



1 met a lady in the mead — 
Full beautiful, a fairy's child ; 

Her hair was long, her foot was light. 
And her eyes were wild. 



I made a garland for her head. 

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone ; 

She looked at me as she did love, 
And made sweet moan. 



I set her on my pacing steed. 

And nothing else saw all day long ; 

For sidelong would she bend, and sing 
A fairy song. 



She found me roots of relish sweet. 
And honey wild, and manna dew ; 

And sure in language strange she said — 
" I love thee true." 

VIII. 

She took me to her elfin grot, 

And there she wept, and sighed full sore ; 
And there I shut her wild, wild eyes 

With kisses four. 



And there she luUed me asleep ; 

And there I dreamed — Ah ! woe betide ! 
The latest dream I ever dreamed 

On the cold hill's side. 

X 

I saw pale kings and princes too — 
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all ; 

They cried — " La belle dame sans merci 
Hath thee in thrall!" 



I saw their starved lips in the gloam, 
With horrid warning gaped wide ; 

And I awoke and found me here, 
On the cold hill's side. 

xn. 

And this is v%-hy I sojourn here, 

Alone and palely loitering, 
Though the sedge is withered from the 
lake. 



And no birds sinjr. 



John Keats. 



KILMENY. 



Bo7 



KILMENY. 

BojiNY Kilmeny gaed up the glen ; 
But it wasiia to meet Duneira's men, 
Nor the rosy mouk of the isle to see, 
For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. 
It was only to hear the yorlin sing, 
And pu' the cress-flower round the spring — 
Tlie scarlet hypp, and the hind berry, 
And the nut that hung frae the hazel tree ; 
For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. 
But lang may her minny look o'er the wa'. 
And lang may she seek i' the green-wood 

shaw ; 
Lang the laird of Duneira blame, 
And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come hame. 

When many a day had come and fled, 
"When grief grew calm, and hope was dead. 
When mass for Kilmeny's soul had been sung. 
When the bedes-man had prayed, and the 

dead-bell rung; 
Late, late in a gloamin, when all was still, 
When the fringe was red on the westlin hill. 
The wood was sere, the moon i' the wane. 
The reek o' the cot hung over the plain — 
Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane ; 
When the ingle lowed with an eiry leme, 
Late, late in the gloamin Kilmeny came 
hame! 

" Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been? 
Lang hae we sought both holt and den — 
By linn, by ford, and green-wood tree ; 
Yet you are halesome and fair to see. 
Where got you that joup o' the lily sheen? 
That bonny snood of the birk sae green? 
And these roses, the fairest that ever was 

seen? 
Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?" 

Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace. 
But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face; 
As stiU was her look, and as still was her ee, 
As the stillness that lay on tlie emerant lea. 
Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea. 
For Kilmeny had been she knew not where. 
And Kilmeny had seen what she could not 
declare ; 



Kilmeny had been where the cock never 

crew, 
Where the rain never fell, and the wind nevei 

blew ; 
But it seemed as the harp of the sky had 

rung, 
And the airs of heaven played round her 

tongue, 
When she spake of the lovely forms she had 

seen, 
And a land where sin had never been — 
A land of love, and a land of light, 
Withouten sun, or moon, or night ; 
Where the river swa'd a living stream, 
And the light a pure celestial beam : 
The land of vision it would seem, 
A still, an everlasting dream. 

In yon green-wood there is a waik, 
And in thai waik there is a wene. 

And in that wene there is a maike. 
That neither has flesh, blood, nor bane ; 
And down in yon green-wood he walks his 

lane. 

In that green wene, Kilmeny lay. 
Her bosom happed wi' the flowerets gay ; 
But the air was soft, and the silence deep. 
And bonny Kilmeny fell sound asleep ; 
She kend nae mair, nor opened her ee, 
TiU waked by the hymns of a far countrye. 

She 'wakened on a couch of the silk sao 
slim. 
All striped wi' the bars of the rainbow's rim ; 
And lovely beings around were rife. 
Who erst had travelled mortal life ; 
And aye they smiled, and 'gan to speer : 
" What spirit has brought this mortal here ! " 

"Lang have I journeyed the world wide," 
A meek and reverend fere rciilied ; 
"Baith night and day I have watched the 

fair 
Eident a thousand years and mair. 
Yes, I have watched o'er ilk degree. 
Wherever blooms femenitye ; 
But sinless virgin, free of stain, 
In mind and body, fand I nane. 
Never, since the banquet of time, 
Found I a virgin in her prime. 



.538 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Till late this bonny maiden I saw, 

As spotless as the morning snaw. 

Full twenty years sho^ias lived as free 

As the spirits that sojourn in this countrye. 

I have brought her away frae the snares of 

men, 
That sin or death she may never ken." 

Tliey clasped lier waist and her hands sae fair ; 
They kissed her cheek, and they kemed her 

hair ; 
And round came many a blooming fere, 
Saying, "Bonny Kilmeny, ye're welcomehere; 
Women are freed of the littand scorn ; 
Oh, blest be the day Kilmeny was born ! 
Now shall the land of the spirits see. 
Now shall it ken, what a woman may be ! 
Many a lang year in sorrow and pain. 
Many a lang year through the world we 'vo 

gane. 
Commissioned to watch fair womankind. 
For it 's they who nurice the immortal mind. 
We have watched their steps as the dawning 

shone, 
And deep in the green-wood walks alone ; 
By lily bower and silken bed 
The viewless tears have o'er them shed ; 
Have soothed their ardent minds to sleep, 
Or left, the couch of love to weep. 
We have seen I we have seen ! but the time 

must come. 
And the angels will weep at the day of doom ! 

"Oh, would thefiiirest of mortal kind 
Aye keep the holy truths in mind, 
That kindred spirits their motions see. 
Who watch their ways with anxious ee. 
And grieve for the guilt of humanitye ! 
Oh, sweet to heaven the maiden's prayer, 
And the sigh that heaves a bosom sae fair ! 
And dear to heaven the words of truth 
And the praise of virtue frae beauty's mouth ! 
And dear to the viewless forms of air. 
The minds that kythe as the body fair ! 

" O, bonny Kilmeny I free frae stain. 
If ever you seek the world again — 
That world of sin, of sorrow and fear — 
Oh, tell of the .joys tiiat are waiting here ; 
And tell of the signs you shall shortly see ; 
Of the times that are now, and the times that 
shall be."— 



They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away, 
And she walked in the light of a sunless day; 
The sky was a dome of crystal bright. 
The fountixin of vision, and fountain of light; 
The emerald fields were of dazzling glow, 
And the flowers of everlasting blow. 
Then deep in the stream her body they laid, 
That her youth and beauty never might fade; 
And they smiled on heaven, when they saw 

her lie 
In the stream of life that wandered by. 
And she heard a song — she heard it sung, 
She kend not where ; but sae sweetly it rung, 
It fell on her ear like a dream of the morn— 
"Oh! blest be the day Kilmeny was born! 
Now shall the land of the spirits see. 
Now shall it ken, what a woman may be ! 
The sun that shines on the world sae bright, 
A borrowed gleid frae the fountain of light ; 
And the moon that sleeks the sky sao dun. 
Like a gouden bow, or a beamless sun — 
Shall wear away, and be seen nae mair ; 
And the angels shall miss them, travelling 

the air. 
But lang, lang after baith night and day, 
AVhen the sun and the world have dyed 

away, 
When the sinner has gane to his waesome 

doom, 
Kilmeny shall smile in eternal bloom ! "-— 



They bore her away, she wist not how, 
For she felt not arm nor rest below ; 
But so swift they wained her through the 

light, 
'T was like tlie motion of sound or sight; 
They seemed to split the gales of air, 
And yet nor gale nor breeze was there. 
Uimumbered groves below them grew ; 
They came, they past, and backward flew, 
Like floods of blossoms gliding on, 
In moment seen, in moment gone. 
Oh, never vales to mortal view 
Appeared like those o'er which they flew 
That land to human spirits given, 
The lowermost vales of the storied heaven ; 
From whence they can view the world below, 
And heaven's blue gates with sapphires 

glow — 
More glory yet unmeet to know. 



KILMENY 



539 



Tliey boro her far to a mountain green, 
To SCO ■wliut mortal never liad scon ; 
Anil thoy tcated her liigli on a purple sward, 
And bade her heed what she saw and heard. 
And note the changes the spirits wrought; 
For now she lived in the land of thought. — 
8ho looked, and she saw nor sun nor skies. 
But a crystal dome of a thousand dies; 
She looked, and she saw nao land aright. 
But an endless whirl of glory and light; 
And radiant beings went and came, 
Far swifter than wind, or the linked flame ; 
She hid her eon frae the dazzling view; 
She looked again, and the scene was new. 

She saw a sun on a summer sky, 
And clouds of amber sailing by ; 
A lovely land beneath her lay, 
And that land had glens and mountains gray; 
And that land had valleys and hoary piles. 
And marled seas, and a thousand isles; 
Its lields were s])eckled, its forests green, 
And its lakes were all of the dazzling sheen. 
Like magic mirrors, where slumbering lay 
The sun and the sky and the cloudlet gray, 
Which heaved and trouibled, and gently 

swung; 
On every shore they seemed to be hung ; 
For there they were seen on their downward 

plain 
A thousand times and a thousand again ; 
In winding lake and jdacid firth — 
Little peaceful heavens in the bosom of 

earth. 

Kilmeny siglied and seemed to grieve. 
For she found her heart to that land did 

cleave ; 
Slie saw the corn wave on the vale ; 
She saw tlie deer run down the dale; 
iShe saw the plaid and llie broad claymore. 
And the brows that the badge of freedom 

bore; 
And she thought she had seen tlio land be- 
fore. 

She saw a lady sit on a throne. 
The fairest that ever the sun shone on 1 
A lion licked her hand of milk. 
And she held him in a leish of silk. 



And a leifu' maiden stood at her knee, 
With a silver v/and and melting ee — 
Her sovereign shield, till love stole in, 
And poisoned all the fount within. 

Then a grufl-', untoward hcdes-mau came, 
And hundit the lion on his dame ; 
And the guardian maid wi' the dauntless ee, 
She dropped a tear, and left her knee; 
And she saw till the queen frae the lion tied, 
Till tlio bonniest flower of the world lay 

dead; 
A ooflin was set on a distant plain, 
And she saw the red blood fall like rain. 
Then bonny Kilniony's heart grew suir, 
And slie tui'iicd away, and could look nae 

mair. 

Then the gruli', grim carle girn^d amain. 
And they trampled him down — but he rose 

again ; 
And he baited the lion to deeds of weir. 
Till lio la]iped Die blood to the kingdom 

dear; 
And, weening his head was danger-preef 
Wlien crowned with the rose and clover leaf, 
He growled at the carle, and chased him 

away 
To feed wi' the deer on the mountain gray. 
He growled at the carle, and he geeked at 

heaven ; 
But his mark was set, and his arles given. 
Kilmeny a while her een withdrew ; 
She looked again, and the scene was new. 

She saw below her, fair unfurled. 
One half of all the glowing world, 
Where oceans rolled and rivers ran, 
To bound the aims of sinful man. 
She saw a people fierce and fell, 
Bur.st frae their bounds like fiends of hell ; 
There lilies grew, and the eagle flew ; 
And she herked on her ravening crew. 
Till the cities and towers were wrapt in a 

blaze. 
And the thunder it roared o'er tlie lands and 

the seas. 
The widows they wailed, and the red blood 

ran. 
And she threatened an end to the race of 

man. 



640 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



She never lened, nor stood in awe, 
Till caught by the lion's deadly paw. 
Oh ! then the eagle swinked for life, 
And brainzelled up a mortal strife ; 
But flew she north, or flew she south, 
She met wi' the growl of the lion's mouth. 

■With a mooted wing and waefu' niacn. 
The eagle sought her eiry again ; 
But lahg may she cower in her bloody nest, 
And lang, lang sleek her wounded breast, 
Before she sey another flight. 
To play wi' the norland lion's might. 

But to sing the sights Kilmeny saw, 
So far surpassing nature's law, 
The singer's voice wad sink away. 
And the string of his harp wad cease to play. 
But she saw tUI the sorrows of man were by. 
And all was love and harmony ; 
Till the stars of heaven fell calmly away, 
Like the flakes of snaw on a winter's day. 

Then Kilmeny begged again to see 
The friends she had left in her own countrye, 
To tell of the place where she had been, 
And the glories that lay in the land unseen ; 
To warn the living maidens fair. 
The loved of heaven, the spirits" care. 
That all whose minds unmeled remain 
Shall bloom in beauty when time is gane. 

With distant music, soft and deep. 
They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep ; 
And when she awakened, she lay her lane, 
All happed with flowers in the green-wood 

wene. 
When seven long years had come and fled ; 
When grief was calm, and hope was dead ; 
When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's 

name, 
Late, late in a gloamin, Kilmeny came hame ! 
And oh, her beauty was fair to see, 
But still and steadfast was her ee ! 
Such beauty bard may never declare, 
For there was no pride nor passion there ; 
And the soft desire of maidens' een. 
In that mild face' could never be seen. 
Her seymar was the lily flower, 
And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower ; 



And her voice like the distant melodye 
That floats along the twilight sea. 
But she loved to raike the lanely glen, 
And keeped afar frae the haunts of men ; 
Her holy hymns unlieard to sing, 
To suck the flowers and drink the spring. 
But wherever her peaceful form appeared, 
The wild beasts of the hills were cheered ; 
The wolf played blythely round the field, 
The lordly byson lowed and kneeled ; 
The dun deer wooed with maimer bland, 
And cowered aneath her lily hand. 
And when at even the woodlands rung, 
When hymns of other worlds she sung 
In ecstasy of sweet devotion. 
Oh, then the glen was all in motion ! 
The wild beasts of the forest came, 
Broke from their bugbts and faulds the tame, 
And goved around, charmed and amazed ; 
Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed. 
And murmured and looked with anxious pain, 
For something the mystery to explain. 
The buzzard came with the throstle-cock. 
The corby left her houf in the rock ; 
The black-bird alang wi' the eagle flew; 
The hind came tripping o'er the dew ; 
The wolf and the kid their raike began ; 
And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret 

ran; 
The hawk and the hern attour them hung, 
And the merl and the mavis forhooyed tlieir 

young; 
And all in a peaceful ring were hurled : 
It was like an eve in a sinless world ! 



When a month and day had come and 
gane, 
Kilmeny sought the green- wood wene ; 
There laid her down on the leaves sae green. 
And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen. 
But oh, the words that fell from her mouth, 
Were words of wonder, and words of truth 1 
But all the land were in fear and dread. 
For they kend na whether she was living or 

dead. 
It wasna her hame, and she couldna re- 
main ; 
She left this world of sorrow and pain. 
And returned to the land of thought again. 

James ITogo. 



THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON LOW. 



541 



THE FAIRIES OF THE OALDOX LOW. 

A MIDSUMMER LEGEND. 

" And wliero liave you been, my Mary, 
And where have you been from me ? " 

"I've been to the top of the Caldon Low, 
The midsummer-night to see ! " 

" And what did you see, my Mary, 

All up on tlie Caldon Low ? " 
"I saw the glad sunshine come down. 

And I saw the merry winds blow." 

" And what did you hear, my Mary, 

All up on the Caldon hiU? " 
" I heard the drops of the water made. 

And the ears of the green corn fill." 

" Oh ! tell me all, my Mary — 

All, all that ever you know ; 
For you must have seen the fairies. 

Last night on tlio Caldon Low." 

" Then take me on your knee, mother ; 

And listen, mother of mine : 
A hundred fairies danced last night. 

And the harpers they wore nine ; 

" And their harp-strings rung so merrily 
To their dancing feet so small ; 

But oh! the words of their talking 
Were merrier tar than all." 

"And whit were the words, my Mary, 
That then you heard them say 2 " 

" I '11 tell you all, my mother ; 
But let me have my way. 

" Some of them played with the water. 

And rolled it down the hill ; 
' And this,' they said, ' shall speedily turn 

The poor old miller's mill; 

" ' For there has been no water 

Ever since the first of M.iy ; 
And a busy man will the miller be 

At dawning of the day. 



" ' Oh! the miller, how he will laugh 
Wlien he sees the mill-dam rise ! 

The jolly old miller, how he will laugh 
Till the tears fill both his eyes ! ' 

"And some they seized the little winds 

That sounded over the hill ; 
And each put a horn unto his mouth, 

And blew both loud and shrill ; 

" ' And there,' they said, ' the merry winds 
go 

Away from every horn ; 
And they shall clear the mildew dank 

From the blind, old widow's corn. 

" ' Oh ! the poor, lilind widow. 
Though she has been blind so long, 

She '11 be blithe enough when the mildew 's 
gone. 
And the corn stands tall and strong.' 

"And some they brought tlio brown lint- 
seed, 

And flung it down from the Low ; 
'And this,' they said, 'by the sunrise, 

In the weaver's croft shall grow. 

" ' Oil ! the poor, lame weaver, 

How will he laugh outriglit 
When he sees his dwindling flax-field 

All full of flowers by night ! ' 

" And then outspoke a brownie. 
With a long beard on his chin ; 

' I have spun up all the tow,' said he, 
' And I want some more to spin. 

" ' I 've spun a piece of kempen cloth, 

And I want to spin another ; 
A little sheet for Mary's bed, 

And an apron for her mother. 

"With that I could not help but laugli. 
And I lauglied out loud and free ; 

And then on the top of the Caldon Low 
Tliere was no one left but me. 

" And all on the top of the Caldon Low 
The mists were cold and gray. 

And nothing I saw but the mossy stones 
Tliat round about me lay. 



542 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



"But, coining down from the liill-top, 

I lieard afar below, 
How busy the jolly miller was, 

And how the wheel did go. 



" And I peeped into the widow's field, 
And, sure enough, were seen 

The yellow ears of the mildewed corn, 
AU standing stout and green. 

"And down by the weaver's croft I stole. 
To see if the flax were sprung ; 

And I met the weaver at his gate, 
With the good news on his tongue. 

" Now this is all I heard, mother, 

And all that I did see ; 
So, pr'ythee, make my bed, mother. 

For I 'm tired as I can be." 

Maky Ho'mTT. 



on ! WHERE DO FAIRIES HIDE THEIR 
HEADS ? 

Oh ! where do fairies hide their heads, 

When snow lies on the hills — 
Wlien frost has spoiled their mossy beds, 

And crystallized their rills ? 
Beneath the moon they cannot trip 

In circles o'er the plain ; 
And draughts of dew they cannot sip. 

Till green leaves come again. 

Perhaps, in small, blue diving-bells. 

They plunge beneath the waves. 
Inhabiting the wreathed shells 

That lie in coral caves. 
Perhaps, in red Vesuvius, 

Carousals they maintain ; 
And cheer their little spirits thus, 

Till green leaves come again. 

When they return there will be mirth. 

And music in the air, 
And fairy wings upon the earth, 

And mischief every where. 
The maids, to keep the elves aloof, 

AVill bar the doors in vain : 
No key-hole will be fairy-proof. 

When green leaves come again. 

Thomab Haynes Bayly. 



THE CUlPRlT FAT. 



"My visual orbs are purged from film, and, lo I 
Instead of Aaster's turnip-bearing vales, 

I see old fairy land's miraculous show 1 
Her trees of tinsel kissed by freakish gales, 

Her ouplis that, cloaked in leaf-gold, skim the breeze. 

And fairies, swarming ■ ." 

Tenxast'3 Anster Fair. 



'T IS the middle watch of a summer's night — 
The earth is dark, but the heavens are bright ; 
Naught is seen in the vault on high 
But the moon, and the stars, and the cloud- 
less sky. 
And the flood which rolls its milky hue, 
A river of light on the welkin blue. 
The moon looks down on old Cronest ; 
She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast. 
And seems his huge gray form to throw 
In a silver cone on the wave below ; 
His sides are broken by spots of shade. 
By the walnut bough and the cedar made. 
And through their clustering branches dark 
Glimmers and dies the tire-fly's spark — 
Like starry twinkles that momently break 
Through the rifts of the gathering tempest's 
rack. 

II. 

The stars are on the moving stream. 

And fling, as its ripples gently flow, 
A burnished length of wavy beam 

In an eel-like, spiral line below ; 
The winds are whist, and the owl is still ; 

The bat in the shelvy rock is hid ; 
And nought is heard on the lonely hill 
But the cricket's chirp, and the answer shrill 

Of the gauze-winged katy-did ; 
And the plaint of the wailing whip-poor-will. 

Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings, 
Ever a note of wail and woe. 

Till morning spreads her rosy wings. 
And earth and sky in her glances glow. 



'T is the hour of fairy ban and spell : 
The wood-tick has kept the minutes well ; 
He has counted them all with click and stroke 
Deep in the heart of the mountain-oak, 
And he has awakened the sentry elve 
Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree. 



THE CTTLPRIT FAY 



54:5 



To bid him ring the houi- of twelve, 
Aud call the fays to their revelry ; 
Twelve small strokes on his tiukling bell — 
('Twas made of the white snail's pearly 

shell—) 
" Midnight comes, and all is well ! 
Hither, hither, wing your way ! 
'T is the dawu of the fairy-day." 



They come from beds of lichen green, 
They creep from the mullen's velvet screen ; 

Some on the backs of beetles fly 
From the silver tops of moon-touched trees, 

"Where they swung in their cobweb ham- 
mocks high. 
And rocked about in the evening breeze ; 

Some from the hum-bird's downy nest — 
They had driven him out by elfin power, 

Aud, pillowed on plumes of his rainbow 
breast. 
Had slumbered there till the charmed hour ; 

Some had lain in the scoop of the rook, 
With glittering ising-stars inlaid ; 

And some had opened the four-o'clock, 
And stole within its purple shade. 

And now they throng the moonlight glade, 
Above — below — on every side. 

Their little minim forms arrayed 
In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride ! 



They come not now to print the lea, 

In freak and dance around the tree, 

Or at the mushroom board to sup, 

And drink the dew from the buttercup ; — 

A scene of sorrow waits thern now, 

For an ouphe has broken his vestal vow ; 

He has loved an earthly maid. 

And left for her his woodland shade ; 

He has lain upon her lip of dew, 

And sunned him in her eye of blue. 

Fanned her cheek with his wing of air. 

Played in the ringlets other hair, 

And, nestling on her snowy breast. 

Forgot the lily-king's behest. 

For this the shadowy tribes of air 

To the elfin court must haste away : — ■ 
And now they stand expectant there, 

To hear the doom of the culprit fay. 



The throne was reared upon the grass. 
Of spice-wood and of sassafras ; 
On pillars of mottled tortoise-shell 

Hung the burnished canopy — 
And o'er it gorgeous curtains fell 

Of the tulip's crimson drapery. 
The monarch sat on his judgment-scat. 

On his brow the crown imperial shone, 
The prisoner fay was at his feet. 

And his peers were ranged around the 
throne. 
He waved his sceptre in the air. 

He looked around and calmly spoke ; 
His brow was grave and his eye severe. 

But his voice in a softened accent broke : 



" Fairy ! fairy ! list and mark : 

Thou hast broke thine elfin chain ; 
Thy flame - wood lamp is quenched and 
dark, 

And thy wings are dyed with a deadly 
stain — 
Thou hast sullied thine elfin purity 

In the glance of a mortal maiden's eye ; 
Thou hast scorned our dread decree. 

And thou shouldst pay the forfeit high. 
But well I know her sinless mind 

Is pure as the angel forms above, 
Gentle and meek, and chaste and kind. 

Such as a spirit well might love ; 
Fairy! had she spot or taint, 
Bitter had been thy punishment : 
Tied to the hornet's shardy wings ; 
Tossed on the pricks of nettles' stings ; 
Or seven long ages doomed to dwell 
With the lazy worm in the walnut-shell ; 
Or every night to writhe and bleed 
Beneath the tread of the centipede ; 
Or bound in a cobweb dungeon dim. 
Your jailer a sjiider, huge and grim. 
Amid the carrion bodies to lie 
Of the worm, and the bug, and the murdered 

fly: 

These it had been your lot to bear. 
Had a stain been found on the earthly fair. 
Now list, and mark our mild decree — 
Fairy, this your doom must be : 



544 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Tin. 
" Thou Shalt seek the beach of sand 
Whei-e the water bounds the elfin land ; 
Thou shalt watch the oozy brine 
Till the sturgeon leaps in the bright moon 

shine, 
Then dart the glistening arch below, 
And catch a drop from his silver bow. 
The water-sprites will wield their arms 
And dash around, with roar and rave, 
And vain are the woodland spirits' charms; 

They are the imps that rule the wave. 
Yet trust thee in thy single might : 
If thy heart be pure and thy spirit right, 
Thou shalt win the warlock fight. 



" If the spray -bead gem be won, 
The stain of thy wing is washed away ; 

But another orrand must be done 
Ere thy crime be lost for aye : 

Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark. 

Thou must reillumo its spark. 

Mount thy steed and spur him high 

To the heaven's blue canopy ; 

And when thou seest a shooting star, 

Follow it fast, and follow it far— 

The last fixint spark of its bm-ning train 

Sliall light the elfin lamp again. 

Thou hast heard our sentence, ftiy ■ 

Hence ! to the water-side, away ! " 



Tiie goblin marked his monarch well- 

He spake not, but he bowed him low. 
Then plucked a crimson colen-bell. 

And turned him round in act to go. 
The way is long, he cannot fly. 

His soiled wing has lost its power 
And he winds adown the mountain hi^h 

For many a sore and weary hour. 
Through dreary beds of tangled fern, 
Through groves of nightshade dark a'nd dern. 
Over the grass and through the brake, 
Where toils the ant and sleeps the snake ; 

Now o'er the violet's azure flush 
He skips along in iightsome mood ; 

And now ho thrids the bramble-bush. 
Till its points are dyed in f;iiry blood. 



He has leaped the bog, he has j.ieroed the 

brier. 
He has swum the brook, and waded the mire, 
Till his spirits sank, and his limbs grew wealc,' 
And the red waxed fainter in his check. 
He had fallen to the ground outright, 

For nigged and dim was his onward track, 
liut thei-e came a spotted toad in sight. 
And he laughed as he jumped upon her 
back ; 
He bridled her mouth with a silkweed twist, 
He lashed her sides with an osier thong ; ' 
And now, through evening's dewy mist 

With leap and spring they bound along. 
Till the mountain's magic verge is past. 
And the beach of sand is reached at last. 

XI. 

Soft and pale is the moony beam 
Moveless still the glassy stream ; 
The wave is clear, the beach is bright 

Witli snowy shells and sparkling stones ; 
The shore-surge comes in ripples light. 

In murmurings faint and distant moans ; 
And ever afar in the silence deep 
Is heard the splash of the sturgeon's leap. 
And the bend of his graceful bow is seeul 
A glittering arcli of silver sheen. 
Spanning the wave of burnished blue, 
And dripping with gems of the river-dew. 



The elfin cast a glance around, 

As he lighted down from his courser toad ; 
Then round his breast his wings he wound, ' 

And close to the river's brink ho strode ; 
He sprang on a rock, ho breathed a prayer,' 

Above his head his arms he threw, 
Then tossed a tiny curve in air. 

And headlong plunged in the waters blue. 

xni. 

Up sprung the spirits of the waves, 
From the sea-silk beds in their coral caves ; 
With snail-plate armor snatched in haste. 
They speed their way through the liquid 

waste ; 
Some are rapidly borne along 
On the mailed shrimp or the prickly prong ■ 



THE CULPRIT FAY. 



545 



Some on the blood-red leeches glide, 
Some on the stony star-fish ride, 
Some on the back of the lancing squab, 
Some on the sideling soldier-crab ; 
And some on the jellied quarl, that flings 
At once a tliousand streamy stings ; 
They cut the wave with the living oar, 
And hurry on to the moonlight shore. 
To guard their realms and chase away 
The footsteps of the invading fay. 



Fearlessly he skims along. 
His hope is high, and his limbs are strong; 
He spreads his arms like the swallow's wing. 
And throws his feet with a frog-like fling ; 
His locks of gold on the waters shine, 

At his breast the tiny foam-bees rise. 
His back gleams bright above the brine. 

And the wake-line foam behind him lies. 
But the water-sprites are gathering near 

To check his course along the tide ; 
Their warriors come in swift career 

And hem him round on every side ; 
On his thigh the leech has fixed his hold. 
The quarl's long arms are round him rolled. 
The prickly prong has pierced his skin, 
And the s(iuab has thrown his javelin ; 
The gritty star has rubbed him raw, 
And the crab has struck with his giant claw; 
He howls with rage, and he shrieks with pain; 
lie strikes around, but his blows are vain ; 
Hopeless is the unequal fight. 
Fairy ! naught is left but flight. 



Tie turned him round, and fled amain 
With hurry and dash to the beach again ; 
He twisted over from side to side. 
And laid his cheek to the cleaving tide ; 
The strokes of his plunging arras are fleet. 
And with all his might he flings his feet. 
But the water-sprites are round him still, 
To cross his path and work him iU. 
They bade the wave before him rise ; 
They flung the sea-fire in his eyes ; 
And they stunned his ears with the scallop- 
stroke, 
TVith the porpoise heave and the drum-fish 

croak. 

36 



Oh! but aweary wight was he 

When ho reached the foot of the dogwood 
tree. 

— Gashed and wounded, and stiff' and sore. 

He laid him down on the sandy shore ; 

lie blessed the force of the charmed line, 
And he banned the water-goblin's spite. 

For he saw around in the sweet moonshine 

Their little wee faces above the brine. 

Giggling and laughing with all their might 
At the piteous hap of the fairy wight. 



Soon he gathered the balsam dew 

From the sorrel-leaf and the henbane bud ; 
Over each wound the balm he drew. 

And with cobweb lint he stanched the 
blood. 
The mild west wind was soft and low, 
It cooled the heat of his burning brow; 
And lie felt new life in his sinews shoot, 
As he drank the juice of the calamus root ; 
And now he treads the fatal shore. 
As fresh and vigorous as before. 



Wrapped in musing stands the sprite : 
'T is the middle wane of night ; 

His task is hard, his way is far, 
But ho must do his errand right 

Ere dawning mounts her beamy car, 
And rolls her chariot wheels of light ; 
And vain are the spells of fairy -land — 
Ho must work with a human hand. 



He cast a saddened look around ; 

But he felt new joy his bosom swell, 
When, glittering on the shadowed ground, 

He saw a purple muscle-shell ; 
Thither he ran, and he bent him low, 
He heaved at the stern and he heaved at the 

bow. 
And he pushed her over the yielding sand, 
TiU he came to the verge of the haunted land. 
She was as lovely a pleasure-boat 

As ever fairy had paddled in. 
For she glowed with purple paint without. 

And shone with silvery pearl within ; 



546 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



A sculler's notcli in the stern he made, 
An oar he shaped of the bootle blade ; 
Then sprung to his seat with a lightsome leap, 
And launched afar on the calm, blue deep. 

XIX. 

The imps of the river yell and rave ; 
They had no power above the wave ; 
But they heaved the billow before the prow, 

And they dashed the surge against her side, 
And they struck her keel with jerk anil blow. 

Till the gunwale bent to the rocking tide. 
She whimpled about to the pale moonbeam, 
Like a feather that floats on a wind-tossed 

stream ; 
And momently athwart her track 
The quarl upreared his island back. 
And the fluttering scallop behind would float. 
And patter the water about the boat ; 
But he baUed her out with his colen-bell. 

And he kept her trimmed with a wary 
tread. 
While on every side like lightning fell 

The heavy strokes of his bootle-blade. 

XX. 

Onward still he held his way, 

Till ho came where the column of moonshine 

hiy, 
And saw beneath the surface dim 
Tlie brown-backed sturgeon slowly swim ; 
Around him were the goblin train — 
But he sculled with all his might and main, 
And followed wherever the sturgeon led. 
Till he saw him upward point his head ; 
Then he di-opped his paddle-blade. 
And lield his colcu-goblet up 
To catch the drop in its crimson cup. 



With sweeping tail and quivering fin 

Through the wave the sturgeon flew. 
And, like the heaven-shot javelin. 

He sprung above the waters blue. 
Instant as the star-fall light, 

lie plunged him in the deep again, 
But he loft an arch of silver bright. 

The rainbow of the moony main. 
It was a strange and lovely sight 

To see the puny goblin there ; 



He seemed an angel form of light, 
With azure wing and sunny hair. 
Throned on a cloud of purple fair. 

Circled with blue and edged with white, 

And sitting at the ftill of even 

Beneath the bow of summer heaven. 



A moment, and its lustre fell ; 

But ere it met the billow blue, 
He caught within his crimson bell 

A droplet of its sparkling dew — 
Joy to thee, fay ! thy task is done, 
Thy wings are pure, for the gem is won- 
Cheerly ply thy dripping oar. 
And haste away to tlie elfln shore. 



He turns, and, lo ! on either side 

The ripples on his path divide ; 

And the track o'er which his boat must pass 

Is smooth as a sheet of polished glass. 

Around, their limbs the sea-nymphs lave. 

With snowy arms half-swelling out. 
While on the glossed and gleamy wave 

Their sea-green ringlets loosely float ; 
They swim around with smile and song; 

They press the bark with pearly hand, 
And gently urge her course along, 

Toward the beach of speckled sand ; 

And, as he lightly leaped to land, 
They bade adieu with nod and bow ; 

Then gayly kissed each little hand. 
And dropped in the crystal deep below. 



A moment stayed the fairy there ; 
He kissed the beach and breathed a prayer ; 
Then spread his wings of gilded blue. 
And on to the elfin court he flew ; 
As ever ye saw a bubble rise. 
And shine with a thousand changing dyes, 
Till, lessening far, through ether driven. 
It mingles with the hues of heaven ; 
As, at the glimpse of morning pale. 
The lance-fly spreads his silken sail, 
And gleams with blendings soft and bright, 
Till lost in the shades of fiiding night: 
So rose from earth the lovely fay — 
So vanished, far in heaven away ! 
***** 



THE CULPRIT FAY. 



5i1 



Up, fairy ! quit thy chick-weed bower, 
Tlic cricl;et has called the second hour ; 
Twice again, and the lark will rise 
To kiss the streaking of the skies — • 
Up ! thy charmed armor don, 
Thou 'It need it ere the night be gone. 



lie put bis acorn helmet on ; 

It was plumed of the silk of the thistle-down; 

The corslet plate that guarded his breast 

Was once the wild bee's golden vest ; 

II is cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes, 

AVas formed of the wings of butterflies; 

His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen, 

Studs of gold on a ground of green ; 

And the quivering lance which he brandished 

bright. 
Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight. 
Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed ; 

He bared his blade of the bent-grass bine ; 
He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed. 

And away like a glance of thought he flew. 
To skim the heavens, and follow far 
The fiery trail of the rocket-star. 



The moth-fly, as he shot in air, 

Crept rnider the leaf, and hid her there ; 

The katy-did forgot its lay. 

The prowling gnat fled fast away, 

The fell mosquito checked his drone 

And folded his wings till the fay was gone, 

And the wily beetle dropped his head. 

And fell on the gronnd as if he were dead ; 

They crouched them close in the darksome 

shade. 
They quaked all o'er with awe and fear, 
For they had felt the blue-bent blade. 

And writhed at the prick of the elfin spear; 
Many a time, on a summer's night. 
When the sky was clear, and the moon was 

bright, 
They had been roused from the haunted 

ground 
By the yelp and bay of the fairy hound ; 

They had heard the tiny bugle-horn. 
They had heard the twang of the maize-silk 

string. 
When the vine-twig bows were tightly 

drawn, 



And the needle-shaft through air was 
borne. 
Feathered with down of the hum-bird's 

wing. 
And now they deemed the courier ouphe. 
Some hunter-sprite of the elfin ground ; 
And they watched till they saw hun mount 
the roof 
That canopies the world around ; 
Then glad they left their covert lair, 
And freaked about in the midnight air. 



Up to the vaulted firmament 

His path the fire-fly courser bent, 

And at every gallop on the wind. 

He flung a glittering spark behind; 

He flies like a feather in the blast 

Till the first light cloud in heaven is past. 

But the shapes of air have begun their 
work, 
And a drizzly mist is round him cast; 

He cannot see through the mantle murk ; 
He shivers with cold, but he urges fast; 

Through storm and darkness, sleet and 
shade. 
He lashes his steed, and spurs amain — 
For shadowy hands liave twitched the rein. 

And flame-shot tongues around him played, 
And near him many a fiendish eye 
Glared with a fell malignity. 
And yells of rage, and shrieks of fear. 
Came screaming on his startled ear. 



His wings are wet around his breast, 
The phmie hangs dripping from his crest. 
His eyes are blurred with the lightning's 

glare, 
And his ears are stunned with the thunder's 

blare • 
But he gave a shout, and his blade he drew, 

He thrust before and he struck behind, 
Till he pierced their cloudy bodies through. 

And gashed their shadowy limbs of wind ; 
Howling the misty spectres flew. 

They rend the air with frightful cries; 
For he has gained the welkin blue. 

And the land of clouds beneath him lies. 



54S 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



XXIX. 

Up to the cope careering swift, 

In breathless motion fast, 
Fleet as the swallow cuts the drift, 

Or the sea-roc rides the blast, 
The sapphire sheet of eve is shot, 

The sphered moon ia past, 
The earth but seems a tiny blot 

On a sheet of azuro cast. 
Oh! it was sweet, in the clear moonlight, 

To tread the starry plain of even ! 
To meet the thousand eyes of night, 

And feel the cooling breath of heaven ! 
But the elfin made no stop or stay 
Till he came to the bank of the milky-way ; 
Then he checked his courser's foot. 
And watched for the glimpse of the planet- 
shoot. 

XXX. 

Sudden along the snowy tide 

That swelled to meet their footsteps' fall. 
The sylphs of heaven were seen to glide. 

Attired in sunset's crimson pall ; 
Around the fay they weave the dance. 

They skip before him on the plain. 
And one has taken his wasp-sting lance. 

And one upholds his bridle-rein ; 
"With warblings wild they lead him on 

To where, through clouds of amber seen. 
Studded with stars, resplendent shone 

The palace of the sylphid queen. 
Its spiral columns, gleaming bright, 
Were streamers of the northern light ; 
Its curtain's light and lovely ilush 
AVas of the morning's rosy blush; 
And the ceiling fair that rose aboon, 
The white and feathery fleece of noon. 

XXXI. 

But, oh! how fair the shape that l.ay 

Beneath a rainbow bending bright : 
She seemed to the entranced fay 

The loveliest of the forms of light ; 
Her mantle was the purple rolled 

At twilight in the west afar ; 
'T was tied with threads of dawning gold. 

And buttoned with a sparkliug star. 
Her face was like the lily roon 

That veils the vestal planet's hue ; 
Iler eyes, two beawlets from the moon. 

Set floating in the welkin blue. 



Her hair is hke the sunny beam. 

And the diamond gems which round it gleam 

Are the pure drops of dewy even 

That ne'er have left their native heaven. 



She raised her eyes to the wondering sprite. 
And they leaped with smiles ; for well 1 
ween 
Never before in the bowers of light 

Had the form of an earthly fay been seen. 
Long she looked in his tiny face ; 

Long with his butterfly cloak she played ; 
She smoothed his wings of azure lace. 
And handled the tassel of his blade; 
And as he told, in accents low. 
The story of his love and woe. 
She felt new pains in her bosom rise. 
And the tear-drop started in her eyes. 
And " O, sweet spirit of earth," she cried, 

" Return no more to your woodland height. 
But ever here with me abide 

In the land of everlasting light! 
Within the fleecy drift we '11 lie, 

We '11 hang upon the rainbow's rim ; 
And all the jewels of the sky 

Around thy brow shall brightly beam! 
And thou shalt bathe thee in the stream 

That rolls its whitening foam aboon, 
And ride upon the lightning's gleam. 
And dance upon the orbed moon ! 
We '11 sit within the Pleiad ring. 

We '11 rest on Orion's starry belt, 
And I will bid my sylphs to sing 

The song that makes the dew-mist melt ; 
Their liarps are of the umber shade 

That hides the blush of waking day. 
And every gleamy string is made 

Of silvery moonshine's lengthened ray ; 
And thou shalt pillow on my breast, 

While heavenly breathings float around. 
And, with the sylphs of ether blest, 
Forget the joys of ftiiry ground." 

XXXIII. 

She was lovely and fair to see 
And the elfin's heart beat fitfully ; 
Bnt lovelier far, and still more fair. 
The earthly form imprinted there ; 
Kaught he saw in the heavens above 
Was half so dear as his mortal love, 



THE CULPRIT FAY. B-19 


For he thought upon lier looks so meek, 


And now 't is wrapped in sulphur-smoke. 


And ho thought of the light flush on her 


And quenched is its rayless beam; 


check ; 


And now with a rattling thunder-stroke 


Never again might he bask and lie 


It bursts in flash and flame. 


On that sweet cheek and moonlight eye ; 


As swift as tlie glance of the arrowy lance 


But in his dreams her form to see, 


That the storm-spirit flings from high, 


To clasp her in his revery, 


The star-shot flew o'er the welkin blue. 


To think upon his virgin bride, 


As it fell from the sheeted sky. 


Was worth all heaven, and earth beside. 


As swift as the wiud in its train behind 




The elfin gallops along : 


XXXIV. 


The fiends of the clouds are bellowing loud. 


"Lady," he cried, "I have sworn to-night. 


But the sy]j)hid charm is strong ; 


On the word of a fairy-knight, 


He gallops unhurt in tlie shower of fire, 


To do my sentence-task aright ; 


While the cloud-fionds fly from the blaze ; 


My honor scarce is free from stain — 


lie watches each flake till its sparks expire. 


I may not soil its snows again ; 


And rides in the light of its rays. 


Betide me weal, betide me woe, 


But he drove his steed to the lightning's 


Its mandate must be answered now." 


speed. 


Her bosom heaved with many a sigh. 


And caught a glimmering spark ; 


The tear was in her drooping eye ; 


Then wheeled around to the fairy ground. 


But she led him to the palace gate, 


And sped through the midnight dark. 


And called the sylphs who hovered there, 




And bade them fly and bring him straight, 


***** 


Of clouds condensed, a sable car. 


Ouphe and goblin ! imp and sprite ! 


With charm and spell she blessed it there, 


Elf of eve ! and starry fay 1 


From aU the fiends of upper air ; 


Ye that love the moon's soft light. 


Then round him cast the shadowy shroud. 


Hither — hither wend your way ; 


And tied his steed behind the cloud ; 


Twine ye in a jocund ring. 


And pressed his hand as she bade him fly 


Sing and trip it merrily. 


Far to the verge of the northern sky, 


Hand to hand, and wing to wing, 


For by its wane and wavering light 


Round the wild witch-hazel tree. 


There was a star would fall to-night. 




xxxr. 


Hail the wanderer again 


Borne afar on the wings of the blast. 


Witli dance and song, and lute and lyre; 


Northward away, he speeds him fast, 


Pure his wing and strong his chain. 


And his courser follows the cloudy wain 


And doubly bright his fairy fire. 


Till the hoof-strokes fall like pattering rain. 


Twine ye in an airy round. 


The clouds roll backward as he flies. 


Brush the dew and print the lea ; 


Each flickering star behind him lies, 
And he has reached tlie northern plain. 


Skip and gambol, hop .and bound, 
Round the wild witch-hazel tree. 


And backed his fire-fly steed again, 




Ready to follow in its flight 


The beetle guards our holy ground. 


The streaming of the rocket-light. 


He flies about the liaunted place. 




And if mortal there be found, 


XXXVI. 


He hums in his ears and flaps his face ; 


The star is yet in the vault of heaven. 


The leaf-harp sounds our roundelay. 


But it rocks in the summer gale ; 


The owlet's eyes our lanterns be ; 


And now 't is fitful and uneven, 


Thus we sing, and dance, and play. 


And now 'tis deadly pale ; 


Round the wild witch-hazel tree. 



550 POEMS OF THE 


IMAGINATION. 


But, liark ! from towor on treo-top bigh, 


They took her lightly back, 


The senti\v-elf liis call has made; 


Between the night and morrow ; 


A streak is iu the eastern sky, 


They thought that she was fast asleep, 


Shapes of moonlig;ht ! flit and fade 1 


But she was dead with sorrow. 


The hill-tops gleam in morning's spring, 


They have kept her ever since 


The sky-lark shakes his dapjilcd wing, 


Deep within the lakes, 


The day-glimpse glimmers on the lawn. 


Ou a bed of tiag-leaves. 


The cook has crowed, and the fays are gone. 


Watching till she wakes. 


Joseph Eodman Drake. 






By the craggy hill-side. 


V 


Through the mosses bare, 
They have jilanted thorn-trees 






For pleasure hero and there. 


THE FAIRIES. 


Is any man so daring 




To dig one up in spite. 


Up the airy mountain, 


He shall find the thornies set 


Down the rushy glen. 


In his bed at night. 


We dare n't go a hunting 




For fear of little men ; 


Up the airy mountain. 


"Wee folk, good folk, 


Down the rushy glen. 


Trooping all together; 


We daren't go a hunting 


Green jacket, red cap. 


For fear of little men ; 


And white owl's feather! 


Wee folk, good folk. 




Trooping aU together ; 


Down along the rocky shore 
Some make their home — 


Green jacket, red cap. 
And white owl's feather ! 


They live ou crispy pancakes 


William Allinguam. 


Of yellow tide-foam ; 




Some in the reeds 


• 


Of the black mountain-lake, 




With frogs for their watch-dogs, 


THE FAIRIES' FAREWELL. 


Ail night awake. 






Farewell rewards and fairies ! 


High on the hill-top 


Good housewives now nuiy say ; 


The old king sits ; 


For now foule sluts in dairies 


lie is now so old and gray 


Doe fare as well as they ; 


lie 's nigh lost his wits. 


And though they sweepe their hearths no 


With a bridge of white mist 


less 


Columbkill ho crosses, 


Than mayds were wont to doe, 


On his stately journoys 


Yet who of late for cleaneliness 


From SlieveWaguo to Rosses ; 


Finds sixe-peuce in her shoe ? 


Or going up with music 




On cold, starry nigb.ts, 


Lament, lament, old abbeys, 


To sup with the queen 


The fairies' lost command ! 


Of the gay Northern Lights. 


They did but change priests' babies, 




But some have changed your land ; 


They stole little Bridget 


And all your children, stolu from thence. 


For seven years long ; 


Are now growne Puritanes, 


When she came down again 


Who live as changelings ever since, 


Her friends were all gone. 


For love of your demaincs. 



THE GREEN GNOME. 



661 



At morning and at evening both 

You morry were and gliul ; 
So little care of slecpo and sloth 

These prettie ladies had. 
When Tom came home from labor, 

Or Ciss to milking rose, 
Then merrily went their tabour, 

And nimbly went their toes. 

Witness, tliose rings and roundelayes 

Of theirs, whieh.yet remaine, 
Were footed in Queen Marie's dayes 

On many a grassy playne. 
But since of late Elizabeth, 

And later James, came in, 
They never danced on any heath 

As when the time hath bin. 

By which wee note the fairies 

Were of the old profession ; 
Their songs were Ave-Maries, 

Their dances were procession. 
But, now, alas! they all are dead, 

Or gone beyond the seas. 
Or farther for religion fled ; 

Or else they take their ease. 

A tell-tale in their company 

Thoy never could endure ; 
And whoso kept not secretly 

Their mirth, was punished sure; 
It was a just and Christian deed 

To pinch such blacke and blue : 
Oh how the commonwelth doth need 

Such justices as you ! 

Now they have left our quarters, 

A register they have, 
Who can ]H-eserve their charters — 

A man lioth wise and grave. 
An hundred of their merry pranks, 

By one that I could name. 
Are kept in store ; con twenty thanks 

To William for the same. 

To William Chume of Staffordshire 

Give laud and praises due, 
Who, every meale, can mend your cheare 

With tales both old and true ; 
To William all give audience, 

And pray yee for his noddle ; 
For all the fairies' evidence 

Were lost if it were addle. 

KlOnARD CORBETT. 



THE GREEN GNOME. 

A MELODT. 

RiNO, sing! ring, sing! pleasant Sabbath bells! 
Chime, rhyme! chime, rhyme! thorough dales 

and dells I 
Rhyme, ring! chime, sing! pleasant Sabbath 

bells! 
Chime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields and 

fells! 

And I galloiJcd and I galloped on my palfrey 

white as milk, 
My robe was of the sea-green woof, my serk 

was of the silk ; 
My hair was golden yellow, and it floated to 

my shoe, 
My eyes were like two harebells bathed in 

little drops of dew ; 
My palfrey, never stopping, made a nuisic 

sweetly blent 
With the leaves of autumn dropping all aronnd 

mo as I went; 
And I heard the bells, grown fiiinter, far be- 
hind mo peal and play. 
Fainter, fainter, fainter, till they seemed to 

die aw.ay; 
And beside a silver runnel, on a little heap 

of sand, 
I saw tlie green gnome sitting, with his cheek 

upon his hand. 
Then he started up to see me, and he run with 

cry and bound, 
And drew me from my palfrey white and set 

me on the ground. 
Oh crimson, crimson were his locks, his face 

was green to see. 
But he cried, " light-haired lassie, you are 

bound to marry me ! " 
lie clasped me round the middle small, lie 

kissed me on the cheek, 
lie kissed me once, he kissed me twice — I 

could not stir or speak ; 
He kissed me twice, he kissed me thrice — but 

when he kissed again, 
I called aloud upon the name of Him who 

died for men. 

Sing, sing! ring, ring! pleasant Sabbath bells ! 
Chime, rhyme ! chime, rhyme ! thorough dales 
and dells ! 



552 POEMS OF THE 


IMAGINATION. 


Rhyme, ring! cliime, sing! pleasant Sabbath 




bells! 


ARIEL'S SONGS. 


Chime, sing! rlijone, ring! over fields and 
fells! 


I. 


Come unto these yellow sands, 


Oh faintly, faintly, faintly, calling men and 


And then take hands ; 


maids to pray, 


Court'^aed wlien you have, and kissed, 


So faintly, faintly, faintly rang the bells far 


(The wild waves whist !) 


away ; 


Foot it featly here and there ; 


And as I named the Blessed Name, as in our 


And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. 


need we can, 


Hark, hark! 


The ugly green green gnome became a tall 


Bowgh, wowgh. 


. and comely man : 


The watch-dogs bark — 


His hands were white, his beard was gold, his 


BowgJi, wo leg h. 


eyes were black as sloes, 


Hark, hark ! I hear 


His tunic was of scarlet woof, and silken were 


The strain of strutting chanticleer 


his hose ; 


Cry Cock-a-doodle-doo. 


A pensive light from FaiJryland still lingered 




on his check. 


II. 


His voice was like the running brook, when 


Full fathoms five thy fatlier lies ; 


ho began to speak : 


Of his bones are coral made ; 


" Oh you have cast away the charm my step- 


Those are pearls that were his eyes; 


dame put on me. 


Nothing of him doth fade 


Seven years I dwelt in Fairyland, and you 


But doth sutler a sea-change 


have set me free. 


Into soinetliing rich and strange. 


Ob I will mount thy palfrey white, and ride 


Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 


to kirk with thee. 


Ding-dcmg. 


And by those little dewy eyes, we twain will 


Hark ! now I hear them — ding, dong, bell! 


wedded be!" 


in. 


Back we galloped, never stopping, he before 


Where the bee sucks there suck I ; 


and I behind, 


In a cowslip's bell I lie ; 


And the autumn leaves were dropping, red 


There I couch when owls do cry ; 


and yellow, in the wind ; 


On the bat's back I do fly 


And the sun was shining clearer, and my 


After summer merrily. 


heart was high and proud. 


Merrily.raerrily, shall I live now. 


As nearer, nearer, nearer, rang the kirk bells 


Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 


sweet and loud. 
And we saw the kirk before us, as we trotted 


Shakespeare. 




down the fells, 


SONG. 


And nearer, clearer, o'er us, i-ang the welcome 


IIeak, sweet spirit, hear the spell. 


of the bells. 


Lest a blacker charm compel ! 




So shall the midnight breezes swell 


Ring, sing! ring, sing! pleasant Sabbath hells ! 


Witli thy deep, long, lingering knell. 


Chime, rhyme ! chime, rhyme ! thorough dales 




and dells ! 


And at evening evermore, 


Rhyme, ring! chime, sing! pleasant Sabbath 


In a cluipel on the shore, 


bells ! 


Shall the chaunter, sad and saintly, 


Chime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields and 


Yellow tapers burning faintly. 


fells! 


Doleful masses chaunt for thee — 


Egbert Bucuanav. 


Miserere Doniine ! 



THE WATER FAY. 563 


Ilai-k ! the cadence dies away 


in. 


On the quiet moonlight sea ; 


I staid a little while to view 


The boatmen rest their oars and say, 


Her cheek, that wore, in place of red, 


Miserere Domine ! 


The bloom of water — tender blue, 


Samcel Tatloe Coleeidge. 


Daintily spread. 

rv. 

I staid to watch, a little space. 


THE LORELEI. 


I Kxow not what it presages, 


Her parted lips, if she woidd sing ; 


This lieart with sadness fraught : 


The waters closed above her face 


'T is a tale of the olden ages. 


With many a ring. 


That will not from my thought. 




The air grows cool, and darkles •, 


V. 


The Rhine flows calmly on ; 


And still I staid a little more — 


The mountain summit sparkles 


Alas ! she never comes again ! 


In the light of the setting sun. 


I throw my flowers from the shore. 


There sits, in soft reclining. 


And watch in vain. 


A maiden wondrous fair, 




'^Vith golden raiment shining. 


VI. 


And combing her golden hair. 


I know my life will fade away — 


With a comb of gold she combs it ; 


I know that I must vainly pine ; 


And combing, low singeth she — 


For I am made of mortal clay. 


A song of a strange, sweet sadness, 


But she 's divine ! 


A wonderful melody. 


Thomas Iloon. 


The sailor shudders, as o'er him. 






The strain comes floating by ; 




He sees not the clitfs before him — 
lie only looks on high. 


THE WATER FAY. 


All ! round him the dark waves, flinging 
Their arms draw him slowly down — 

And this, with her wild, sweet singing. 
The Lorelei has done. 


The night comes stealing o'er me, 
And clouds are on the sea; 

While the wavelets rustle before me 
With a mystical melody. 


Henry Heine. (German.) 




Translation of CnRisTOpnEE Pearse Ceancu. 


A water-maid rose singing 




Before me, fair and pale ; 


' * 


THE WATER LADY. 


And snow-white breasts were springing, 
Like fountains, 'neath her veil. 


I. > 

Alas, that moon .should ever beam 


She kissed me and she pressed me, 


To show what man should never see ! — 


TiU I wished her arras away : 


I saw a maiden on a stream, 


" Why hast thou so caressed me, 


And fair was she ! 


Thou lovely water fay ? " 


11. 

I staid awhile, to see her throw 


"Oh, thou need'st not alarm thee, 


Iler tresses back, that all beset 


That thus thy form I hold ; 


The fiiir horizon of her brow 


For I only seek to warm me, 


Witli clouds of jet. 


And the night is black and cold." 



664 POEMS OF THE 


IMAGINATION. 


" Tho wind to the waves is callmg, 




Tlio iiioonliglit is fading away ; 


THE LADY OF SIIALOTT. 


And tears down tliy cliook arc falling, 




'riiou lionutit'iil water lay ! " 


I'AKT I. 




On cither .side the river lio 


"'I1u' wind to tlio waves is oallinf;. 


Long fields of barley and of rye. 


And tlio moonliglit fjrows dim on tlio 


That clothe tho wold and meet tho sky , 


rocks ; 


And through the Held tho road runs by 


But no tears from mine eyes are falling', 


To many-towered Camelot ; 


'Tis the water wliieh drips from my 


And up and down the people go. 


loeks." 


Gazing where tlie lilies blow 




Kound an island there below — 




Tho island of Shalott. 


"'I'lio ocean is heaving and sobbing, 




Tlie sea-mows scream in tho spray ; 


Willows whiten ; aspens quiver ; 


And thy heart is wildly throhbing. 


Little breezes dusk and shiver 


Thou beautiful water fay 1 " 


Through the wave that runs for ever 




By the island in the river. 


" My heart is wildly swelling. 


Flowing down to Camelot. 


And it beats in burning truth ; 


Four gray walls, and four gray towers, 


For I love thee, past all telling — 


Overlook a space of flowers; 


Thou beautiful mortal youth." 


And the .silent i.sle imbowers 


Hi;nuy Hkikk. (Oorraiui.) 


The lady ofSbalott. 


Trausliitiou of CuARLiis G. Lklani>. 






By the margin, willow-veiled. 




Slide tho heavy barges, trailed 
By slow liorsos ; and, unbailed. 




SONG. 


The shallop flittcth, silken-sailed— 


Skimming down to Camelot; 


I. 


But who hath seen her wave her hand ? 


A LAKE and a fairy boat, 


Or at tbe casement seen her stand? 


To sail in tho moonlight clear — 


Or is .she known in all the land — 


And merrily wo would lloat 


Tbolady of Shalott? 


From the dragons that watch us herol 






Only reapers, rcai>ing early 


11. 


In among tbe bearded barley. 


Thy gown should bo snow-white silk ; 


Hear a song that echoes chcerly 


And strings of orient pearls. 


From the river, winding clearly 


Like gossamers dipped in milk. 


Down to towered Camelot; 


Should twine with thy raven curls 1 


And by tho moon the reaper weary. 




Piling jhoavos in uplands airy. 


III. 


Listening, whispoi-s, " 'T is the fairy 


Red rubies .should deck thy hands. 


Lady of Shalott." 


And diamonds should bo thy dowor — 


I'ART H. 


Kut fairies have broke their wands. 


And wishing has lost its power 1 


There she wea\'es by night and day 


TuoMAS Hood. 


A magic web with colors g.iy. 




Sbe has heard a whisper say 
A cur.se is on her if she stay 






To look down to Camelot. 



THE LADY OP SHALOTT. 555 


Slie knows not what tho curse may be ; 


Hung in the golden galaxy. 


And 60 she woaveth steadily, 


The bridle bolls rang merrily, 


And littlo other caro hatli slie — 


As he rode down to Oamelot ; 


The lady of Shalolt. 


And, from his blazoned baldric slung. 




A mighty silver bugle hung ; 


And, moving through a mirror clear 
That haii;,'s holore her all the year. 


And as he rode his armor rung. 
Beside remote Shalott. 


Shadows of the world appear. 




There she sees tlie highway near. 


All in the blue unclouded weather 


Winding down to Oamelot ; 


Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather; 


There tho river eddy whirls ; 


The helmet and the helmet-feather 


And there the surly village-churls. 


Burned like one burning flame together. 


And the red cloaks of market-girls. 


As he rode down to Oamelot. 


Pass onward from Shalott. 


As often, through tho purple night. 




Below the starry clusters bright. 


Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, 
An abbot on an ambling pad — 


Some bearded meteor, trailing light. 
Moves over still Shalott. 


Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad. 




Or long-haired page, in crimson clad. 


His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed; 


Goes by to towered Oamelot ; 


On burnished hooves his war-horse trode ; 


And sometimes through the mirror blue 


From undorncath his helmet flowed 


Tlie knights come riding, two and two : 


His coal-black curls as on he rode. 


She hath no loyal knight and true — 


As ho rode down to Oamelot. 


The lady of Shalott. 


From the bank and from the river 




Ilo flashed into the crystal mirror : 


But in her web she still delights 
To weave the mirror's magic sights ; 


" Tirra lirra," by the river. 
Sang Sir Lancelot. 


For often, through the silent nights. 




A funeral, with plumes and lights 


She left the web, she left tho loom ; 


And music, went to Camelot ; 


■ She made three paces through tlie room; 


Or, when the moon was overhead. 


She saw the water-lily bloom ; 


Came two young lovers lately wed ; 
" I am half-sick of shadows," said 


She saw the helmet and the plume ; 

She looked down to Camelot : 


The lady of Shalott. 


Out flew the web, and floated wide ; 




Tlie mirror cracked from side to side ; 




"The curse is come upon me," cried 


PART III. 


The lady of Shalott. 


A bow-shot from her bower-eaves 




Ilo rode between tho barley sheaves ; 




Tho sun came dazzling through the leaves. 


PART IV. 


And flamed upon tho brazen greaves 


In the stormy east-wind straining, 


Of bold Sir Lancelot. 
A red-cross knight for ever kneeled 


The pale yellow woods were waning — 
The broad stream in his banks complaiiiiug. 


To a lady in his shield, 

Tliat sjiarkled on the yellow field, 


Heavily the low sky raining 

Over towered Oamelot ; 


lieside remote Shalott. 


Down she came, and found a boat. 




Benoatli a willow left afloat ; 


Tlio gemmy bridle glittered free. 


And round about the prow slio wrote 


Like to some branch of stars wo see 


The lady of Shalott. 



r 



556 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATIOK. 



Ami down tho river's dim expanse — 
Like some bold seer iu a trance, 
Seeing all his own mischance — 
With a glassy countenanoo 

Did slie lodlv to Camelot. 
And at the closing of the day 
She loosed the chain, and down she lay ; 
Tlie broad stream bore her far away — 

The lady of Slialott. 

Lying robed in snowy wliite, 
That loosely flew to left and rights 
The leaves upon her falling light — 
Through the noises of tlio night 

She floated down to Camelot ; 
And as the boat-liead wound along, 
The willowy hiUs and lields among. 
They heard her singing her last song — 

The lady of Shalott— 

Hoard a carol, mournful, holy. 
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly — 
Till her blood was frozen slowly, 
And her eyes were darkened wholly, 

Turned to towered Camelot ; 
For ere she reached, upon the tide. 
The first house by the water-side, 
Singing, iu her song slie died — 

The lady of Shalott. 

Under tower and balcony. 

By garden-wall and gallery, 

A gleaming shape, she tioated by— 

A corse between the houses high — • 

Silent^ into Camelot. 
Out upon the wharfs they came. 
Knight and burgher, lord and dame ; 
And round the prow tliey read her name— 

T/ic laihj ofS/i<i!ot(. 

Who is this ? and what is here ? 

And in the royal palace near 

Pied tho sound of royal cheer ; 

And they crossed themselves for fear — 

All the knights at Camelot ; 
But Lancelot mused a little space : 
lie said, " She lias a lovely face ; 
God in his mercy lend her grace — 

The lady of Shalott." 

Alfred Tennyson. 



COMUS, A MASK. 

XnE PERSONS. 
The attendant Spieit, afterwards in tho habit 

of TllVRSIS. 

CoMrs, with his crow. 
Tho Lady. 
First Bkotiier. 
Second Bkother. 
Sabeina, tho Nymph. 

THE FlItST SCENE DISCOVERS A WILD WOOD. 

The attendant Spirit descends or enters. 
Before the starry threshold of Jove's court 
My mansion is, where those immortal shapes 
Of bright aerial spirits live insphered 
In regions mild of cahn and serene air, 
Above the smoke and stir of tliis dim spot, 
Which men call earth, and, with low-thought- 

cd care 
Confined, and pestered in this pinfold here. 
Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being. 
Unmindful of the crown that virtue gives, 
After this mortal change, to her true ser- 
vants. 
Amongst the enthroned gods on sainted seats. 
Yet some there be that by due stops aspire 
To lay their just liands on that golden key 
That opes the palace of eternity. 
To such ray errand is ; and, but for such, 
I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds 
With the rank vapors of this sin-worn mould. 
But to my task : Neptune, besides the 
sway 
Of every salt flood, and each ebbing stream, 
Took in, by lot 'twixt Iiigh and nether Jove, 
Imperial rule of all the sea-girt isles. 
That like to rich and various gems inlay 
The unadorned bosom of the deep ; 
Which ho, to grace his tributary gods, 
By course commits to several government, 
And gives them leave to wear their sapphire 

crowns. 
And wield their little tridents. Bnt this isle, 
Tho greatest and the best of all the main. 
He quarters to his blue-haired deities ; 
And all this tract, that fronts the falling sun, 
A noble peer of mickle trust and power 
Has in his charge, with tempered awe to 

guide 
An old and haughty nation, proud in arms; 



COjIUS. 



5r)V 



Where his fair offspring, nursed in princely 

lore, 
Are coining to attend their father's state, 
jVnd now-intrusted sceiitro ; but their way 
Lies through the perplexed paths of this drear 

wood, 
The nodding horror of whose shady brows 
Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger. 
And here their tender age might suffer peril, 
Hut that, by quick command from sovereign 

Jove, 
I was despatched for their defence and guard ; 
And listen why — for I will tell you now 
What never yet was heard in tale or song. 
From old or modern bard, in hall or bower. 
Bacchus, tliat first from out the puri)le 

grape 
Cru.shed the sweet poison of misused wine, 
After the Tuscan mariners transformed. 
Coasting the Tyrrhene shore as the winds 

listed, 
On Circe's island fell. Who knows not Circe, 
Tlic daughter of the sun, whose charmed cup 
AVhoever tasted lost his upriglit shape. 
And downward fell into a grovelling swine? 
This nymph, that gazed upon his clustering 

locks 
With ivy berries wreathed, and his blithe 

youth. 
Had by him, ere he parted thence, a son 
Miuli like his father, but his Tnother more ; 
Whom therefore she brought up, and Comus 

named ; 
Who ripe, and frolic of his full grown age, 
Koving the Celtic and Iberian fields. 
At last betakes him to this ominous wood. 
And, in thick slielter of black shades inibow- 

ered. 
Excels his mother at her mighty art, 
Oft'eriug to every weary traveller 
Ilis orient liquor in a crystal glass, 
To quench the drouth of Phoebus ; which as 

they taste, 
(For most do taste through fond interap'rato 

thirst) 
Soon as the potion works, their human coun- 
tenance, 
Th' express resemblance of the gods, is 

changed 
Into sonic brutish form, of wolf, or bear. 
Or ounce, or tiger, hog or bearded goat — 



All other parts remaining as they were; 
And they, so perfect is their misery, 
Not once perceive their foul disfigurement, 
But boast themselves more comely than be- 
fore ; 
And all their friends and native home forget. 
To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty. 
Therefore, when any favored of high Jove 
Chances to pass through this adventurous 

glade, 
Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star 
I shoot from heav'n, to give him safe con- 
voy- 
As now I do. But first I must put oS 
These my sky robes, spun out of Iris' woof. 
And take the weeds and likeness of a swain. 
That to the service of tiiis house belongs, 
Who with his soft Jiipe, and sniooth-dittied 

song. 
Well knows to still the wild winds when they 

roar, 
And hush the weaving woods; nor of less 

faith. 
And, in this oflice of his mountain watch, 
Likeliest, and nearest to the jireseiit aid, 
Of this occasion. But I hear the tread 
Of hateful steps; I must be viewless now. 

CoMtJS enters, with a charming rod in one 
hand, his glass in the other ; with him a 
rout of monsters, headed like sundry sorts 
o/icild beasts — hut othcrviise like men and 
women, their apparel glistening ; they come 
in making a riotous and unruly noise, with 
torches in their hands. 

Comus. The star that bids the stiepherd fold 

Now the top of heaven doth hold ; 

And the gilded car of day 

Ilis glowing axle doth allay 

In the steep Atlantic stream ; 

And the slope sun his upward beam 

Shoots against the dusky pole. 

Pacing toward the other goal 

Of his chamber in the east. 

Meanwhile welcome .Joy and Feast, 

Midnight Shout and Kevelry, 

Tip.sy Dance and Jollity. 

Braid your locks with rosy twine, 

Dropping odors, dropping wine. 

Rigor now is gone to bed. 



558 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



And Advico with scnipnloiis bead; 

Strict Ago, aud sour Severity, 

With tlieir grave saws in shimber lie. 

We that are of purer tire 

Imitate tlie starry quire, 

Who in their nightly watchful spheres 

Lead in swift round the uiontlis and years. 

The sounds and seas, with all tJieir tinny 
drove, 

Now to the moon in wavering morrico move ; 

And on the tawny sands aud shelves 

Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves. 

By dimjjled brook, and fountain brim, 

The wood-nymphs, decked with daisies trim. 

Their merry wiikes and pastimes keep; 

"What hath night to do with sleep? 

Kight hath better sweets to jirove ; 

Venus now wakes, and wakens Love. 

Come ! let us our rites begin — 

'T is only daylight that makes us sin. 

Which these dun shades will ne'er report. 

Hail, goildess of nocturnal sport. 

Dark-veiled Cotytto ! t' whom the secret 
Hanie 

Of midnight torches burns ; mysterious dnme. 

That ne'er art called but when the di-agon 
womb 

Of Stygian darkness spots her thickest gloom. 

And makes one blot of all the air ; 

Stay thy cloudy ebon chair. 

Wherein thou ridest with Ilecatc, and be- 
friend 

Us, thy vowed priests, till utmost end 

Of all thy dues be done, and none left out. 

Ere the babbling eastern scout. 

The nice morn, on the Indian steep 

From her catiincd loophole peep, 

And to the tell-t.ile sun descry 

Our concealed solemnity. 

Come, knit hands, and beat the ground 

In a light fantastic round ! 

THE MEASURE. 

Break oft' break oft"! I fool the dilTorcnt jiace 
Of some chaste footing near about this ground. 
Pam to yonr shrouds, within these brakes aud 

trees ; 
Our number may atfright some virgin sure, 
(For so I can distinguish by mine art). 
Benighted in these woods. Now to my 

charms, 



And to my wily trains ; I shall ere long 
Be well stocked, with as fair a herd as grazed 
About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl 
My dazzling spells into the sjningy air. 
Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion, 
And give it false presentments ; lest the place 
And my quaint habits breed astonishment, 
Aud put the damsel to suspicious flight — 
Which must not be, for that's against my 

course. 
I, under fair pretence of friendly ends, 
Aud well placed words of glozing courtesy, 
Baited with reasons not unplausible. 
Wind me into the easy-hearted man, 
And hug liim into snares. When once her 

eye 
Hath met the virtue of this magic dust, 
I shall appear some harmless villager. 
Whom thrift keeps up, about his country gear. 
But hero she comes; I fiiirly step aside, 
And hearken, if I may, her business here. 

THE LADY ENTERS. 

This way the noise was, if mine ear be true — 
My best guide now ; methought it was the 

sound 
Of riot and ill-managed merriment. 
Such as the jocund flute or gamesome pipe 
Stirs up among the loose, unlettered hinds. 
When for their teeming flocks, aud granges 

full. 
In wanton dance they praise the bounteous 

Ban, 
And thank the gods amiss. I should l>8 

loath 
To meet the rudeness and swilled insolence 
Of such late wassailers ; yet oh ! where else 
Shall I inform my unacquainted feet 
In the blind mazes of this tangled wood ? 
My brothers, when they saw mo wearied out 
With this long way, resolving hero to lodge 
Under the spreading favor of these pines. 
Stopped, as they said, to the next thicket side 
To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit 
As the kind hospitable woods provide. 
They left me, then, when the gray-hooded 

even. 
Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed, 
Ivose from the hindmost wheels of Phoibiid' 

wain. 



COMUS. 



C59 



But where tliey arc, and wb}' they came not 

baek. 
Is now the labor of my thouglits ; 'tis like- 
liest 
They had engaged their wandering steps too 

far; 
And envious darkness, ere they could return, 
Had stole Ihera fi-om me. Else, thievish 

night, 
Why shouldst thou, but for some felonious 

end. 
In thy dark lantern thus close up tlie stars, 
That nature hung in heaven, and filled their 

lamps 
Willi everlasting oil, to give duo light 
To the misled and lonely traveller? 
This is the place, as well as I may guess, 
Whence even now the tumult of loud mirth 
Was rife, and jicrfect in my listening car; 
Yet nought but single darkness do I find. 
What might this be? A thousand fantasies 
Begin to throng into my memory. 
Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows 

dire. 
And airy tongues, that syllable men's names 
On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses. 
Tlicse thoughts may startle well, but not as- 
tound 
Tlie virtuous mind, that ever walks attended 
By a strong-siding champion, conscience. 

welcome pure-eyed faith, white-handed 

hope — 
Thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings — 
And thou, unblemished form of chastity ! 

1 see ye visibly, and now believe 

Tliut he, the supreme good, t' whom all 

things ill 
Are but as slavish ofliccrs of vengeance, 
Would send a glistering guardian, if need 

were. 
To keep my life and honor unassailed. 
Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud 
Turn iorth her silver lining on tlie night? 
I did not err, there does a s.ible cloud 
Turn fortli her silver lining on the night. 
And casts a gleam over this tufted grove. 
I cannot halloo to my brothers ; but 
Such noise as I can make, to be heard fixr- 

tliest, 
I '11 venture, for my new-enlivened sjiirits 
['roiujit me ; and they perhaps are not far off 



SwKEt Echo, sweetest nymjih — that livest 
unseen 
Within tliy airy shell, 
By slow Meander's margent green, 
And in the violet-emliroidered vale 

Wliero tlio love-lorn nightingale 
Niglitly to thee her sad song mourneth well- 
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair 
That likest thy Narcissus are < 
Oh, if thou liave 
Hid tlicm in some flowery cave. 
Tell me but where, 
Sweet queen of parly, daugliter of the 

sphere 1 
So mayst thou be translated to the skies. 
And give resounding gi-ace to all lieaven's 
liarmonies. 

JSnter Oomps. 

Com. Can any mortal mhvture of earth's 

mould 
Breatlio sucli divine, encliaiititig ravishment? 
Sure something lioly lodges in tliat breast, 
And with these raptures moves the vocal air 
To testify liis hidden residence. 
How swc-etV did tliey float upon tlio wings 
Of silence, tlirougli the empty-vaulted night — 
At every fall smootliing tlie raven down 
Of darkness till it smiled! I oft iiave heard 
My mother Circe with the sirens three, 
Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades 
Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs, 
Wlio, as they sung, would take the prisoned 

soul. 
And la]) it in Elysium; Scylla wept, 
And chid her barking waves into attention. 
And fell Chary bdis murmured soft applause; 
Yet they in pleasing slumber lulled the sense. 
And in sweet m.'idness robljcd it of itself. 
But such a sacred and liomo-felt deliglit. 
Such sober certainty of waking bliss, 
I never lieard till now. I'll speak to her, 
And she shall be my queen. Hail, foreiini 

wonder ! 
Whom, certain, these rough shades did never 

breed. 
Unless llie goddess that in rural shrine 
Dwellest here with Pan or Silvan, by blest 

song 



660 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Forbiililing every Weak unkindly fog 
To toiK'li tlio prosperous growth of tliis tnll 
wood! 
T.AD. Nay, gontlo shepherd, ill is lost that 
praise 
That is addi-essed to unattending oars ; 
Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift 
How to regain ray severed company, 
Oonipollod mo to awako the eom-teous Echo, 
To give mo answer from Iior mossy couch. 
Com. What ehauco, good lady, hath bereft 

you thus? 
I.Ai). Dim darkness, ami this leafy laby- 
rinth. 
Com. Could that divide you from near ush- 
ering guides? 
Lad. They loft me weary on a grassy turf. 
Com. l>y falsehood, or discourtesy ? or why? 
Lad. To seek i' th' valley some cool friendly 

spring. 
Com. And loft your fair side all unguarded, 

lady? 
Lad. Tlioy were but twain, and purposeil 

quick return. 
Com. Perhaps forestalling night prevented 

them. 
Lad. How easy my misfortune is to hit! 
Com. Imjiorts their loss, beside the present 

need ? 
Lad. No less than if I should my brothers 

lose. 
Com. "Were they of manly prime, or youth- 
ful bloom ? 
Lad. As smooth as Hebe's their unrazored 

lips. 
Com. Two such I saw, what time the la- 
bored ox 
In his loose traces from the furrow came. 
And the swinked hedgcr at his supper sat; 
I saw- them, under a green mantling vine 
That crawls along the side of yon small hill, 
riuokiug ripe clusters from the tender shoots. 
Their port was more than human, iw they 

stood ; 
I took it for a fairy vision 
Of some gay creatures of the element, 
That in the colors of the rainbow live. 
And play i' th' plighted clouds. I was awe- 
struck J 
And as I passed, I worehipped. If those you 
seek. 



It were a journey like the path to heaven 
To help you find them. 

Lad. (ientle villager. 
What readiest way would bring nie to that 
place? 

Com. Duo west it rises from this shrubby 
point. 

lyAD. To find that out, good shepherd, I 
suppose. 
In such a scant allowance of star-light, 
Would overtask the best land-pilot's art, 
Without the sure guess of well-practised feet. 

Com. I know each lane, aad every alley 
green. 
Dingle or bushy dell, of this wild wood. 
Ami every bosky bourn from side to side — 
ily daily walks and ancient neighborhood ; 
And if your stray-attendants bo yet lodged. 
Or shroud within these limits, I shidl know 
Ere morrow wake, or the low-roosted lark 
From her tliatched pallat rouse ; if otherwise, 
1 can conduct you, lady, to a low 
l!ut Kiyal cottage, where you may be safe 
Till further quest. 

Lad. Shepherd, I take thy word. 
And trust thy honest-oftered courtesy. 
Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds 
With smoky rafters, than in tap'stry halls 
And courts of princes, whore it first was 

named. 
And yet is most pretended ; in a place 
Less warranted than this, or less secure, 
I cannot be, that I should fear to change it. 
Eye mo, blest Providence, and sipuue my 

trial 
To my proj)orti<uied strength. Shepherd, 
lead on ! 

Enter The Two Beotiiebs. 

1 Bi!. UumufiQe, yo faint stars! and thou, 

fair moon. 
That wont'st to love the traveller's benisou. 
Stoop thy pale visage tlH'ough an amber 

cloud. 
And disinherit Chaos, that reigns hero 
In double night of darkness and of shades ; 
Or if your influence be (juito dammed np 
With black usurping mists, some gentle taper, 
Though a rush caudle from the wicker-hole 
Of some clay habitation, visit us 



COMUS. 



BOl 



With tliy long-Iovelled rule of 8treaiiiing 

light; 
And tliou shjilt lio our stnr of Arcaily, 
Or Tjrian oynosiiro. 

2 liii. Or if our oycs 
lio barred tlint happiness, might wo but hoar 
Tho folilcd lluckM penned in tlicir wattled 

colea, 
Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten sto[)fl, 
Or wliistle from the lodge, or village cock 
Count tho night watches to his feathery 

dames, 
'T would lio some solace yet, some little cheer- 
ing 
In this close dungeon of inuumerous houghs. 
But oh that hapless virgin, our lost sister 1 
Where may she wander now, whither betake 

her 
From tl]0 chill dew, among rude burs and 

thistles? 
rerhaps some cold Ijank is her bolster now ; 
(Jr 'gainst tho rugged bark of some broad elm 
Leans her unpillowed head, fraught with sad 

fears ; 
What if in wild amazement and affright. 
Or, while we speak, within tho direful grasp 
Of savage hunger, or of savage heat? 

1 lilt. Peace, brother! be not over-exqui- 
sito 
To cast tho fashion of uncertain evils; 
For grant they bo so — while they rest un- 
known, 
What need a man forestall bis date of grief. 
And run to meet what lio would most avoid? 
( )r if tijey be but false alarms of fear. 
How bitter is such self-delusion! 
I do not think my sister so to seek, 
<Jr so unprincipled in virtue's book, 
And tho sweet peace that goodness bosoms 

over. 
As that the single want of light and noiso 
(Xot being in danger, as I trust she is not) 
Could stir tlio constant mood of her calm 

thoughts, 
And put them into misbecoming plight. 
Virtue could seo to do what virtue would 
l!y her own radiant light, though sun and 

moon 
Were in tho Hat sea sunk. And wisdom's self 
Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude. 
Where, with her best nurse, contemplation, 
37 



She plumes lier feathers, and lots grow her 

wing.s, 
Tliat in tho various bustle of resort 
Were all-to milled, and sometimes impaired. 
He that has liglit witliin his own clear breast 
May sit i' 111' centre, and enjoy briglit day ; 
But lie tliat hides a dark soul, and toul 

tlioughts, 
Benighted walks under tho mid-day sun ; 
Himself is his own dungeon. 

2 Bn. 'T is most true, 
That musing meditation most affects 
The pensive seiTccy of desert cell. 
Far I'nini the cheerful haunt of men and herds. 
And sits as safe as in a senate house; 
For who would rob a hermit of his weeds. 
His few hooks, or his beads, or maple dish. 
Or do his gray hairs any violence? 
Mut beauty, like tho fair Hesperian tree 
Laden with hhioming gold, had need tho 

guard 
Of dragon watch with unenchanted eye. 
To save her blossoms, and defend her fruit 
From tho rash hand of bold incontinence. 
You may as well spread out tho unsunned 

heaps 
Of miser's treasure by an outlaw's den. 
And tell mo it is safe, as bid mo hope 
Danger will wink on ojiportunity, 
And let a single helpless maiden pa.ss 
Uninjured in this wild surrounding waste. 
Of night, or loneline.ss, it recks mo not ; 
I fear tho dread events that dog them botir, 
Lest some ill-greeting touch attempt tho jjcr 

son 
Of our unowned sistei\ 

1 Br. I do not, brother, 

Infer as if I thought my sister's state 
Secure without all doubt, or controversy ; 
Yet where an equal poise of hope and fear 
Does arbitrate th' event, )ny nature is 
That I incline to hope, rather than fear. 
And gladly banish squint suspicion. 
My sister is not so defenceless left 
As you imagine ; she has hidden strength. 
Which you remember not. 

2 Bit. What hidden strength, 

Unless tho strength of heaven, if you mean 
th.at ? 
1 Bn. I mean that too, but yet a hidden 
strength. 



562 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Which, if heaven gave it, may be termed her 
own: 

'T is chastity, iiiy brotlier, chastity : 
Slie that lias that is clad in complete steel, 
And like a quivered nymph with arrows keen 
May trace hnge forests, and nnharbored 

heaths. 
Infamous hills and sandy perilous wilds. 
Where, through the sacred rays of chastity, 
No savage fierce, bandit, or mountaineer, 
Will dare to soil her virgin purity ; 
Yea there, where very desolation dv?clls 
By grots, and caverns shagged with horrid 

shades, 
She may pass on with unhlenched majesty, 
Be it not done in pride, or in presumption. 
Some say no evil thing that walks by night. 
In fog, or fire, by lake, or moLirish fen, 
Blue, meagre hag, or stubborn, unlaid ghost, 
That breaks his magic chains at curfew time. 
No goblin, or swart fairy of the mine. 
Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity. 
Do ye believe me yet, or shall I call 
Antiquity from the old schools of Greece 
To testify the arms of Chastity ? 
Hence had the huntress Dian her dread bow. 
Fair silver-shafted queen, forever chaste. 
Wherewith she tamed the briuded lioness 
And spotted mountain pard, but set at naught 
The frivolous bolt of Cupid ; gods and men 
Feared her stern frown, and she was queen o' 

the woods. 
What was that snaky-headed Gorgon shield 
That wise Minerva wore, unconquered vir- 
gin, 
Wherewith she freezed her foes to congealed 

stone, 
But rigid looks of chaste austerity, 
And noble grace that dashed brute violence 
With sudden adoration, and blank awe ? 
So dear to heaven is saintly chastity. 
That when a soul is found sincerely so 
A thousand liveried angels lackey her, 
Driving far otf each thing of sin and guilt. 
And in clear dream, and solemn vision, 
Tell her of things that no gross car can hear, 
Till oft converse with heavenly habitants 
Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape, 
The unpolluted temple of the mind, 
And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence, 
rUl all be made immortal ; but when lust, 



By nnchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul 

talk. 
But most by lewd and lavish act of sin, 
Lets in defilomcnt to the inward parts, 
The soul grows clotted by contagion, 
Imbodies and irabrutes, till she quite lose 
The divine property of her first being. 
Such are those thick and gloomy shadows 

damp. 
Oft seen in charnel vaults, and sepulchres. 
Lingering, and sitting by a new-made grave. 
As loath to leave the body that it loved. 
And linked itself by carnal sensuality 
To a degenerate and degraded state. 

2 Be. How charming is divine philosophy I 
JTot harsh, and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, 
But musical as is Apollo's lute. 
And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets, 
Where no crude surfeit reigns. 

1 Br. List! list! I hear 

Some far oft" halloo break the silent air. 

2 Br. Methought so, too ; what should it 

be? 

1 Be. For certain 

Either some one like us, night-foundered here, 
Or else some neighbor wood-man ; or, at 

worst. 
Some roving robber calling to his fellows. 

2 Be. Heaven keep my sister. Again, 

again, and near ; 
Best draw, and stand upon our guard. 

1 Br. I '11 halloo ; 

If he be friendly, he comes well ; if not. 
Defence is a good cause, and heaven be for 
us. 

The attendant Spieit, Jidbitedlihe a Shepherd. 

That lialloo I should know, what are you? 

speak ; 
Come not too neai-, you fall on iron stakes 

else. 
Spi. Wliat voice is that ? my young lord ? 

speak again. 

2 Bn. O brother, 't is my fother's shepherd, 

sure. 
1 Be. Thyrsis ? whose artful strains have 

oft delayed 
The huddling brook to hear his madrigal. 
And sweetened every musk-rose of the dale. 
How cam'st thou here, good swain? hath 

any ram 



COMUS. 



Slipt from tlie fold, or young kid lost bis 

dam, 
Or straggling wether the pent flock forsook ? 
How could'st thou find this dark sequestered 

nook? 
Spi. my loved master's heir, and his 

next joy, 
I came not hero on such a trivial toy 
As a strayed ewe, or to pursue the stealth 
Of pilfering wolf; not all the fleecy wealth 
That doth enrich these downs is worth a 

thought 
To this my errand, and the care it brought. 
But oh, my virgin lady, where is she ? 
llow chance she is not in your company? 
1 Be. To tell thee sadly, shepherd, without 

blame, 
Or our neglect we lost her as we came. 
Spi. Aye me unhappy 1 then my fears are 

true. 
1 Be. What fears, good Thyrsis ? Prithee 

briefly shew. 
Spi. I '11 tell ye ; 't is not vain or fabulous 
(Though so esteemed by shallow ignorance) 
What the sage poets, taught by th' heavenly 

muse. 
Storied of oW in high immortal verse. 
Of dire chimeras and enchanted isles. 
And rifted rocks whose entrance leads to 

hell ; 
For such there be, but unbelief is blind. 

Within the navel of this hideous wood. 
Immured in cypress shados a sorcerer dwells, 
Of Bacclms and of Circe born, great Comus, 
Deep skilled in all'his mother's witcheries; 
And here to every thirsty wanderer 
By sly enticement gives his baneful cup. 
With many murmurs mixed, whose pleasing 

poison 
The visage quite transforms of him that 

drinks. 
And the inglorious likeness of a beast 
Fixes instead, unmoulding reason's mintage 
Charactered in the face ; this have I learnt 
Tending my flocks hard by i' th' hilly crofts. 
That brow this bottom glade, whence night 

by night 
lie and his monstrous rout are heard to howl 
Like stabled wolves, or tigers at their prey. 
Doing abhorred rites to Ilecato 
In their obscured haunts of inmost bowers. 



Yet have they many baits, and guileful spells. 
To' inveigle and invite th' unwary sense 
Of them that pass unweeting by the waj*. 
This evening late, by then the chewing flocks 
Had ta'en their supper on the savory herb 
Of knot-grass dow-besprint, and wei-e in fold, 
I sat me down to watch upon a bank 
With ivy canopied, and interwove 
With flaunting honey-sucklo, and began. 
Wrapt in a pleasing fit of melancholy. 
To meditate my rural minstrelsy, 
TiU fancy had her All ; but ero a close, 
The wonted roar was np amidst the woods, 
And filled the air with barbarous dissonance ; 
At which I ceased, and listened them awhile. 
Till an unusual stoj) of sudden silence 
Gave respite to the drowsy flighted steeds 
That draw the litter of close-curtained sleep ; 
At last a soft and solemn breathing sound 
Ros-e like a steam of rich distilled perfumes. 
And stole upon the air, that even silence 
Was took ere she was ware, and wished she 

might 
Deny her nature, and be never more, 
Still to be so displaced. I was all ear. 
And took in strains that might create a soul 
Under the ribs of death ; but oh, ere long, 
Too well I did perceive it was the voice 
Of my most honored lady, your dear sister. 
Amazed I stood, harrowed with grief and 

fear; 
And O poor hapless nightingale, thought I, 
How sweet thou sing'st, how near the deadly 

snare ! 
Then down the lawns I ran with headlong 

haste, 
Through paths and turnings often trod by 

(lay. 
Till guided by mine ear I found the place. 
Where that damned wizard, hid in sly dis- 
guise, 
(For so by certain signs I knew) had met 
Already, ere my best speed could prevent, 
Tlie aidless innocent lady, his wished prey, 
Who gently asked if he had seen such two, 
Supposing him some neighbor villager. 
Longer I durst not stay, but soon I guessed 
Ye were the two she meant; with that I 

sprung 
Into swift flight, till I had found you here 
But further know I not. 



664 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



2 Be. niglit and sliades, 
IIow are ye joined witli liell in triple knot, 
Against tlie unarmed weakness of one virgin, 
Alono and heljiless ! Is this the confidence 
You gave me, brother? 

1 Bh. Yes, and keep it still, 
Loan on it safely ; not a period 
Shall bo unsaid for me ; against the threats 
Of malice or of sorcery, or that power 
Which erring men call chance, this I hold 

firm. 
Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt, 
Surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled; 
Yea, oven that which mischief meant most 

harm, 
Shall in the luijipy trial prove most glory; 
But evil on itSL-lf shall back recoil. 
And mix no more with goodness, when at 

last, 
Gathered like scum, and settled to itself, 
It shall bo in eternal, restless change 
Self-fed, and self-consumed; if this fail, 
The pillared lirmamcnt is rottenness. 
And earth's base built on stubble. But come, 

let 's on. 
Against tli' opposing will and arm of heaven 
May never this just sword be lifted up ; 
But for that damned magician, let him be 

girt 
With all tho grisly legions that troop 
Under the sooty flag of Acheron, 
llai'pies and hydras, or all tho monstrous 

forms 
'Twixt Africa and Ind, I '11 find him out. 
And force him to restore his purchase back. 
Or drag him by the curls to a foul death. 
Cursed as his life. 

Sn. Alas ! good venturous youth, 
I love thy courage yet, and bold emprise; 
But hero thy sword can do thee little stead. 
Far other arms and other weapons nmst 
Bo those that quell the might of hellish 

charms ; 
lie with his bare wand can unthread thy 

joints, 
And crumble all thy sinews. 

1 Bu. Why, prithee, shepherd, 
IIow durst thou then thyself approach so 

near 
As to make tliis relation ? 

Si'i. Care,and utmost shifts 



IIow to secure the lady from surprisal. 
Brought to my mind a certain shepherd lad. 
Of small regard to see to, yet well skilled 
In every virtuous plant and healing herb 
That spreads lier verdant leaf to tli' morning 

ray : 
He loved mo well, and oft would beg mo 

sing. 
Which when I did, ho on the tender grass 
Would sit, and hearken oven to ecstasy, 
And in requital opo his leathern scrip. 
And shew me simples of a thousand names. 
Telling their strange and vigorous faculties. 
Among the rest a small unsightly root, 
But of divine efl'ect, ho culled me out; 
The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it. 
But in another country, as he said, 
Bore a bright golden Uowei-, but not in Ibis 

soil — 
Unknown, and like esteemed, and the dull 

swain 
Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon ; 
And yet more medicinal is it than that moly 
That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave ; 
He called it hiumony, and gave it me. 
And bade me keep it as of sovereign use 
'Gainst all enchantments, mildew, blast, or 

damp. 
Or ghastly furies' apparition. 
I jjursed it up; but little reckoning made. 
Till now that this extremitj' conq)ellcd ; 
But now I find it true; for by this means 
I knew the foul enchanter, though disguised. 
Entered the very lime-twigs of his spells. 
And yet came ofl"; if you have this about 

you 
(As I will give you when we go), you may 
Boldly assault tho necromancer's hall ; 
Where if he bo, with dauntless hardihood 
And brandished blade, rush on him, break 

his glass. 
And shed tho luscious liquor on the ground. 
But seize his wand ; though be and his cursod 

crew 
Fierce sign of battle make, and menace high. 
Or, like the sons of Vulcan, vomit smoke. 
Yet will they soon retire if ho but shrink. 
1 Be. Thyrsis, lead on apace, I 'II follow 

thee, 
And some good angel bear a shield before 

us. 



COM us. 



505 



The scene changes to a stately palace, set out 
with all manner of delicionsnese ; soft mu- 
sic, tallies spread with all dainties. Comus 
appears with his rall/le, and the Lady set in 
an enchanted chair, to whom he offers his 
glass, lohich she puts hy, and goes about to 
rise. 

Com. Nay, lady, sitl if I but wave this 

wand. 
Your nerves are all chained up in alabaster, 
And you a statue, or as Daphne was 
Root-bound, that fled Apollo. 

Lad. Fool, do not boast ! 
Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind 
With all tliy charms, although this corporal 

rind 
Thou hast immanacled, while heaven sees 

good. 
Com. Why are you vexed, lady ? why do 

you frown ? 
Here dwell no frowns, nor anger; from these 

gates 
Sorrow flies far; see, here be all the pleasures 
That fancy can beget on youthful thoughts. 
When the fresh blood grows lively, and returns 
]5risk as the April buds in primrose-season. 
And first behold this cordial julep here. 
That flames and dances in his crystal bounds. 
With spirits of balm and fragrant syrups 

mixed ; 
Not that Nepenthes, which the wife of Thone 
In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena, 
Is of such power to stir up joy as this, 
To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst. 
Why should you bo so cruel to yourself. 
And to those dainty limbs which nature lent 
For gentle usage, and soft delicacy? 
But you invert the covenants of her trust. 
And harshly deal, like an ill borrower. 
With that which you received on other terms, 
Scorning the unexempt condition 
By wliioh all mortal frailty must subsist, 
Refreshment after toil, ease after pain, 
That have been tired all day without repast. 
And timely rest have wanted ; but fair virgin. 
This will restore all soon. 

Lad. 'T will not, false traitor — 
'Twill not restore tlie truth and honesty 
Tliat thou hast banished from thy tongue with 

lies. 



Was this the cottage, and the siife abode. 
Thou told'st me of? What grim aspects are 

these, 
These ugly-headed monsters? Mercy guard 

me 1 
Hence with thy brewed enchantments, foul 

deceiver! 
Hast thou betrayed my credulous innocence 
With visored falsehood and b.ase forgery ? 
And would'st thou seek again to trap me here 
With liquorish baits, fit to insnare a brute? 
Were it a draft for Juno when she banquets, 
I would not taste thy treasonous oft'er ; none 
But such as are good men can give good things, 
And that which is not good is not delicious 
To a well-governed and wise api>etite. 
Com. Oh foolishness of men ! that lend their 
ears 
To those budge doctors of the Stoic fur. 
And fetch their precepts from the Cynic tub, 
Praising the lean and sallow abstinence. 
Wherefore did nature pour her bounties forth 
Witli such a full and unwillulrawing hand, 
Covering the earth with odoi-s, fruits, and 

flock.s. 
Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable. 
But all to please, and sate the curious taste ? 
And set to work millions of spinning worms. 
That in their green shops weave the smootli- 

haired silk 
To deck her sons ; and that no corner might 
Be vacant of licr jjlenty, in her own loins 
Slie hutcht th' all-worshipped ore, and pre- 
cious gems 
To store her children with: if all the world 
Should in a pet of temp'rance feed on pulse. 
Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but 

frieze, 
Th' all-giver would bo unthanked, would bo 

unpraised. 
Not half his riches known, and yet despised. 
And we should serve him as a grudging mas- 
ter. 
As a penurious niggard of his wealth, 
And live like nature's bastards, not her sons. 
Who would bo quite surcharged with her own 

weight. 
And strangled with her waste fei'tility, 
Th' earth cumbered, and the winged air 

darked with plumes. 
The herds would over-multitude tlieir lords, 



DGU 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Tlio sea oVTlVauglit would swell, and th' un- 
sought diamonds 
AVould so iuiblaze the I'oivliead of tlio deep, 
And so bestud with stars, that they below 
AVould grow inured to light, and como at last 
To gaze upon the sun with shameless brows. 
List, lady, bo not coy, and be not cozened 
AVilh that same vaunted name, virginity. 
Beauty is nature's coin, must not he hoarded. 
But must bo current, and the good thereof 
Consists in mutual and partaken bliss, 
Unsavory in th' enjoyment of itself; 
If you let slip time, like a neglected rose 
It withers ou the stalk with languished head. 
Beauty is nature's brag, and must be shewn 
In courts, at feasts, and high solemnities. 
Where most may wonder at the workman- 
ship ; 
It is for homely features to keep home, 
They had their name thence; coarse com- 
plexions 
And cheeks of sorry grain will servo to ply 
The sampler, and to tease the housewife's 

wool. 
What need a vermeil-tinctured lip for that, 
I.ove-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn ? 
There was another meaning in these gifts ; 
Think what, and be advised, you are but 
yoiMig yet. 
L.\D. I had not thought to have unlocked 
my lips 
In this unhallowed air, but that this juggler 
AVould think to charm my judgment, as mine 

eyes, 
Obtruding false rules [iranked in reason's 

garb. 
I hate when vice can bolt her arguments. 
And virtue has no tongue to check her pride. 
Impostor, do not charge most innocent nature 
As if she would her children sliould be riotous 
AVith her abundance ; she, good cateress, 
Means her i)rovision only to the good. 
That live according to her sober laws, 
And holy dictate of spare temperance; 
If every just nuui, that now pines with want. 
Had but a moderate and beseeming share 
Of that which lewdly-pampered luxury 
Now heaps upon, some few with vast excess, 
Nature's full blessings would be well dispensed 
In imsuperfluous even proportion, 
And she no whit encumbered with her store; 



And then the giver would be better thanked. 
His praise due paid ; for swinish gluttony 
Ne'er looks to heaven amidst his gorgeous 

feast, 
But with besotted base ingratitude 
Crams, and blasphemes his feeder. Shall I 

go on ? 
Or have I said enough ? To him that dares 
Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous 

words 
Against the sun-clad power of chastity, 
Fain would I something say, yet to what 

end? 
Thou hast not ear, nor soul, to apprehend 
The sublime notion and high mystery 
That must be uttered to imfold the sage 
And serious doctrine of virginity ; 
And thou art worthy that thou should'st not 

know 
More happiness than this thy present lot. 
Enjoy your dear wit, and gay rhetoric. 
That hath so well been taught her dazzling 

fence. 
Thou art not lit to hear thyself convinced ; 
Yet should I try, the uncontrolled worth 
Of this pure cause w'ould kindle my rapt 

spirits 
To such a tlame of sacred vehemence 
That dumb things would be moved to sym- 
pathize, 
And the brute earth would lend her nerves, 

and shake. 
Till all thy magic structures, reared so high. 
Were shattered into heaps o'er thy fidse head. 

Com. She fables not; I feel that I do fear 
Her words set oti' by some superior power ; 
And thongli not mortal, yet a cold shudder- 
ing dew 
Dips me all o'er, as when the wrath of Jove 
Speaks thunder, and the chains of Erebus, 
To some of Saturn's crew. I must dissemble, 
And try her yet more strongly. Come, no 

more ; 
This is mere moral babble, and direct 
Against the canon laws of our foundation ; 
I must not suffer this; yet 'tis but the lees 
And settlings of a melancholy blood. 
But this will cure all straight; one sip of this 
AVill bathe the drooping spirits in delight 
Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and 
taste— 



COMUS. 



5(i7 



Tlie BR0TnEi!3 rush in with swords draivn, 
wrest /lis r/Jass out of his hand, and hreaTi 
it against the ground ; his rout maie sign 
of resistance, hut are all driven in ; the 
attendant Spirit comes in. 

Si"i. Wliat ! have you let tbe false enchanter 
'scapo ? 
Oil TO mistook! ye should haVo snatched his 

wand 
And bound him fast: -without his rod re- 
versed, 
And backward mutters of dissevering power, 
We cannot free the lady that sits hero 
In stony fetters fixed, and motionless. 
Yet stay! bo not disturbed; now I bethink 

me. 
Some other means I have which may bo used, 
Which once of Melibcous old I learnt, 
The soothest shepherd that e'er piped on 
plains. 
There is a gentle nymph not far from hence, 
That with moist curb sways the smooth Sev- 
ern stream; 
Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure ; 
Whilome she was the daughter of Locrine, 
That bad the sceptre from his father Brute. 
She, guileless damsel, flying the mad pursuit 
Of her enraged stepdame, Guendolen, 
Commended her fiiir innocence to tlio flood. 
That stayed her flight witli his cross-flowing 

course. 
Tlie water-nymphs that in the bottom played. 
Held up their pearled wrists and took her in. 
Bearing her straight to aged Nereus' hall. 
Who, piteous of her woes, reared her lank 

head, 
And gave her to bis daugliters to imbatho 
In nectared lavers strowed with asphodil. 
And througli the porch and inlet of each 

sense 
I >ropt in ambrosial oils till she revived, 
And underwent a quick immortal change, 
ilade goddess of the river ; still slio retains 
Her maiden gentleness, and oft at eve 
Visits tbe herds along the twilight meadows. 
Helping all urchin blasts, and iU-luck signs 
That tlie shrewd meddling elf delights to 

make, 
U'hieh she with precious vialed liquors heals ; 
for which the shepherds, at their festivals. 



Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays, 

And throw sweet garland wreaths into hei 

stream. 
Of pansies, pinks, and gaudy daflTodils. 
And, as the old swain said, she can unlock 
The clasping charm, and thaw the mumming 

spell. 
If she be right invoked in warbled song; 
For maidenhood slio loves, and will be swift 
To aid a virgin, such as was herself, 
In hard besetting need ; tliis will I try, 
And add the power of some adjuring verse. 



Sabrina fair, 

Listen where thou art sitting 
Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, 

In twisted braids of lilies knitting 
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair; 

Listen, for dear honor's sake. 

Goddess of the silver lake. 
Listen and save I 
Listen, and appear to us 
In name of great Oceanus ; 
By til' earth-shaking Neptune's mace. 
And Tetby's grave majestic pace; 
By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look. 
And the Carpathian wizard's l-.ook ; 
By scaly Triton's winding shell, 
And old sooth-saying Glaucus' spell; 
By Leucothea's lovely hands. 
And her son that rules the straJids; 
By Thetis' tinsel-slippered feet, 
And the songs of sirens sweet ; 
By dead Parthenope's dear tomb. 
And fair Ligea's golden comb. 
Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks, 
Sleeking her soft alluring locks; 
By all the nymphs that nightly dance 
Upon thy streams with wily glance — 
Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head 
From thy coral-paven bed, 
And bridle in thy headlong wave, 
Till thou our summons answered have. 
Listen and save ! 

Sabbina rises, attended hy water nymplis, and 
sings. 

By the rushy-fringed bank. 
Where grows the willow and the osier dank. 



60S rOEMS OK TIIK 


IM.Vt;iN .\T10V. 


}iy sliding cbnriot stays, 


Come, ladyl while lioaven lends us grace, 


Tliiok sot witli iiijato, iiiul tlio nzuro slioon 


Let ns tly this c\irsed place, 


Ol'tui'kois bluo, iiiul oiiionikl fjrooii, 


Lest the sorcerer us entice 


Tliat. in the oliannol strays; 


Witli some other now dovicc. 


Whilst iVom oft" the watoi's fleet 


Not a waste or needless sound, 


Thus I set my printless feet 


Till we come to holier ground ; 


O'er the cowslip's velvet henil, 


I shall be your faithful guide 


That bends not ns I tread ; 


Through this gloomy covert wide; 


Gentle swain, at thy request 


And not many furlongs thence 


I an\ hero. 


Is your lather's residence, 


Sin. (uHldoss dear, 


Wliore this night are met in state 


Wo implore thy powerful hand 


Many a friend to gratulato 


To undo U>e charmed band 


His wished presence, and beside 


Of true virgin here distressed, 


All the swains that near abide. 


Through the force and through the wile 


With jigs and rural dance resort. 


Of unUest enchanter vile. 


We shall catch them at their sport, 


Sais. Shepherd, 't is my office host 


And our sudden coming there 


To help ensnared chastity : 


Will double all their mirth and cheer; 


Brightest lady, look on nio I 


Come, lot us haste, the stai-s grow liigh, 


Thus 1 sprinkle on thy breast 


l>ut night sits monardi yet in tlio mid sky. 


Drops that from my I'ouutrtiu pure 




1 ha\ e kept of [irocions cure. 


The scene changes, presenting LudloiD toten 


Thrice upon thy lingv'rs" ti|). 


and the presidfnfn casth' ; then come in 


Thrice upon thy rubied lip; 


country dtinccrs.-aj'ttr them the attendant 


Next this marble venomod seat, 


SiMurr, irith the two BuoxnEiis and the 


Smeared with gums of glutinous heat. 


L.VDY. 


I touch witli chaste palms moist and cold : 
Now the spell hath lost his bold ; 


SONO. 


And I must haste ore morning hour 
'l\i wait in Amphitrite's bower. 


Sim. Back, sbephords, backl cuougbyour 
]ilay 
Till next sun-shine holiday; 




Sabrina <?<•«<•«<?«, and the Lady )•/«« out of 


Here be without duc'ic or nod 


h<T ,<<((f. 


Other trijipings to be trod — 




0( lighter toes, and such court guiso 


Sn. Virgin, daughter of Locrine, 
Sprung from old Anchisos' line, 
May thy brimmed waves for this 


As Mercm-y did first devise 
With the mincing Dryadea 
On the lawns, and on the leas. 


Their full tribute never miss 
From a thousand petty rills, 
That tumble down the snowy hills; 


This second song presents them to their fathet 
and mother. 


Sununcr drought, or singed air, 


Noble lord, and lady bright, 


Never scorch thy tresses fair, 


1 have brought ye now delight ; 


Nor wot October's torrent Hood 


Here behold, so goodly grown. 


Tliy molten crystal till with mud; 


Three fair branches of your own ; 


Jlay thy billows roll ashore 


Ueave:i hath thnoly tried their youth, 


The beryl, and the golden ore ; 


Their faith, their patience, and their truth. 


May thy lofty head be crowned 


And sent them here through hanl jissjiys. 


With many a tower and terrace round. 


With a crown of deathless praise, 


And bore and there thy banks upon 


To triumph in victorious dance 


Vr'itli groves of myrrh and cinnamon. 


O'er seusuiU folly and intemperance. 



HYLAS. 



C6i) 



The dances ended, the Si-ikit epiloguizes. 

Sit. To tlio ocoaii now I fly, 
Anil tlioso hiii)i)y climes that lie 
Wliero (lay iiuvur sliuts his oyo, 
Up ill the broad fields of the sky. 
There I suck tlio liquid air 
All amidst the gardens fair 
Of IloHi)ornM, and his danj^htcrs throe 
That sing about the golden tree. 
Along the crispi'd sliades and bowers 
Revels the sjiruco and jocund spring; 
The Graces, and the rosy-bosomed Hours, 
Thither all their bounties bring; 
There eternal summer dwells. 
And west-winds with musky wing 
Ali<iut Mie ccdared alleys fling 
Nard and cassia's balmy smells. 
Iris there witli humid bow 
Waters the odorous banks that blow 
Flowers of more mingled hue 
Than her purllod scarf can shew. 
And drenches with Ely.sian dew 
(List, mortals, if your cars bo true) 
Beds of hyacinth and roses, 
Where young Adonis oft reposes. 
Waxing well of his deep wound 
In slnmber .soft, and on the ground 
S.adly sits th' Assyrian queen ; 
]!ut far abovOjin spangled slicen. 
Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced, 
Holds his dear Psycho sweet entranced. 
After her wand'ring labors long. 
Till free consent the gods among 
Make her his eternal bride. 
And from her fair unspotted side 
Two bli>sfnl twins are to be born. 
Youth and Joy ; so Jove hidh sworn. 

]!ut now my task is smoothly done; 
I can fly, or I can run, 
Quickly to the green earth's end, 
Where the bowed welkin low doth bend. 
And from thence can soar as soon 
To the corners of the moon. 

Mortals that would follow me, 
Lovo virtue; she alono is free ; 
She can leach ye how to crnnb 
Higher than the sphory chimo; 
Or, if virtue feeble were. 
Heaven itself would stoop to Iier. 

JouN Milton. 



IIYLAS. 

SToiiM-WEAitiEi) Argo slojit upon the water. 

No cloud was Hcen ; on bine and craggy Ida 

The hot noon lay, and on the plain's enamel; 

Cool, in his bed, alone, the swift Scamander. 

"Why should I haste?" said young and rosy 
Hylas: 

" The seas were rough, and long tlie way from 
Colchis. 

licneath the snow-white awning slumbers Ja- 
son, 

Pillowed upon his tamo Thessalian i)anMier ; 

The shields are piled, tho listless oars sus- 
pended 

(.)n the lilack thwarts, and all the hairy bonds- 
men 

Doze on the benches. They may wait for 
water. 

Till 1 have bathed in mountain-born Si'aniun- 
der." 

So said, uidilleting his purjilo chlamys. 

And iiutting down his urn, he .stood a mo- 
ment, 

Breathing tho faint, warm odor of the blos- 
soms 

That spangled thick tho lovely Danhui mead- 
ows. 

Then, stooping lightly, loosened he his bus- 
kins, 

And felt with shrinking feet tho crispy ver- 
dure; 

Naked, save one light robe that IVoni bis 
shoulder 

Hung to his knee, tho yonthful flush reveal- 
ing 

Of warm, white limbs, half-nerved with com- 
ing manhood. 

Yet fair and smooth with tenderness of beauty. 

Now to the river's sandy marge advancing, 

Ho drojijied the robe, and raised his head ex- 
ulting 

In tho clear sunshine, tliat with beam em- 
br.'icing 

Held him against Apollo's glowing bo.som. 

For sacred to Latona's son is beauty. 

Sacred is youth, tho joy of yonthful feeling. 

A joy indeed, a living joy, was Hylas, 



670 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Whonco Jove-begotten Ileraoles, the mighty, 
To nion though terrible, to liim was gentle, 

PmootbiMg his niijgod niituro into laughter 
When tlio boy stolo his cUil), or from his 

sliouldors 
Dragged the huge jiiuvs of the Neniiviin lion. 

'llio tliii'k, bnnvn looks, tossed baqk ward from 
his forehead, 

Fell soft about his temples ; manhood's blos- 
som 

Not yet had sprouted on his chin, but freshly 

OnrvL'd the fair cheek, and full the rod lips' 
parting. 

Like a loose bow, that just has hinnchod its 
arrow. 

His hirgo blue eyes, with joy dilate and 
beamy, 

Wore dear as the unshadowed (irocian heav- 
en ; 

Dewy and sleek his dimpled shoulders rounded 

To the white arms and whiter breast between 
(liem. 

I>o\vuward, the supple lines had less of soft- 
ness : 

His liai'U was like a god's; his loins were 
moulded 

As if some pulse of power began to waken ; 

The springy fulness of his thigh.s, outswerv- 

"'& 
Sloped to his knee, and, lightly dropping 

downward. 
Drew llio ourvod lines tliat breatlie, in rest, 

of motion. 

lie saw his glorious limbs reversely mirrored 

In the still wave, and stretehed his foot to 
press it 

On tlie siuootli sole that answered at the sur- 
faee : 

Alasl tlie shape dissolved in glinnneriug 
fragments. 

Then, timidly at first, he dipped, and eateliiug 

tjuii'k breath, with tingling shuddor, as the 
waters 

Swirled round his thighs, and deeper, slowly 
deeper, 

I'ill on his breast; the river's cheek was pil- 
lowed, 

And deeper still, till every shoreward ripple 

Talked in his ear, and like a cygnet's bosoni 



Ilis white, round shoidder shed the dripping 

crystal. 
There, as he Hoated, with a rapturous motion, 
Tlie lucid eoolness folding close around him, 
The lily-cradling ripjiles nuirnuirod, '' Ilylas! " 
lie shook from otf his ears the hyacinthine 
Curls, that had lain unwet upon the water, 
And still the ripples murmured, "Uvhis! 

Ilylas I " 
llo thought : " The voices are but ear-born 

music. 
Pan dwells not here, and Echo still is calling 
From some high clitl" that tops a Tliraeian 

valley ; 
So long mine ears, on tumbling Ilellespontus, 
Have heard the sea waves hammer Argo'a 

forehead. 
That I misdeem the tinting of this current 
For some lost nymph — " Again tlie murmur, 

"ilylas!" 
And with the sound a cold, smooth arm 

aronnd him 
Slid like a wave, and down the clear, green 

darkness 
tilimmered on either side a shining bosom — 
(ilimmered, uprising slow ; and ever closer 
Wound the cold arms, till, climbing to his 

shoulders, 
Their clieeks lay nestled, while the purple 

tangles. 
Their loose hair made, in silken mesh on\vouml 

him. 
Their eyes of clear, pale emerald then uplift- 
ing. 
They kissed his neck with lips of humid coral, 
And once again there came a murmur, " Ily- 
las ! ^ 
dli, come with us 1 Oh, follow where we 

wander 
Deep down beneath the green, translucent 

ceiling — 
Where on the sandy bed of old Scaniauder 
With cool white buds we braid our purple 

tresses, 
Lulled by the bubbling waves around us 

stealing I 
Thou fair Greek boy, oh come with us! Oh, 

follow 
Where thou no more shalt hear I'ropontis 

riot^ 
But by our arms be lapped in endless tjuiet. 



HYLAS. 



671 



Within tho gliMiinoring caves of oooau hol- 
low ! 

Wo have nolovo; alono, of all tho immortals, 

Wo havo no lovo. Oh, lovo us, wo who press 
thco 

With faithful arms, though cold, — whoso lips 
caress thee, — 

Who hold thy beauty prisoned I Love us, 
llylasl" 

Tlio sound dissolved in liciuid nnirmurs, call- 
ing 

Still as it faded, " Come with us! Ohfollowl" 

Tlio Ijoy grow chill to fool their twining i)res- 

suro 
Lock ronnd his liniljs, and hoar him, vainly 

striving, 
I )own frcjni the noonday brightness. " Leave 

mo, naiads ! 
Loavo nie ! " ho cried ; " tho day to mo is 

dearer 
'I'lian all your caves deep-sphered in ocean's 

quiet. 
1 am but mortal, seek bnt mortal pleasure : 
I would not change this flexile, warm exist- 
ence, 
Thougli swept by storms, and shookod by 

.Jove's dread thunder. 
To bo a king beneath tho dark-greon waters." 
Still moaned tho humid lips, between their 

kisses, 
" Wo havo no love. Oh, lovo us, wo wIjo love 

thoo!" 
And came in answer, thus, tho words of lly- 

las : 
" My lovo is mortal. For the Argivo maid- 
ens 
I keep tho kisses which your lijis would 

ravish. 
Tnlock your cold white arms — take from my 

shoulder 
'i'lie tangled swell of your bewildering trossos. 
Lot me return : the v/ind comes down from 

Lla, 
And soon tho galley, stirring from hor slum- 

l)or. 
Will frot to ride where Pelion's twilight 

shadow 
Falls o'er tho towers of Jason's sea-girt city. 
I .am not yours — I cannot braid tho lilios 
In your wet hair nor on your argent bosoms 



Close my drowsed eyes to hear your rippling 

voices. 
Hateful to mo your sweet, oold, crystal bo- 

Your world of watery quiet. IIolp, Ajiollo ! 

For I am thine : thy fire, thy beam, thy mu- 
sic. 

Dance in my heart and flood my sense with 
rapture; 

Tlio joy, tho warmth and passion now awa- 
ken. 

Promised by tlioo, Init erowhilo calmly sleep- 
ing. 

Oh, leave mo, naiads! loose your chill em- 
braces, 

Or I shall die, for mortal maidens pining;." 

But still with nnrolonting arms tlioy bound 
him. 

And still, accordant, flowed their watery 
voices : 

"Wo havo thee now — wo hold tliy Iioauty 
prisoned ; 

Oh, come with us beneath the emerald waters! 

We have no love ; wo love thee, rosy Ilylas. 

Oh, love us, who sludl never more release 
thee — 

Love us, whoso milky arms will bo thy cra- 
dle 

Far down on tho untroubled sands of ocean. 

Where now wo bear thee, clasped in our cm- 
braces." 

And slowly, slowly sank tho amorous naiads ; 

Tho boy's blue eyes, upturned, looked thningh 
tho water. 

Pleading for help; but lioavon's immortal 
archer 

Was swathed in cloud. Tho rijiplos hid his 
forehead ; 

And last, tho tliick, bright cui-ls a niiniiciit 
floated. 

So warm and silky that tho stream upboro 
thom. 

Closing reluctant, as he s.ank for ever. 

Tho sunset died behind the crags of Lnbi'os. 
Argo was tugging at her chain ; for freshly 
Blew tho swift breeze, and leaped the restlosa 

billows. 
The voice of Jason roused tho dozing sailors. 
And up tho mast was heaved tho snowy 

canvas. 



612 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



But mighty Horacles, tho Jove-bogottcn, 
UniniiKlful stood, bcsido the cool Scamaudor, 
Leaning upon his chib. A purple chlamys 
Teased o'er au urn was all that lay before 

him : 
And when ho called, expectant, "Ilylas! 

Ilylas!" 
The empty echoes made him answer — " Ily- 
las!" 

Bayakd Taylor. 



RnCEOUS. 

God sends his teachers unto every age. 
To every clime, and every race of men, 
With revelations fitted to their growth 
And shape of mind, nor gives the realm of 

truth 
Into tho seltish rule of one sole race. 
Therefore each form of worship that hath 

swayed 
The life of man, and given it to grasp 
The master-key of knowledge, reverence. 
Enfolds some germs of goodness and of right ; 
Else never had tho eager soul, which loathes 
The slothful down of ]).ampered ignorance. 
Found in it even a moment's fitful rest. 

There is an instinct in the human heart 
Which makes that all tlie fables it hatli 

coined. 
To justify tho reign of its belief 
And strengthen it by beauty's right divine, 
Veil in their inner cells a mystic gift, 
Which, like the hazel-twig, in faithful hands. 
Points sui'ely to tho hidden springs of truth. 
For, as in nature naught is made in vain, 
15ut all things have within tlicir hull of use 
A wisdom and a meaning, which may speak 
Of spiritual secrets to the ear 
Of spirit : so, in whatsoe'er the heart 
Hatli fashioned for a solace to itself, 
To make its inspirations suit its creed, 
And from tho niggard hands of falsehood 

wring 
Its needful food of truth, there over is 
A sympathy with nature, which reveals. 
Not less than her own works, pure gleams of 

light 



And earnest parables of inward lore. 
Hear now this fairy legend of old Greece, 
As full of freedom, youth, and beauty still 
As the immortal freshness of that grace 
Carved for all .ages on some Attic frieze. 

A youth named Khoecus, wandering in tho 

wood. 
Saw an old oak just trembling to its tiill ; 
And, feeling pity of so fair a tree, 
lie propped its gray trunk with admiring 

care. 
And with a thonghtless footstep loitered on. 
But, as ho turned, he heard a voice behind 
That murmured " Rhoecus ! " — 'T was as if the 

loaves, 
Stirred by a passing breath, had murmured 

it; 
And, while ho paused bewildered, yet again 
It murmured " Rhoecus I " softer than a 

breeze, 
lie started and beheld with dizzy eyes 
What seemed tho substance of a happy dream 
Stand there before him, spreading a warm 

glow 
Within the green glooms of tho shadowy oak. 
It seemed a woman's shape, yet all too fair 
To be a woman, and with eyes too meek 
For any that were wont to mate with gods. 
All naked like a goddess stood she there, 
.\nd like a goddess all too beautiful 
To fool tho guilt-born carthliness of shamo. 
" Rhcecus, I am the drj*ad of this tree — " 
Thus .she began, dropping her low-toned 

words. 
Serene, and full, and clear, as drops of dew— 
" And with it I am doomed to live .and die ; 
Tlio rain and sunshine are my caterers, 
Nor have I other bli,ss than simple life ; 
Now ask mo wliat thou wilt, that I osm give, 
And with a thankful joy it shall bo thine." 

Then Rhoecus, with a flutter at the heart, 
Yet, by the prompting of such beauty, bold. 
Answered : " What is there that can satisfy 
The endless craving of the soul but love ? 
Give me tliy love, or but the hope of that 
Which must be evermore my spirit's goal."' 
After a little pause she said again. 
But with a glimpse of sadness in her tone, 
" I give it, Rhircus, though a perilous gift ; 



RHCECUS. 



57;i 



An liour before the sunset meet me here." 
And straightway there was nothing ho could 

see 
But tlio green glooms beneath the shadowy 

oak ; 
And not a sound came to bis straining ears 
Hut the low trickling rustle of the leaves, 
And, far away upon an emerald slope. 
The falter of an idle shepherd's pipe. 

Now, in those days of simploness and faith, 
Men did not think that happy things were 

dreams 
Because they overstepped the narrow botii-ne 
Of likelihood, but reverently deemed 
Nothing too wondrous or too beautiful 
To be the guerdon of a daring heart. 
So Rbfficus made no doubt that he was blest ; 
And all along unto the city's gate 
Earth seemed to spring beneath him as ho 

walked ; 
The clear, broad sky looked bluer than its 

wont. 
And he could scarce believe he had not 

wings — 
Such sunshine seemed to glitter tlirougli his 

veins 
Instead of blood, so light he felt and strange. 

Young Rha3cus had a faitliful heart enough, 
But one that in the present dwelt too much. 
And, taking with blithe welcome whatsoe'er 
Chance gave of joy, was wholly bound in 

that. 
Like the contented peasant of a vale. 
Deemed it the world, and never looked be- 
yond. 
So, haply meeting in the afternoon 
Some comrades who were playing at the dice, 
Ho joined them and forgot all else beside. 

The dice were rattling at the merriest, 
And Rhoecus, who had mot but sorry luck. 
Just laughed in triumph at a happy throw. 
When through the room there hummed a yel- 
low bee 
That buzzed about his ear with down-dropped 

As if to light. And Rhoecus laughed and 
said, 



Feeling how rod and Hushed he was witli 

loss, 
" By Venus I does he take me for a rose ? " 
And brushed him off with rough, impatient 

band. 
But still the bee came back, and thrice again, 
Rhoecus did beat him off with growing wrath. 
Then through the window flow the wounded 

bee; 
And Rhcccus, tracking him with angry eyes. 
Saw a sharj) mountain-jieak of Tliessaly 
Against tlic red disc of the .sotting sun, — 
And instantly the lilood sank from his heart, 
As if its very walls had caved away. 
Without a word ho turned, and rushing forth. 
Ran madly through the city and the gale, 
And o'er tlie plain, which now the woods 

long shade. 
By the low sun thrown forward broad and 

dim, 
Darkened well-nigh unto the city's wall. 

Quite spent and out of breath, ho reached 

the tree ; 
And, listening fearfully, ho lieard once moro 
The low voice murnnir "RhuicusI" olo.so at 

hand — 
Whereat he looked around him, bwt could see 
Nought but the deepening glooms beneath 

the oak. 
Then sighed tho voice, " 0, Rhcecus I never 

moro 
Shalt thou behold mo, or by day or night — 
Mo, who would fain have blest thee with a 

love 
Moro ripe and bounteous than over yet 
Filled up with nectar any mortal heart; 
But thou didst scorn my liumblo messenger. 
And sent'st him back to mo with bruLsod 

wings. 
We spirits only show to gentle cye.s — 
Wo ever ask an undivided love ; 
And he who scorns the least of nature's 

works 
Is thenceforth exiled and shut out from all. 
Farewell! for thou canst never see me inoro." 

Then Rhoecus beat his breast, and grcxmed 

aloud. 
And cried, "Be pitiful! forgive me yet 
This once, and I shall never need it more ! " 



1— — 

C71 POEMS OF THE 


IMAGINATION. 


"AlasI" tlio voico roturnod, "'tis tliou art 


And at midnight from his grave 


blind, 


Tho trumpeter arose. 


Not 1 iniinorciful ; I ciiu forgive, 


And, mounted on his horse, 


But luivo no skill to Wii\ tliy spirit's eyes; 


A loud, shrill blast he blows. 


()i)ly tho !?oul liiith [lower o'er itself." 




With tliiit nsiiiu there inurniured "Never- 


On airy coursers then 


more ! " 


Tho cavalry aro soon — 


And Klioocus after hoard no other sound. 


Old squadrons, erst renowned — 


Except tho rattling of the onk's crisp leaves, 


Gory and gashed, I ween. 


Like the long surf upon a distant shore, 




Haking tho sea-worn pehbles up and down. 


Beneath the casi]UO their skulls 


Tlie niglit had gathered round hin\; o'er the 
plain 


Smile grim ; .and proud their air, 
As in their bony hands 


The city sparkled with its thousand lights, 


Their long, sharp swords they bare. 


And sounds of revel fell upon liis oar 
Harshly and like a cur.se ; above, tho sky, 


At midnight from his tomb 


AVith all its bright sublimity of stars. 


Tho chief awoke and rose, 


Deepened, and on his forehead smote the 


And, followed by his staff, 


breeze ; 


With slow steps on ho goes. 


Bea\ity was all aromul him, and deliijht; 




But from that eve he was alone on earth. 


A little bat he wears. 


JamKS KlTSSKLL LOWKLL. 


A coat quite plain wears he ; 
A littlo sword, for arms. 




At his left side hangs free. 
O'er the vast jilain the moon 




TDE MIDNIGHT REVIEW. 


A paly lustre threw ; 
Tlie man with tho littlo hat 


At midnight from bis grave 


Tlie troops goes to review. 


The drunnuer woke and rose. 
And beating loud the drum, 
Forth ou his errand goes. 


The ranks present their arms — 

Dee]! rolls the drum the while; 
Reeovering then, the troo|is 


Stirred by his ilesbless arms, 


Before the chief delile. 


The drumsticks rise and fall; 




Ho beats tlie loud retreat. 


Captains and generals round. 


Reveille and roll-call. 


In circles formed, appear ; 


So strangely rolls that drum, 
So deep it echoes round. 


Tho chief to the first a word 
Now whisiH'i-s ill his car. 


Old soldiers in their graves 
To life start at tho somid : 


The word goes i-ouud the ranks, 
Resounds along the lino ; 


Both thoy in furthest north, 
Stitf in the ice that lay. 


That word thoy give is—Fran^! 
The answer— 5^ Uileiie ! 


And they who warm reposo 
Bonoath Italian clay ; 


'Tis there, at midnight hour. 


Below the mud of Nile, 
And 'neath Arabian sand, 

Their burial-place they quit. 
Anil soon to arms they stand. 


The grand review, they say, 
Is by dead Oii3sar held 
In the Champs- Elysees ! 
Joseph Cukistiah tos Zedutz. (ticrnmn.1 
Anonymous "lYnnslntion. 



RIME OF TUE ANCIENT MARINER. 



57B 



An Jiii- 
ctitiit iiifir- 
irnir nii'tiL- 
I'tli tluro 
L'lilliinlH 
iililcli'n Id 
II wrdiltllt: 
IViisI,, [iliil 
iliilulni'lli 
iiuv 



'I'lin w.d- 
dlriK- 

L'IH-«t, 1h 
|||>.'II- 

liiiuriM liy 
llto ov<' of 
till) olil 

Hi'ii-fiirlii^ 
iimii, liii'l 
(lonMtniln- 
cil to hcnr 
Ills tall'. 



The inarl- 

lu;r ti'llrt 
IlllW tllll 

<lil|ii.iilli-il 
loiilliwiiril 
with It 
(,'1111(1 wind 
mill I'liir 
Wfittliiir, 
nil It 
n-iioli.'.l 
tbu lltii:. 



lUME OF THE ANCIENT MAU- 
INEK. 

IN 8KVKN I'AKTH. 
I'AUT I. 

i r is an iiiK^iciit, iiiarinor, 
, Ami lit) hl,o|)[)t;Mi oiio of tliroo : 
" By lliy loll}; (;nty bcai'd ami ({lilloi-- 

iiiK cyo, 
Kow wliurolbru Hto|)i)'nt tlioii moS 

Tliu bi'ldcgi-ouin'H doors aro opoiiod 

wide, 
And I am next of kin; 
'I'lio f^iK'.sU aro met, tlio feast is sot — 
May'.sl, hear tlio merry din." 

lie liolds Iiiin with his Hl<iiiiiy hand: 
" There was a Bhip," (iiioUi he. 
"Hold off! unhand mo, gray-board 

loonl"— 
Eftsoons his Iiimd dropt he. 

Ill) holds him with liis glittering 

eye— 
The wedding-guest stood still; 
lie listens like a three years' child: 
Tho mariner hath his will. 

The wodding-giiest sat on a stone — 
lie cannot chooso but hoar; 
And thus spake on that ancient man, 
Tho bright-eyed mariner. 

"The ship was cheered, the harljor 

cleared ; 
Merrily did wo drop 
lielovv the kirk, below tho hill, 
lielow tho light-houso toji. 

•Tho sun camo up upon the left. 
Out of tho sea camo ho ; 

And ho shone bright, and on the 

right 
Went down inio tho sea; 

lli;:her and higher every day. 
Till over tho mast at noon — " 
Tho wodding-giicst hero heat his 

breast, 
For ho heard tho loud bassoon. 



Tho brido hath paced into the hall— T''° ""■''• 

i> 1 -1 '""*'" 

ICed as a roso is sho ; uiuiwi 

Nil- II • I 1 1 i> 1 lioiirclli 

oildmg their heads behjro lier goes tim hrldul 

Tlio merry minstrelsy. buuilo 

iiiiii'liii-r 
11. 1 • f'oiilliiii- 

1 ho wedding-gucst ho beat his oili hia 

breast, '"'"■ 

Yet ho cannot chooso but hear; 
And thus spake on that ancient man, 
Tho hrighl-eyed umriiier: 



"And now tho storm-blast came, and Tim «iii|> 

ilrttwii by 
liO iiMliinii to- 

Was tyrannous and strong ; |JI,'','i^|, 

IIo struck with his o'ortaking wings, i'"'"- 
And chased us south along. 

With Blojiing masts and dipping 

|)row — 
As who pursued with yell and blow 
fitiU treads tho shadow of his foe. 
And forward bonds his head — 
Tho ship ilrovo fast; loud roared tho 

blast, 
And southward iiyo we (led. 

And now there camo both mist ami 

snow, 
.\nd it grow wondrous cold ; 
And iite, mast-high, came floating by, 
As green as emerald. 



And through the tirilts the snowy Tim laml 

,.,.. of Uic. ami 

el ills ol'li-nrdil 

l)id send a dismal sheen ; wl'i'-'ro no 

Nor shapes of men nor beasts wo ''/'"K 

' tliln;{ w-im 

ken — to bo Bcun. 
The ice was all between. 



The ieo was hero, tho ice was thoro. 

The ice was all around ; 

It cracked and growleil, and roared 

and howled. 
Like noises in a swoiiinl 1 



At length did cross an albatross — Tllu 

^ , (rn-at floa- 
Thorough the fog itcame ; Mnl. call- 
As if it had been a Christinn soul, bationn, 
Wo liaileil it in God's name. I'llru'iKi, 

tlio hilow 
fog, anil woa rc-ciilvcd with great Joy and IioHpltallty. 



57l'i 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Audio! 
tho alba- 
tross 

proveth a 
bird of 
good 

onicD, and 
followoth 
the ship as 
it return- 
ed north- 
ward 
throuffli 
fog and 
floating 
Ico. 



It ato the food it ne'er had eat, 
And round and round it flew. 
The ice did split ■with a thnnder-fit^ 
The helmsman steered us through ! 

And a good south wind sprang up 

hehind ; 
The albatross did follow, 
And every day, for food or play, 
Came to the mariners' hollo ! 

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, 
It perched for vespers nine ; 
"Whiles all the night, through fog- 
smoke white. 
Glimmered the white moon-shine." 



"God save thoo, ancient mariner ! 



""With my 



The an 

inerin-" From the fiends that plague thee 
teiffi thus!- 

pious bird -Wljy look'st thou SO?' 

of good 

omen. croSS-boW 

I shot the albatross." 



" The sun now rose upon the right — 
Out of tho sea came he. 
Still hid in mist, and on the left 
"Went down into the sea. 

And tho good south wind still blew 

behind ; 
But no sweet bird did follow. 
Nor any day for food or play 
Came to the mariners' hoUo. 



nis ship- And I had done a hellish thing, 
cry out And it would work 'em woe; 
t"fo'°n- For idl averred I had killed the bird 
cii-nt mar- 1'hat made the breeze to blow : 

incr. for 

killing the Ah wretch ! said they, the bij'd to 

bird of , " ' 

good luck. slay. 

That made the breeze to blow ! 



But when jfor dim nor red, like God's own 
the fog ' 

cleared head 

otf, they 
justify 
tlie siinie, 
and thus 
make 
them- 
selves ac- 
complices 
In the 
crime. 



The glorious sun uprist ; 

Then all averred I had killed tlie bird 

Tliat brought tlio fog and mist : 

'T was right, said they, such birds to 

slay. 
That bring the fog and mist. 



The fair breeze blew, the white foam J^" '"'■• 
' breeze 

flew. 



The furrow followed free ; 

We were the first that ever burst 

Into that silent sea. 



en till it reached the line. 



continnea 
the ship 
enters the 
Pacific 
Ocean, 
and sails 
north- 
ward, ev- 



tho 



sails The ship 
hath been 
suddenly 
becalmed 



And the 
albatross 
begins to 
be aveng- 
ed. 



Down dropt the breeze, 

dropt down — 
'T was sad as sad could be ; 
And we did speak only to break 
Tho silence of the sea. 



All in a hot and copper sky 
The bloody sun, at noon, 
Right up above the mast did Stand, 
No bigger than the moon. 

Day after d.ay, day alter day, 
"Wo stuck— nor breath nor motion ; 
As idle as a painted ship 
Upon a painted ocean. 

"Water, water everywhere. 
And all the boards did shrink ; 
Water, water everywhere. 
Nor any drop to drink. 

The very deep did rot; O Christ! 

That ever this should bo ! 

Yea, slimy things did crawl with 

legs 
Upon the slimy sea! 

About, about, in reel and rout. 
The death-fires danced at night; 
The water, like a witch's oils, 
Burnt green, and blue and white. 



And some in dreams assured were A spirit 

had fol- 

Of the spirit that plagued us so ; lowed 
Nine fathom deep he had followed „no oFtho 

no invisible 

"" inliablt- 

From the land of mist and snow. ants of this 

planet, 
neither 
departed 
souls nor angels ; concerning whom the learned Jew, .lo- 
sephus, and tho I'latonic Const-intinopolitan, Michael 
Psellus, may be consulted. They are very numerous 
and there is no climate or clemt'nt without one or mora. 



RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 



677 



The ship- 
mates, in 
their ^oro 
distress, 
would fain 
throw the 
whole 
puilt on 
the an- 
cient ma- 
riner; in 

Bii^ 

whereof 
they hang 
the (learl 
sea-birtl 
rouml hl3 
neck. 



And every tongue, tlirough utter 

drought, 
Was withered at the root ; 
"We could not speak, no more than if 
Wo had heen choked with soot. 

All ! well a-day I what evil looks 
Had I from old and young ! 
Instead of the cross the albatross 
About my neck was hung. 



TAUT m. 



The an- 
cient ma- 
riner bo- 
boldeth a 
sign in the 
element 
alar oil. 



At Its 
nearer ap' 
proach it 
seemeth 
him to be 
a ship ; 
and at a 
dear ran- 
som bo 
freeth his 
speech 
from the 
bunds of 
thirst. 



TuERE passed a weary time. Each 

throat 

Was parched, and glazed each eye — 
A weary time ! a weary time ! 
How glazed each weary eye I — 
"When, looking westward, I beheld 
A something in the sky. 

At first it seemed a little speck, 

And then it seemed a mist; 

It moved and moved, and took at 

last 
A certain .shape, I wist — 

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist ! 
And still it neared and neared ; 
As if it dodged a water-sprite. 
It plunged and tacked and veered. 

AVilh throats unslaked, with black 

lips baked. 
Wo could nor laugh nor wail ; 
Through utter drought all dumb wo 

stood I 
I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, 
And cried, A sail! a sail! 



With throats unslaked, with black 

lips baked. 
Agape they heard me call ; 
Gramercy ! they for joy did grin, 
A tob of And all at once their breath drew 
in. 
As they were drinking all. 
38 



See 1 see I I cried, she tacks 

more! 
Hither to work us weal — 
Without a breeze, without a tide. 
She steadies with upright keel ! 



no And hor- 
ror fol- 
lows. For 
can it bo a 
ship that 
comes 
onward 
without 
wind or 
tide; 



The western wave was aU a-flame ; 
The day was well nigh done ; 
Almost upon the western wave 
Rested the broad bright sun, 
When that strange shape drove sud- 
denly 
Betwixt us and the sun. 



And straight the sun was ilccked " sccm- 

... , eth him 

With bars, but the 

(Heaven's mother send us grace!) of a ship. 
As if through a dungeon-grato ho 

peered 
With broad and burning face. 

Alas ! thought I — and my heart beat 

loud — 
How fast she ncars and nears ! 
Are those her sails that glance in the 

.sun, 
Like restless gossameres ? 



Are those her ribs through which -*,"J '^ 

° ribs are 

tilO sun seen as 

Did peer, as through a grate? thrface of 

And is that woman all her crew ? u„°/5,ln. 

Is that a death ? and are there two ? J'''" "P'^'=- 

tre-wo- 

Is death that woman's mate ? man and 

her dealh- 
mate, and 
no other on board the skeleton ship. 



Ilor 



red, her looks were 



ijis were 

free. 
Her locks were yellow as gold ; 
Her skin was as white as leprosy : 
The night-mare, Life-in-L)eath, was 

she, 
Who thicks man's blood with cold. 



Like ves- 
sel, like 
crow I 



The naked hulk alongside came. 
And the twain were casting dice : 
' The game is done 
won!' 



Death and 

I.ife-in- 

Dcath 

I'yewon!I'veSf„, 

the ebip'fl 
^^ , , T , . , crew, and 

(^uotn she, and whistles thrice. she (the 

latter) 
winneth 
tho ancient mariner. 



r.7s 



rOEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



The sun's rim dips, tlio stars rush 
out, 
No twi- jVt one stride comes the dark ; 
111 tho Witli far-lienrd whisjior, o'er the soa, 
tlio sun. Otf shot tho sjicctrc bark. 

AtthorlB-'Wo listened, and looked sideways 
Ing of tbo ' 

inuoD, up ,* 

Fear at my heart, as at a cup. 

My life-hlood seemed to sip ; 

Tho stars were dim, and thick tho 

niglit— 
Tlie stoorsMian's face hy his lamp 

gleamed white ; 
From tlio sails tlio dew did drip — 
Till clomb above tho eastern bar 
Tho horned moon, with one bright 

star 
Within the nether tip. 

ouc lifter One after ono, bv tho star-dogged 
moon, 
Too quick for groan or sigh, 
Eaoli turned his face with a gliastly 

pang. 
And cursed mo with his cyo. 

Ills siiip- Four times fifty living men, 
iiropdown (And I heard nor sigh nor groan!) 
•''""'■ With heavy thump, a lifeless Imiip, 
Tlioy drojiped down ono by one. 



Hut i.ifo- Tho souls did from llieir bodies fly,- 
tiTgins hor Thoy fled to bliss or voc 1 
tlio'nii" ''^"'^ every soul it passed mo by, 

clout uinr- J/ike tlie whi/z of mv cross-bow I " 
tnor. 



Tlio woil- " I FEAii thoo, ancient mariner ! 

ll'mTll"*' I f»f^'- thy skinny hand ! 

spIhi" la ■'^'"^ *''°" '"'*' '""»' "'"^ h\nk, and 
tiiiklng to brown, 

As is tlio ribbed sea-sand. 



I foar thoo and thy glittering eye. 
And thy skinny hand so brown." — 
Hut tho " Fear not, fear not, thou wodding- 

niiolout , 

nmriuor .gUCStl 

Sofhis 'i'l'is hody dropt not down. 

bodily life, 

luul i-rooocdotli to rolsto his horrible poDanoo. 



Alone, alone, all, all alone, 
Alone on a wide, wide sea! 
And never a saint took pity on 
My soul in agony. 

Tlio many men, so beautiful ! 
And they all dead did lie; 
And a thousand thousand 

things 
Lived on — and so did I. 

I looked upon the rotting sea, 
And drew my eyes away ; 
I looked upon tho rotting dock, 
And there tlie dead men lav. 



Ho do- 

snlsotli 
tlio creil- 

*'""v tho cnlm. 



And on- 
vlod that 
tlioy 
should 
live, ntld 
so iimiiv 
lie deiul. 



I looked to heaven, and tried to pray ; 
But or ever a prayer had guslit 
A wicked whisper came, and made 
My heart as dry as dust. 

I closed my lids, and kept tliera close, 

And the balls like pulses beat; 

Fiir tlio sky and tho sea and the sea 

and tho sky 
T>ay like a load on my weary eye, 
And the dead were at my foot. 

Tlie cold sweat melted from their Hut the 

,. 1 curse llv- 

liinbs— ,.,1, for 

Nor rot nor reek did they ; ovo ofthe 

Tho look with which thoy looked on>i"«><i ""i'"- 

mo 

llad never passed away. 

An or]ihan"s curse would drag to hell 
A spirit from on high ; 
But oh! more horrible tlian that 
Is tlio curse in a dead man's eye 1 
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that 

curse — 
And vet I eouUl not die. 



Softly 



The moving moon went up the sky, lu his 
* , 1 ' 1. 1 1 ■ -1 loiH'liliepd 

And nowliero did aludo; nnd ilxod- 

r 8l)o M-a. j,nV,ng up, ^^^'^^^ 

And a star or two bcsitlo — townnis 

tho lour- 
noviiiK 
moon, nnil tho stars that still Pojonrn, vt-t still nioro on- 
ward; ttud every whore tho Mue sky hrhnif:s to them, 
nnd is their nppointed rest, luid their jititiw eountry, and 
their own natural homes, whirh thoy enter uimnnouoeod, 
as lords that are certainly expected; and yel there Is a 
silent Joy at their ui'rivol. 



RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 



r>7:) 



Ifer lioams bomockcd the tmltry 

mnin, 
Liko April hoar-frost spread ; 
Hut wJicro the ship's huge shadow 

lay 
Tho charmed water hurnt alway, 
A still and awful red. 



By tbo Boyond tho sliadow of tho ship 
lljlhtof T , , , > 

tlio moon 1 watched tho water-snakes; 

itb'uod's' '-^''^y moved in tracks of shining 

iToaturca ^l,ito; 

of tlio ' 

prottt And when they reared, tlio elfish 
calm. ,. , 

light 

Fell off in hoary flakes. 

AVithin tlio shadow of tho ship 
I watched their rich attire — 
IJluo, glossy green, and velvet black. 
They coiled and swam ; and every 

track 
Was a flash of golden fire. 

Their Oh ljarii)y liviiiir things! no tongue 

beauty ' * '^ 

anil tiioir Their beauty might declare ; 
opp 0083. ^ gpring Qf love gnshed from my 

heart, 

iro bless- And I blessed them unaware — 

eth them i • i • , j , •,. 

In his buro my kind saint took pity on ine, 

°" ' And I blessed them unaware. 



Tbo upou The selfsame moment I could pray ; 
bieok. And from my neck so freo 

Tlic albatross fell off, and sank 

Liko load into the sea. 



On sleep I it is a gentle thing. 
Beloved from pole to pole ! 
To Mary Queen tho praise bo given I 
Sho sent tho gentle sleep from hea- 
ven 
That slid into my soul. 



By eroco The silly buckets on tho deck, 

oftbo boly , , , , . , 

Mother, I hat had so long remained, 
ci'"ni™mr- ^ dreamt that they were filled with 

Inor l9 re- ^^,yf . 

ireHlicd ' 

with rain. Alul wlicu I awoko, it rained. 



My lips were wet, my throat was 

cold, 
My garments all were dank ; 
Suro I had drunken in my dreams, 
And still my body drank. 

I moved, and could not feel my limlis ; 
I was so light — almost 
I thought that I had died in sleep. 
And was a blessed ghost. 



And soon I heard a roaring 
It did not come anoar ; 
But with its sound it shi 
That were so thin and sere. 



wind — lie bear- 
ctlisoumb 
and seclb 
Btran^o 
sIkIiIs nr 
coinino- 
tlons In 
tho Mky 
anil tlio 
olonifnt. 



The upper air burst into life; 
And a hundred fire-flags sheen. 
To and fro they were hurried about ; 
And to and fro, and in and out, 
Tho wan stars danced between. 

And the coming wind did roar more 

lond, 
And tho sails did sigh like sodgo; 
And tho rain poured down from one 

black cloud — ■ 
The moon was at its edge. 

Tiio tliick black cloud was cleft, and 

still 
The moon was at its side ; 
Liko waters shot from sorno high 

crag, 
The lightning fell with never a jag — 
A river steep and wide. 



The loud wind never reached theTbobmi- 

„l •„ lesof llio 

8"'P. sblpV 

Yet now tho ship moved on ! f"' "7 

^ Insplri'il, 

Beneath tho lightning and tho moon bmiI tiio 

1 he dead men gave a groan. moves on ■ 



They groaned, they stirred, they all 

uprose — 
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes; 
It had been strange, even in a dream. 
To havo seen those dead men rise. 



D80 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



But not 
by the 
souls of 
the men, 
nor by de- 
mons of 
earth or 
middle air, 
but by a 
blessed 
troop of 
angelic 
epirits, 
sent down 
by the in- 
vocation 
of the 
guardian 
saint. 



The helmsman steered, the ship 

moved on ; 
Yet never a breeze up blew ; 
The mariners all 'gan work the ropes, 
"Where they were wont to do ; 
They raised their limbs like lifeless 

tools — 
"We were a ghastly crew. 

The body of my brother's son 
Stood by nie, knee to knee ; 
The body and I pulled at one rope, 
But he said naught to me." 

" I fear thee, ancient mariner ! " 
" Be calm, thou wedding-guest ! 
'Twas not those souls that fled in 

pain, 
"Which to their corses came again. 
But a troop of spirits blest ; 
For when it dawned they dropped 

their arms, 
■ And clustered round the mast ; 
Sweet sounds rose slowly through 

their mouths. 
And from their bodies passed. 

Around, around flew each sweet 

soimd, 
Then darted to the sun ; 
Slowly the sounds came back again — 
Now mixed, now one by one. 

Sometimes, a-dropping from the sky, 
I heard the sky-lark sing ; 
Sometimes all little birds that are — 
How they seemed to fill the sea and 

air 
"With their sweet jargoning ! 

And now 't was like all instruments, 

Now like a lonely flute ; 
And now it is an angel's song, 
That makes the heavens be mute. 

It ceased ; yet still the sails made on 
A pleasant noise till noon — 
A noise like of a hidden brook 
In the leafy month of June, 
That to the sleeping woods all night 
Singetb a quiet tune. 



Till noon we quietly sailed on, 
Yet never a breeze did breathe ; 
Slowly and smoothly went the ship, 
Moved onward from beneath. 

Under the keel, nine fathom deep, 
From the land of mist and snow 
The spirit slid ; and it was he 
That made the ship to go. 
The sails at noon left otf their tune, 
And the ship stood still also. 

The sun, right up above the mast. 
Had fixed her to the ocean ; 
But in a minute she 'gan stir, 
"With a short uneasy motion — 
Backw.ards and forwards half her 

length, 
TVith a short uneasy motion. 

Then like a pawing horse let go, 
She made a sudden bound — 
It flung the blood into my head, 
And I fell down in a swound. 

How long in that same fit I lay 
I have not to declare ; 
But ere my living life returned 
I heard, and in my soul discerned. 
Two voices in the air : 

'Is it he?' quoth one, 'Is this the 

man? 
By him who died on cross, 
"With his cruel bow he laid fuU low 
The harmless albatross ! 

The spirit who bideth by himself 

In the land of mist and snow, 

He loved the bird that loved the 

man 
"Who shot him with his bow.' 

The other was a softer voice. 

As soft as honey-dew : 

Quoth he, 'The man hath penance 

done. 
And penance more will do.' 



The lone- 
some spi- 
rit from 
the south- 
pole car- 
ries on the 
ship as far 
as the lino 
in obedi- 
ence to 
the angel- 
ic troop ; 
but still 
rcquireth 
vengeance 



The polar 
spirit's 
fellow de 
mons, the 
invisible 
inhabi- 
tants of 
the ele- 
ment, take 
part in his 
wrong ; 
and two of 
them re- 
late, one 
to the 
other, that 

fienancc, 
ong and 
heavy for 
the an- 
cient mar- 
iner, hath 
been ac- 
corded to 
the polar 
spirit, who 
returneth 
southward. 



RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 



581 



The mari- 
ner hath 
been cast 
into % 
trance ; for 
tlie an- 
pt'iic pow- 
er cause th 
the vessel 
to drive 
northward 
f;i6ter than 
luiman 
lile could 
endure. 



FIEST VOICE. 

' But tell me, tell me ! speak again, 
Thy soft response renewing — 
What makes that ship drive on so 

fast? 
What is the ocean doing?' 

SECOND VOICE. 

' Still as a slave hefore his lord. 
The ocean hath no hlast ; 
His great bright eye most silently 
Up to the moon is cast — 

If he may know which way to go ; 
For she guides him smooth or grim. 
See, brother, see ! how graciously 
She looketh down on him.' 

riKsr VOICE, 
■ ' But why drives on that ship so fast, 
Without or w.ave or wind?' 

SECOND VOICE. 

' The air is cut away before, 
And closes from behind. 

Fly, brother, tiy! more high, more 

high ! 
Or we shaU be belated ; 
For slow and slow that ship will go. 
When the mariner's trance is abated.' 



The Bu- I woke, and we were sailing on 

pernatural 
motion ' 
retarded 



the mar- 
iner 
awakes, 
and his 
l-enance 
begins 
anew. 



' As in a gentle weather ; 
'T was night, calm night- 
was higli ; 
The dead men stood together. 



the moon 



All stood together on the deck, 
For a charnel-dungeon fitter ; 
AU fixed on me their stony eyes. 
That in the moon did glitter. 

The pang, the curse, with which they 

died. 
Had never passed away ; 
I could not draw my eyes from theirs. 
Nor turn them up to pray. 



And now this spell was snapt : once T^;? '^'"^'' 

^ ^ ' IS finally 

more expiated. 

I viewed the ocean green. 

And looked far forth, yet little saw 

Of what had else been seen — 

Like one that on a lonesome road 

Dotli walk in fear and dread. 

And, having once turned round, 

walks on, 
And turns no more his head ; 
Because he knows a frightful fiend 
Doth close behind him tread. 

But soon there breathed a wind on 

me, 
Nor sound nor motion made ; 
Its path was not upon the sea. 
In ripple or in shade. 

It raised my hair, it fiinned my cheek, 
Like a meadow-gale of spring — 
It mingled strangely with my fears, 
Yet it felt like a welcoming. 

Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship. 
Yet slie sailed softly too ; 
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze — 
On me alone it blew. 



Oh! dream of joy I is this indeed 
The light-house top I see? 
Is this the hiU? is tliis the kirk? 
Is this mine own countree ? 

We drifted o'er the harbor-bar. 
And I with sobs did pray — 
Oh let me be awake, my God ! 
Or let me sleep alway. 

The harbor-bay was clear as glass. 
So smoothly it was strewn ! 
And on the bay the moonliglit lay, 
And the shadow of the moon. 

The rock shone bright, the kirk no 

less 
That stands above the rock ; 
The moonlight steeped in silontness 
I The steady weathercock. 



And the 

ancient 

mariner 

beholdeth 

his native 

country. 



5S2 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Aud the bay was white with silent 

light 
Till, rising from the same, 
TbeBnprcl-ruU many shapes, that shadows 

io s]>lrit3 * ' 

ii'iivo tbo were, 

(lead bod- T . , 

ios, -In cniusou colors came. 

Ami np- A littlo distance from the prow 
riioir'own Those crimson shadows were ; 
li'i'bT "^ ^ turned my eyes upon the deck — 

Christ! what saw I there ! 

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat ; 
And, by the holy rood ! 
A man all light, a seraph-man. 
On every corse there stood. 

This seraph-baud, each waved his 

hand — 
It was a lieavenly sight ! 
They stood as signals to the land, 
Each one a lovely light; 

This seraph-band, each waved his 

hand ; 
No voice did they impart — 
No voice ; but oh ! the silence sank 
Like music on my heart. 

But soon I heard the dash of oars, 

1 heard the pilot's cheer ; 

My head was turned perforce away. 
And I saw a boat appear. 

The pilot and the pilot's boy, 
I heard them coming fast; 
Dear Lord in heaven 1 it was a joy 
The dead men coidd not blast. 

I saw a third — I heard his voice ; 

It is the hermit good ! 

He singeth loud his godly hymns 

That he makes in the wood ; 

lie '11 shrievo my soul — ho '11 wash 

away 
The albatross's blood. 

PART VH. 

Tho hor- This hermit good lives in that wood 
wood Which slopes down to the sea. 

How loudly his sweet voice he roars ! 
He loves to talk with marineres 
That como from a far countree. 



He kneels at morn, and noon, and 

eve — 
He hath a cushion jilump ; 
It is tho moss that wholly hides 
The rotted old oak-stump. 

The skiti'-boat neared — I heard them 

t:dk : 
' "Why, this is strange, I trow ! 
Where are those lights, so many and 

fair, 
That signal made but now ? ' 



' Strange, by my faith I 
said — ■ 



the hermit Anproach 

etli tho 
ship with 

'And they answered not our cheer ! ^'"' '"'' 

The planks looked warped ! and see 

those sails, 

How thin they are and sere! 

I never saw aught like to them. 

Unless perchance it wero 

Brown skeletons of leaves that lag 

My forest-brook along. 

When the ivy-tod is heavy with 

snow, 
And the owlet whoops to the wolf 

below, 
Tliat eats the she-wolf's young.' 

' Dear Lord I it hath a fiendish look,' 
The pilot made reply — 
'I am a-feared' — 'Push on, push on ! ' 
Said the hermit cheerily. 

The boat came closer to tho ship. 
But I nor spake nor stirred ; 
The boat came close beneath the ship. 
And straight a sound was heard : 



The ship 
suddenly 
sinlcoth. 



Under tho w.iter it rumbled on. 
Still louder and more dread ; 
It reached tho ship, it split tho bay — 
Tho ship went down like lead. 

Stunned by that loud and dreadful Tbo an- 
cient nmr- 
sound, ineris 

Which sky and ocean smote, t'ho''piiofs 

Like one that hath been seven days '"'"'■ 

drowned 
My body lay afloat ; 
But, swift as dreams, myself I found 
Within the pilot's boat. 



RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 



583 



Upon tbo wliirl where sank the ship 
The boat span round and round ; 
And all was still, save that the hill 
"Was telling of the sound. 

I moved my lips — the pilot shrieked 
And fell down in a fit ; 
The lioly hermit raised his eyes, 
And prayed where he did sit. 

I^took the oars ; the pOot's boy. 

Who now doth crazy go, 

Laughed loud and long ; and all the 

while 
His eyes went to and fro : 
'Hal hal' quoth he, 'fuU plain I 

see. 
The devil knows how to row.' 

And now, all in my own countree, 

I stood on the firm land ! 

The hermit stepped forth from the 

boat, 
And scarcely he could stand. 



Thu an- ' qij shrievo me, shrieve me, holy 

cient mar- 
iner ear- man ! — 

tr«rtpth°' The hermit crossed his brow : 

the her- , g^^^ quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee 



say— 



init to 
i-hrieve 
liim; and 

tiip pen- What manner of man art thou ? 

anccof life 
falls on 
biln. 

Forthwith this frame of mine was 

wrenched 
With a woful agony, 
Which forced me to begin my tale — 
And then it left me free. 



And ever Since then, at an uncertain hour, 

and anon ^, , 

throuRh- That agony returns ; 

Tnl^iih"' And till my ghastly tale is told 

an agony jj^jg ^^gJ^r^ within me burns. 

constrain- 
eth hirn 
to travel 

to"land.° I pass, like night, from land to land ; 
I have strange power of speech ; 
That moment that his face I see 
I know the man that must hear me — 
To him my tale I teach. 



What loud uproar bursts from that 

door ! 
The wedding-guests are there ; 
But in the garden-bower the bride 
And bride-maids singing are ; 
And hark the little vesper bell. 
Which biddeth me to prayer ! 

O wedding-guest! this soul hath 

been 
Alone on a wide, wide sea — 
So lonely 't was, that God himself 
Scarce seemed there to be. 

Oh sweeter than the marriage-feast, 
'T is sweeter far to me, 
To walk together to the kirk 
With a goodly company ! — 

To walk together to the kirk, 

And all together pray, 

While each to his great Father 

bends — 
Old men, and babes, and loving 

friends, 
And youths and maidens gay 1 



Fare-well I farewell 1 but this I tell 
To thee, thou wedding-guest ! 



And to 
teach by 
his own 

He prayeth well who loveth well lo^^f^.l 
Both man and bird and beast. rcverenco 

to all 
things, 
that God 

He prayeth best who loveth best made and 

lovetli. 

All things both great and small ; 
For the dear God who loveth us, 
He made and loveth all." 



The mariner, whose eye is bright, 
Whose beard with age is hoar. 
Is gone. And now the wedding- 
guest 
Turned from the bridegroom's door. 

He went like one that hath been 

stunned. 
And is of sense forlorn ; 
A sadder and a wiser man 
He rose the morrow morn. 

SAiTtTEL Taylor COLEEmoB. 



684 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



KUBLA KHAN. 

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 
A stately pleasure-dome decree 
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran, 
Through caverns measureless to man, 
Down to a sunless sea. 
So twice five miles of fertile ground 
With waUs and towers were girdled round ; 
And there were gardens, bright with sinuous 

rills, 
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing 

tree ; 
And here were forests ancient as the hills, 
Enfolding sumiy spots of greenery. 

But oh ! that deep romantic chasm, which 

slanted 
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover ! 
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted 
As o'er beneatli a waning moon was haunted 
By woman waUiug for her demon-lover ! 
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoU 

soothing, 
As if this earth in fast thick pants were 

breathing, 
A mighty fountain momently was forced. 
Amid whose swift, half-intormitted burst 
Hugo fragments vaulted like rebounding hail. 
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail ; 
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and 

ever 
It flung up momently the sacred river. 
Five miles, meandering with a mazy motion 
Through wood aud dale, the sacred river 

ran — 
Then reached the caverns measureless to man. 
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean ; 
And 'mid this tumult Kubla hoard from far 
Ancestral voices prophesying war. 

The shadow of the dome of pleasure 
Floated midway on the waves, 
Where was hoard the mingled measure 
From the fountain and the oaves. 
It was a miracle of rare device — 
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice ! 
A damsel with a didcimer 
In a vision once I saw ; 



I was an Abyssinian maid. 
And on her dulcimer she played, 
Singing of Mount Abora. 
Could I revive within mo 
Her sjTnphony and song, 
To such a deep dehght 't would win me 
That, with music loud and long, 
I would buUd that dome in air — • 
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice ! 
And all who hoard should see them there, 
And all should cry. Beware! beware 
His flashing eyes, his floating hair ! 
Weave a circle round him thrice. 
And close your eyes with holy droad. 
For bo on honey-dew hath fed. 
And drunk the niUk of Paradise. 

Saufel Taylok Coleridge. 



THE RAVEN. 

Once, upon a midnight dreary, while I [lou- 

dered, weak and weary. 
Over many a quaint and curious volume of 

forgotten lore — 
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly 

there came a tapping, 
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at 

my chamber door : 
" 'T is some visitoi'," I muttered, " tapping at 

my chamber door — 

Only this, and nothing more." 

Ah, distinctly I remember ! it was in the 

bleak December, 
And each separate dying ember wrought its 

ghost upon the floor. 
Eagerly I wished the morrow ; vainly I had 

tried to borrow 
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow 

for the lost Lenore— 
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the 

angels name Lenore — 

Nameless hero for evermore. 

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of 

each purple curtain 
Thrilled me — filled nie with fantastic terrors 

never felt before ; 



THE RAVEN. 



686 



So that now, to still the beating of my heart, 

I stood repeating, 
" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my 

chamber door — 
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my 

chamber door ; — 

This it is, and nothing more." 

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating 
tlieu no longer, 

" Sii-," said I, " or madam, truly your forgive- 
ness I implore ; 

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently 
you came rapping. 

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at 
my chamber door. 

That I scarce was sure I heard you," — here 
I opened wide the door : 

Darkness there, and nothing more I 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood 
there wondering, fearing, 

Doubting, di'caming dreams no mortal ever 
dared to dream before ; 

l)Ut the silence was unbroken, and the dark- 
ness gave no token, 

And the only word there spoken was the 
whispered word, " Lenore ! " 

This I whispered, and an echo murmured 
back the word " Lenore ! " 

Merely this, and nothing more. 

Tlien into the chamber turning, all my soul 
within me burning. 

Soon I heard again a tapping, somewhat 
louder than before : 

"Surely," said I, "surely that is something 
at my window lattice ; 

Let mo sec, then, what thereat is, and this 
mystery exjilore — 

Let my heart be still a moment, and this mys- 
tery explore; — 

'T is the wind, and nothing more ! " 

Open hero I flung the shutter, when, with 

many a flirt and flutter, 
in there stepped a stately raven of the saintly 

days of yore ; 



Not the least obeisance made he ; not an in- 
stant stopped or stayed he ; 

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above 
my chamber door — 

Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my 
chamber door — 

Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy 

into smiling, 
By the grave and stern decorum of the coun- 
tenance it wore ; 
" Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, 

thou," I said, "art sure no craven — 
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering 

from the nightly shore- 
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's 
Plutonian shore ! " 

Quoth the raven "Nevermore." 

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear 
discourse so plainly — 

Though its answer little meaning, little rele- 
vancy bore ; 

For we cannot help agreeing that no living 
liuman being 

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above 
his chamber door — 

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above 
his chamber door, 

With such name as " Nevermore." 



But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid 

bust, spoke only 
That one word, as if his soul in tliat one word 

he did outpour. 
Nothing farther then bo uttered — not a 

featlicr then lie fluttered — 
Till I scarcely more than muttered, " Otlicr 

friends have flown before — 
On the morrow lie will leave me, as my hopes 

have flown before." 

Then the bird said " Nevermore." 



Startled at the stillness broken by reply so 

aptly spoken, 
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its 

only stock and store — 



586 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Caught from some unhappy master, whom 

unmerciful disaster 
Followed fast and followed faster, till his 

suugs one hurden bore — 
Till tlio du'ges of bis hope the melancholy 

burden bore 

Of ' Never — Nevermore.' " 



But the raven still beguilmg all my sad soul 
into smiling, 

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front 
of bird, and bust and door ; 

Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook my- 
self to linking 

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous 
bird of yore — 

"What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and 
ominous bird of yore 

Meant in croaking " Nevermore." 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no sylla- 
ble expressing 

To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned 
into my bosom's core ; 

This, and more, I sat divining, with my head 
at ease reclining 

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp- 
light gloated o'er ; 

But whose velvet violet lining, with the 
lamplight gloating o'er, 

She shall press — ah, never more ! 

Then, methought, the air grew denser, per- 
fumed from an unseen censer 

Swung by angels, whoso faint foot-falls tinkled 
on the tufted floor. 

" Wretch ! " I cried, " thy God hath lent thee, 
by these angels he bath sent thee, 

Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy 
memories of Lenore ! 

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and for- 
get this lost Lenore ! " 

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." 

"Prophet! " said I, "thing of evil! — prophet 

still, if bird or devil ! 
"Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest 

tossed thee here ashore — 



Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert 

land enchanted. 
On this homo by horror haunted — tell me 

truly, I implore — 
Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? tell me — 

tell me, I implore ! " 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore." 



" Prophet ! " said I, " thing of evil ! — prophet 
still, if bird or devil ! 

By that heaven that bends above us — by that 
God we both adore — 

ToU this soul with sorrow laden if, vfithin the 
distant Aidonn, 

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the an- 
gels name Lenore — 

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the 
angels name Lenore." 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore." 



" Be that word our sign of parting, bird or 

fiend ! " I shrieked, upstarting — 
" Get thee back into the tempest and the 

night's Plutonian shore ! 
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie 

thy soul hath spoken ! 
Leave my loneliness unbroken ! — quit the 

bust above my door ! 
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take 

thy form from off my door ! " 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore." 



And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, 
still is sitting 

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my 
chamber door ; 

And his eyes have all the seeming of a de- 
mon's that is dreaming, 

Andtlie lamplight, o'er him streaming, throws 
his shadow on the floor ; 

And my soul from out that shadow that lies 
floating on the floor 

Shall be lifted — nevermore ! 

Edoae Allan Poe. 



THE FAIRY THORN. 



587 



THE FAIEY THORN. 

AN ULSTER BALLAD. 

"Get up, our Anna dear, from the weary 
spinning wheel ; 
For your lather 's on the hill, and your 
mother is asleep ; 
Come up above the crags, and we '11 dance a 
highland reel 
Around the fairy thorn on the steep." 

At Anna Grace's door 't wastlius the maidens 
cried, 
Tliree merry maidens fair, in kirtles of the 
green ; 
And Anna laid the sock and the weary wheel 
aside, 
The fairest of tlie four, I ween. 

Tliey 're glancing through the glimmer of the 
quiet eve, 
Away in milky wavings of neck and ankle 
bare ; 
The heavy-sliding stream in its sleepy song 
they leave, 
And the crags in the ghostly air ; 

And linking hand in hand, and singing as 
they go, 
The maids along the hill-side have ta'en 
their fearless way, 
Till they come to where the rowan trees in 
lovely beauty grow 
Beside the Fairy Hawthorn gray. 

The hawthorn stands between the ashes tall 
and slim, 
Like matron with her twin grand-daughters 
at her knee ; 
The rowan berries cluster o'er her low head 
gray and dim 
In ruddy kisses sweet to see. 

The merry maidens four have ranged them 
in a row. 
Between each lovely couple a stately rowan 
stem. 
And away in mazes wavy like skimming birds 
they go, 
Oh, never oaroll'd bird like them ! 



But solemn is the silence of the silvery haze 
That drinks away their voices in echoless 
repose. 
And dreamily the evening has stilled the 
haunted braes, 
And dreamier the gloaming grows. 

And sinking one by one, like lark-not»s from 
the sky 
When the falcon's shadow sailcth across 
the open shaw. 
Are hush'd the maidens' voices, as cowering 
down they lie 
In the flutter of their sudden awe. 

For, from the air above, and the grassy 
ground beneath. 
And from the mountain-ashes and the old 
white thorn between, 
A power of faint enchantment doth through 
their beings breathe. 
And they sink down together on the green. 

They sink together, silent, and stealing side 
by side, 
They fling their lovely arms o'er their 
drooping necks so fail', 
Then vainly strive again their naked arms to 
hide, 
For their shrinking necks agam are bare. 

Thus clasp'd and prostrate all, with their 
heads together bow'd. 
Soft o'er their bosoms beating— the only 
human sound — 
They hear the silky footsteps of the silent 
fairy crowd, 
Like a river in the air, gliding round. 

Nor scream can any raise, nor prayer can 
any say. 
But wild, wild, the terror of the speechless 
three. 
For they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently 
away. 
By whom they dare not look to see. 

They feel then- tresses twine with her parting 
locks of gold. 
And the curls elastic falling, as her Ijead 
withdraws ; 



68S 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Tliey feel her sliding arms from their tranced 
arras unfold, 
But tliey dare not look to see the cause : 

For heavy on their senses the faiut enchant- 
ment lies 
Through all that night of anguish and 
perilous amaze; 
And neither fear nor wonder can ope their 
(juivering eyes 
Or their linihs from the cold ground raise. 

Till out of night tlie cartli has rolled her 
dewy side, 
With every haunted mountain and streamy 
vale below ; 
"When, as the mist dissolves in the yellow 
morning-tide, 
The maidens' trance dissolveth so. 

Then fly the ghastly three as swiftly as they 
may, 
And tell their tale of sorrow to ansious 
friends in vain — 
They pined away and died within the yeai- 
and day. 
And ne'er was Anna Grace seen again. 

Samuel Ferguson. 



THE LEGEND OF THE STEPMOTHER. 



As I lay asleep, as I lay asleep, 

Under the grass as I lay so deep, 

As I lay asleep in my cotton serk 

Under the shade of Our Lady's kirk, 

I wakened up in the dead of night, 

I wakened up in my death-scrk white, 

And I hoard a cry from far away. 

And I know tlie voice of my daughter May : 

"Mother, mother, come hither to me! 

Mother, mother, como hither and see! 

Mother, niotlier, mother dear, 

Anotlior mother is sitting here : 

My body is bruised, and in pain I cry. 

On straw in the darkness afraid I lie ; 

I thirst and hunger for drink and meat, 

And mother, mother, to sleep were sweet! " 

I heard the cry, though my grave was deep. 

And awoke from sleep, and awoke from sleep. 



I awoke from sleep, I awoke from sleep, 

Up I rose from my grave so deep ; 

The earth was black, but overhead 

The stars were yellow, the moon was rod ; 

And I walked along all white and thin. 

And lifted the latch and entered in. 

And reached the chamber as dark as night. 

And thougli it was dark my face was white. 

" Mother, mother, I look on thee 1 

Mother, mother, you frighten me ! 

For your cheeks are thin, and your hair is 

gray!" 
But I smiled, and kissed her fears .away, 
I smoothed her hair and I sang a song. 
And on my knee I rocked her long : 
" O mother, mother, sing low to me ; 
I am sleepy now, and I cannot see ! " 
I kissed her, but I could not weep, 
And sho went to sleep, she went to sleep. 



As we lay asleep, as we lay asleep. 

My May and I, in our grave so deep. 

As we lay asleop in our luiduight mirk. 

Under the shade of Our Lady's kirk, 

I wakened up in the dead of night. 

Though May my daughter lay warm and 

white. 
And I heard the cry of a little one. 
And I knew 't was the voice of Hugh my son : 
'■ Mother, mother, come hither to me ! 
Mother, mother, come hither .and see ! 
Mother, mother, mother dear, 
Another mother is sitting here : 
My body is bruised and my heart is sad, 
But I speak my mind and call them bad ; 
I thirst and hunger night and day. 
And were I strong I would fly away! " 
I heard the cry, though my grave was deep. 
And awoke from sleep, and awoke from sleep. 



T awoke from sleep, I awoke from sleep. 
Up I rose from my grave so deep ; 
Tlio earth was black, but overhead 
The stars were yellow, tlie moon was red ; 
And I walked along all white and thin, 
And lifted the latch and entered in. 
"Motlier, mother, and art thou here? 
I know vour face, and I feel no fear; 



THE DJINNS. 680 


Raise me, mother, and kiss my clieok, 




For oh I am weary and sore and weak." 


THE DJINNS. 


I smoothed his hair witli a mother's joy. 




And ho lauf,'liod aloud, my own brave boy; 


Town, tower, 


I raised and lield liini on my breast, 


Shore, deep. 


Sang Iiim a song, and bade him rest. 


Where lower 


" Mother, mother, sing low to mo; 


Clouds steep ; 


I am sleepy now and I cannot see ! " 


Waves gray 


I kissed liim and I could not weep, 


Whore play 


As he went to sleep, as lie went to sleep. 


Winds gay — 




All asleep. 


V. 


Hark 1 a sound, 


As I lay asleep, as I lay asleep. 


Far and slight. 


With my girl and boy in my grave so deep. 


Breathes around 


As I lay asleep, I woke in fear. 


On the night — 


Awoke, but awoke not my children dear, 


High and higher. 


And heard a cry so low and weak 


Nigh and nigher, 


From a tiny voice that could not speak; 


Like a lire 


I heard the cry of a little one. 


Roaring bright. 


My bairn that could neither talk nor run. 




My little, little one, uncaressed 


Now on it is sweeping 


Starving for lack of tlio milk of the breast ; 


With rattling beat, 


And I rose from sleep and entered in. 


Like dwarf imp leaping 


And found my little one pinched and thin, 


In gallop fleet ; 


And crooned a song and Imshed its moan. 


lie flies, he pranoes. 


And put its lips to my white breastbone ; 


In frolic fancies — 


And the red, red moon that lit the place 


On wave-crest dances 


Went white to look at the little face. 


With pattering feet. 


And I kissed and kissed, and I could not 






Hark, the rising swell. 


weep. 


With each neai'or burst ! 


As it went to sleep, as it went to sleep. 


Like the toll of bell 




Of a convent cursed ; 


VI. 


Like the billowy roar 


As it lay asleep, as it lay asleep. 


On a storm-lashed shore — 


I set it down in tlie darkness deep, 


Now hushed, now once more 


Smoothed its limljs and laid it out. 


Maddening to its worst. 


And drew the curtains around about; 




■ Then into the dark, dark room I hied 


God ! the deadly sound 


Where he lay awake at the woman's side, 


Of the djinns' fearful cry ! 


And though the chamber was black as night. 


Quick, 'neath the spiral round 


lie saw my foco, for it was so white ; 


Of the deep staircase, fly ! 


I gazed in his eyes, and he shrieked in pain. 


See, see our lamplight fade ! 


And I knew he would never sleep again, 


And of the b.ilustrado 


And back to my grave went silently. 


Mounts, mounts the circling .shade 


And soon my baby was brought to me ; 


Up to the ceiling high 1 


My son and daughter beside me rest. 


•r 


My little baby is on my breast ; 


'Tis the djinns' wild-streaming swarm 


Our bed is warm, and our grave is deep. 


Whistling in their tempest-flight ; 


But he cannot sleep, ho cannot .sleep. 


Snap the tall yews 'neath the storm, 


EoBEKT Buchanan. 


Like a pine-flame crackling bright ; 



690 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Swift aud lieavy, low, their crowd 
Through tlie heavens rushing loud ! — 
Like a lurid thunder-cloud 
With its bolt of flory night ! 

Ha ! they are on us, close without ! 
Shut tight the shelter where we lie ! 
With hideous din the monster rout,, 
Dragon and vampire, fill the sky ! 
The loosened rafter overhead 
Trembles aud bends like quivering reed ; 
Shakes the old door with shuddering dread. 
As from it's rusty hinge 't would fly ! 

AVild cries of hell ! voices that howl and 

shriek ! 
The horrid swarm before the tempest tossed — 
O heaven ! — descends my lowly roof to 

seek; 
Bends the strong wall beneath the furious 

host ; 
Totters the house, as though — like dry leaf 

shorn 
ri'om autumn bough and on the mad blast 

borne — 
Up from its deep foundations it were torn 
To join the stormy whirl. Ah ! all is lost I 

O prophet ! if thy hand but no\v 

Save from these foul and hellish things, 

A pilgrim at thy s^u-ine I '11 bow. 

Laden with pious offerings. 

Bid their hot breath its fiery rain 

Stream on my faithful door in vain. 

Vainly upon my blackened pane 

Grate the fierce claws of their dark wings ! 

They have passed ! — and their wild legion 
Cease to thunder at my door ; 
Fleeting through night's rayless region. 
Hither they return no more. 
Clanking chains and sounds of woo 
Fill the forests as they go ; 
And the tall oaks cower low. 
Bent their flaming flight before. 



On ! on ! the storm of wings 
Bears far the fiery fear, 
TiU scarce the breeze now brings 
Dim murmurings to the ear ; 
Like locusts' humming hail. 
Or thrash of tiny flail 
Plied by the pattering hail 
On some old roof-tree near. 

Fainter now are borne 
Fitful murinuriiigs still ; 
As, when Arab horn 
Swells its magic peal. 
Shoreward o'er the deep 
Fairy voices sweep. 
And the infant's sleep 
Golden visions fill. 

Each deadly djinn, 
Dark child of fright. 
Of death and sin. 
Speeds the wild flight. 
Hai-k, the dull moan ! 
Like the dei-p tone 
Of ocean's groan. 
Afar, by night ! 

More and more 
Fades it now, 
As on shore 
Ripples flow — 
As the plaint, 
Far and faint, 
Of a saint, 
Murmured low. 

Hark! hist! 
Around 
I list ! 

The bounds 
Of space 
All trace 
Efface 
Of sound. 

TicTOE HrGO. ^French.) 
Translation of JOHS L. O'Svllivan. 



PART IX. 

POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



The snow-drop, and then the violet, 
Arose from the ground with warm rain wet ; 
And their breath was mixed with fresh odor, sent 
From the turf, lilie the voice and the instrument. 

Then the pied wind-flowers, and the tulip tall, 
And narcissi, the fairest among them all. 
Who gaze on their eyes in the stream's recess 
Till they die of their own dear loveliness ; 

And the naiad-Iilie lily of the vale, 
Whom youth makes so fair and passion so pale, 
That the light of its tremulous bells is seen 
Through their pavilions of tender green ; 

And the hyacinth purple, and white, and blue, 
Which flung from its bells a sweet peaJ anew 
Of music so delicate, soft, and intense. 
It was felt like an odor within the sense ; 

And the rose like a nymph to the bath addrest. 
Which unveiled the depth of her glowing breast. 
Till, fold after fold, to the fainting air 
The soul of her beauty and love lay bare ; 

And the wand-like lily which lifted up. 
As a mccnad, its moonlight-colored cup, 
Till the fiery star, which is its eye, 
Gazed through clear dew on the tender sky ; 

And the jessamine faint, and the sweet tuberose, 
f he sweetest flower for scent that blows ; 
And all rare blossoms from every clime 
Grew in that garden in perfect prime. 

SSEXXKT. 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 


"ALL EARTHLY JOY RETURNS IN 
PAIN." 

Of Lentrcn in the first morning, 
Early as did tlie day up-spring, 
Thus sang ane bird with voice up-plain : 
All earthly joy returns in pain. 

man ! have mind that thou maun pass ; 
Remember that thou are but ass, [ashes,] 
And sail in ass return again : 
All earthly joy returns in pain. 

Have mind that eild aye follows youth ; 
Death follows life with gaping mouth, 
Devouring fruit and flouring grain : 
All earthly joy returns in pain. 

Wealtli, worldly gloir, and rich array, 
Are all but thorns laid in thy way, 
Covered with flowers laid in ane train : 
All earthly joy returns in pain. 

Come never yet May so fresh and green, 
But Januar come as wud and keen ; 
"Was never sic drouth but anis come rain : 
All earthly joy returns in pain. 

Evermair unto this warld's joy. 
As nearest heir succeeds noy. 
Therefore when joy may not remain, 
His very heir succedis pain. 

Hero health returns in seikness ; 
And mirth returns in heaviness ; 
Toun in desert, forest in plain : 
All earthly joy returns inpiain. 
39 


Freedom returns in wretchedness. 
And truth returns in doubleness, 
With fenyeit words to mak men fain : 
All earthly joy returns in pain. 

Virtue returnis into vice, 
And honor into avarice ; 
With covetice is conscience slain : 
All earthly joy returns in pain. 

Sen earthly joy abidis never, 
Work for the joy that lasts forever ; 
For other joy is all but vain : 
All earthly joy returns in pain. 

William Dunbab. 


THE LORDS OF THULE. 

The lords of Thule it did not please 

That Willegis their bishop was ; 

For he was a wagoner's son. 

And they drew, to do him scorn, 

Wheels of chalk upon the wall ; 

He found them in chamber, found them in 
haU. 

But the pious WiUegis 

Could not be moved to bitterness; 

Seeing the wheels upon the wall, 

He bade his servants a painter call ; 

And said, — '' My friend, paint now for me, 

On every wall, that I may see, 

A wheel of white in a field of red; 

Underneath, in letters plain to be read — 
' Willegis, bishop now by name. 
Forget not whence you came ! ' " 



594 rOEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 




The lords of Tliule were full of sLame — 


Cried aloud: "God save us ! 




They wiped away their words of blame ; 


Call ye coward him who stood 




For thoy saw tliat scorn and jeer 


Ankle-deep in Lutzen's blood. 




Cannot wonnd the wise man's car. 


With the brave Gustavus ? " 




And all the bishops that after him came 
Quartered tlie wheel with their arms of fame. 






" Nay, I do not need thy sword. 






Comrade mine," said Ury's lord ; 




Thus came to pious Willegis 
Glory out of bitterness. 


" Put it up, I pi'ay thee ; 




ANOSY.M0U8. (German.) 


Passive to His holy will. 




Anonymous Translntion. 


Trust I in my Master still, 
Even though He slay me. 

" Pledges of thy love and taitli, 








BARCLAY OF URY. 


Proved on many a field of death. 
Not by me ai"e needed." 




Ui' the streets of Aberdeen, 


Marvelled much that henchman bold. 




By the kirk and college green, 


That liis laird, so stout of old. 




Rode the laird of Ury ; 


Now so meekly pleaded. 




Close behind him, close beside, 






Foul of mouth and evil-eyed, 


" Woe 's the d.ay," he sadlj' s.iid, 




Pressed the mob in fiuy. 


"With a slowly-shaking head. 
And a look of pity ; 




Flouted him tlie drunken churl, 


" Ury's honest lord reviled, 




Jeered at him the serving girl, 


Mock of knave and sport of child. 




Prompt to please her master ; 


In his own good city ! 




And the begging earlin, late 






Fed and clothed at Ury's gate, 


" Speak the word, and, master mine. 




Cursed him as he passed her. 


As we charged on Tilly's line. 
And his Walloon lancers. 




Yet with calm and stately mien 


Smiting through tlieir midst, we'll teach 




Up the streets of Aberdeen 


Civil look and decent speech 




Came ho slowly riding ; 


To these boyish prancers ! " 




And, to all he saw and heard. 






Answering not with bitter word, 


" Marvel not mine ancient friend — 




Turning not for chiding. 


Like beginning, like the end! " 






Quoth tlie laird of Ury ; 




Came a troop with broadswords swinging, 


" Is the sinful servant more 




Bits and bridles sharply ringing. 


TIi;m his gracious Lord who bore 




Loose, and free, and froward : 


Bonds and stripes in Jewry? 




Quoth the foremost, " Ride him down ! 






Push him! prick him! Through the 


" Give me joy that in His name 




town 


I can bear, with patient frame, 




Drive the Quaker cowai-d ! " 


All these vain ones offer ; 
While for them lie suftered long. 




But from out the thickening crowd 


Shall I answer wrong with wrong, 




Cried a sudden voice and loud : 


Scoffing with the scoffer? 




"Biu-clay! IIo! a Barclay!" 






And the old mari'at his side 


" Happier I, with loss of all — 




Saw a comrade, battle-tried, 


Hunted, outlawed, held in thrall. 




Scarred and sun-burned darkly ; 


With few friends to greet me — 
Tlum when reeve and squire were seen 




■Who, witli ready weapon bare. 


Riding out from Aberdeen 




Fronting to the troopers there, 


With bared lieads to meet me ; 











HARMOSAN. 



595 



" When eacb good wife, o'er and o'er, 
Blessed me as I passed her door ; 

And the snooded daughter, 
Through her caseinoiit glancing down, 
Siniled on him who bore renown 

From red fields of slaughter. 

" Hard to feel the stranger's scoff. 
Hard the old friends' falling off. 

Hard to learn forgiving ; 
But the Lord his own rewards, 
And his love with theirs accords 

Warm, and fresh, and living. 

" Through this dark and stormy night 
Faith beholds a feeble light 

Up the blackness streaking ; 
Knowing God's own time is best, 
In a patient hope I rest 

For the full day-breaking ! " 

So the laird of Ury said, 
Turning slow his horse's head 

Towards the Tolbooth prison. 
Where, through iron gates, he heard 
Poor disciples of the AVord 

Preach of Christ arisen ! 

Not in vain, confessor old. 
Unto us the tale is told 

Of thy day of trial ! 
Every age on him, who strays 
From its broad and beaten ways. 

Pours its seven-fold vial. 

Happy he whose inward ear 
Angel comfortiags can hear. 

O'er the rabble's laughter ; 
And, while hatred's fagots burn. 
Glimpses thi'oagh the smoke discern 

Of the good hereafter. 

Knowing this — that never yet 
Share of truth was vainly set 

In the world's wide fallow ; 
After hands shall sow the seed. 
After bauds from hill and mead 

Reap tiie harvests yellow. 
Thus, with somewhat of the seer. 
Must the moral pioneer 

From the future borrow — 
Clothe the waste with dreams of grain. 
And, on midnight's sky of rain. 

Paint the golden morrow ! 

John Gheenleap "VVHiTxrER. 



HARMOSAIT. 

Now the third and fatal conflict for the Per- 
sian throne was done. 

And the Moslem's fiery valor had the crown- 
ing victory won. 

Harmosan, the last and boldest the invader 

to defy, 
Captive, overborne by numbers, they were 

bringing forth to die. 

Then exclaimed that noble captive: "Lo, I 

perish in my thirst ; 
Give me but one drink of water, and let then 

arrive the worst 1 " 

In his hand he took the goblet : but a while 
the draught forbore, 

Seeming doubtfully the purpose of the foe- 
man to explore. 

Well might then have paused the bravest — 
for, around him, angry foes 

With a hedge of naked weapons did that 
lonely man enclose. 

''But what fearest thou? " cried the caliph 
" is it, friend, a secret blow ? 

Fear it not! our gallant Moslems no such 
treacherous dealing know. 

" Thou may'st quench thy thirst securely, for 
thou shalt not die before 

Thou hast drunk that cup of water — this re- 
prieve is thine — no more ! " 

Quick the satrap dashed the goblet down to 

earth with ready hand. 
And the liquid sank for ever, lost amid the 

burning sand. 

"Thou hast said that mine my life is, till the 

water of that cup 
I have drained ; then bid thy servants that 

spilled water gather up ! " 

For a moment stood the caliph as by doubt- 
ful passions stirred — 

Then escl.aimed, '' For ever sacred must re- 
main a monarch's word. 



596 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



" Bring another cup, and straightway to the 

noble Persian give : 
Drink, I said before, and perish — now I bid 

thee drink and live ! " 

EicnARD Chenevix Trench. 



BALDER. 

Baldei!, tlio white sun-god, has deiiartod ! 

Beautiful as summer dawn was he ; 
Loved of gods and men — the royal-hearted 
Balder, ihe white sun-god, has departed — 

Has gone home where all the bravo ones be. 

For the tears of the imperial mother. 

For a universe that weeps and prays, 
Kides Ilermoder forth to seek his brother — 
Bides for love of that distressful mother, 
Through Icad-eolored glens and cross-blue 
ways. 

With the howling wind and raving torrent, 

Nine days rode he, deep and deeper down — 
Reached the vast death-kingdom, rough and 

horrent. 
Reached the lonely bridge that spans the tor- 
rent 
Of the moaning river by IlcU-town. 

There ho found the ancient portress stand- 
ing— 

Veser of the mind and of the heart : 
"Balder came this way," to his demanding 
Cried aloud that ancient portress, standing — 

" Balder came, but Balder did depart ; 

'Here he could not dwell. He is down yon- 
der — 
Northward, further, in the death-realm he." 
Rode Hermoder on in silent wonder. — 
Mane of Gold fled fast and rushed down yon- 
der! 
Brave and good must young Hermoder be. 

For he leaps sheer over Hela's portal. 

Drops into the huge abyss below. 
There he saw the beautiful immortal — 
Saw him, Balder, under Hela's portal — 
Saw him, and forgot his Dain and woe. 



" O, my Balder ! have I, have I found thee — 

Balder, beautiful as summer morn ? 
O, my sun-god ! hearts of heroes crowned 

thea 
For their king ; they lost, but now have found 
thee; 
Gods and men shall not be left forlorn. 



"Balder! brother! the Divine Las vanished — 

The eternal splendors aU have fled ; 
Truth and love and nobleness are banished 
The heroic and divine have vanished ; 
Nature has no god, and earth lies dead. 

" Come thou back, my Balder — king and 
brother ! 
Teach the hearts of men to love the gods! 
Come tlion back, and comfort our great 

mother — 
Come with truth and bravery, Balder, bro- 
ther — 
Bring the godlike back to men's abodes 1 " 



Ijjit the Nomas let him pray unheeded — 

Balder never was to come again. 
Vainly, vainly young Hermoder pleaded — 
Balder never was to come. Unheeded, 
Young Hermoder wept and prayed in vain. 

Oh, the trueness of this ancient story ! 

Even now it is, as it was then. 
Earth hath lost a portion of her glory ; 
And like Balder, in the ancient story. 

Never comes the beautiful again. 



Still the young Hermoder journeys bravely, 
Through lead-colored glens and cross-bine 
ways ; 
Still he calls his brother, pleading gravely — 
Still to the death-kingdom ventures bravely — 
Oaluily to the eternal terror prays. 

But the fates relent not ; strong endeavor, 
Courage, noble feeling, are in vain ; 

For beautiful has gone for ever. 

Vain are courage, genius, strong endeavor — 
Never comes the beautiful again. 



ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY AT BELZONI'S EXHIBITION. 



597 



Do you think I counsel weak despairing ? 

No I like young IlermoJer I would ride ; 
With an humble, yet a gallant daring, 
I would leap unquailing, undespairing. 

Over the luige precipice's side. 

Dead and gone is the old world's ideal, 
The old arts and old religion fled; 

But I gladly live amid tlio real. 

And I seek a worthier ideal. 
Courage, brothers, God is overhead ! 

ANONYMOrS. 



ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY AT BEL- 
ZONI'S EXHIBITION. 

An'd thou hast walked about, (liow strange a 
story !) 

In Thebes' streets three thousand years ago, 
When the Memnonium was in all its glory. 

And time had not begun to overthrow 
Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous. 
Of which the very ruins are trem^ 



Speak! for thou long enough hast acted 
dummy ; 
Thou hast a tongue — come — let us hear its 
tune; 

Thou 'rt standing on thy legs, above ground, 
mummy ! 
Revisiting the glimpses of the moon — 

Not like thin ghosts or disembodied crea- 
tures. 

But with thy boues, and flesh, and limbs, and 
features. 

Tell us — for doubtless tliou canst recollect — 
To whom should we assign the Sphinx's 
fame? 
Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect 

Of either pyramid that bears his name ? 
Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer ? 
Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung 
mer? 

Perhaps thou wert a Mason, and forbidden 
By oath to tell the secrets of thy trade — ■ 

Then say what secret melody was hidden 
In Mcuinon's statue, which at suni-ise 
played ? 



Perhaps thou wert a priest — ^if bo, my strug- 
gles 

Are vain, for priestcraft never owns its jug- 
gles. 

Perhaps that very hand, now pinioned flat. 
Has hob-o-nobbed with Pharaoh, glass to 
glass ; 

Or dropped a half-penny in Homer's hat ; 
Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido pass; 

Or held, by Solomon's own invitation, 

A torch at the great temple's dedication. 

I need not ask thee if that baud, when armed, 
Has any Roman soldier mauled and knuck- 
led ; 
For thou wert dead, and buried, and em- 
balmed. 
Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled : 
Antiquity appears to have begun 
Long after thy primeval race was run. 

Thou could'st develop — if tliat withered 
tongue 
Might tell us what those sightless orbs liave 
seen — 
How the world looked when it was fresli and 
young, 
A-nd the great deluge still had left it green ; 
Or was it then so old that liistory's pages 
Contained no record of its early ages ? 

Still silent! incommunicative elf! 

Art sworn to secrecy ? then keep tliy vows ; 
But prythee tell us something of tliyself— 
Reveal the secrets of tliy prison-house ; 
Since in the world of spirits thou hast slum- 
bered — 
What hast thou seen — what strange adven- 
turesjiumbered ? 

Since first thy form was ia this box extended 
Wo have, above ground, seen some strange 

mutations ; 
e Roman empu-e has begun and ended — 
New worlds have risen — we have lost old 
nations ; 
And countless kings have into dust been 

humbled. 
While not a fragment of tliy flesii has crum- 
bled. 



698 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Didst thou not bear the pother o'er thy head, 
When the great Persian conqueror, Cam- 
Lyses, 
Marched armies o'er thy tomb with thunder- 
ing tread — 
O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis ; 
And shook the pyramids with fear and won- 
der, 
When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder ? 

If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed, 

The nature of thy private life unfold : 
A heart has throbbed beneath that leathern 

breast. 
And tears adown that dusty cheek have 

rolled ; 
Have children climbed those knees, and kissed 

that face ? 
What was thy name and station, age and 

race? 

Statue of flesh — Immortal of the dead ! 
Imperishable type of evanescence ! 

Posthumous man— who qnitt'st thy narrow 
bed, 
And standest undecayed within our pres- 
ence! 

Thou wilt hear nothing till the judgment 
morning. 

When the great trump shall thriU thee with 
its warning. 

Why should this worthless tegument endm-e. 
If its undying guest be lost for ever ? 

Oh ! let ns keep the soul embalmed and pure 
In living virtue — that when both must sever, 

Although corruption may our frame consume. 

The immortal spirit in the skies may bloom ! 

HoRACB Smith. 



THE TWO OCEANS. 

Two seas, amid the night, 

In the moonshine roll and sparkle — 
Now spread in the silver light. 

Now sadden, and wail, and darkle ; 
The one has a billowy motion. 

And from land to land it gleams ; 
The other is sleep's wide ocean. 

And its glimmering waves are dreams : 



The one, with murmur and roar, 
Bears fleets around coast and islet ; 

The other, without a shore, 
Ne'er knew the track of a pilot. 

John Steblino. 



THE FISHEPv'S COTTAGE. 

We sat by the fisher's cottage. 
And looked at the stormy tide ; 

The evening mist came rising. 
And floating far and wide. 

One by one in the light-house 
The lamps shone out on high ; 

And far on the dim horizon 
A ship went sailing by. 

We spoke of storm and shipwreck — 
Of sailors, and how they live ; 

Of journeys 'twixt sky and water, 
And the sorrows and joys they give. 

We spoke of distant countries, 

In regions strange and fair ; 
And of the wondrous beings 

And curious customs there : 

Of perfumed lamps on the Ganges, 
Which are launched in the twilight hour ; 

And the dai-k and silent Brahmins, 
Who worship the lotus flower. 

Of the wretched dwarfs of Lapland^ 
Broad-headed, wide-mouthed and small— 

Who crouch round their oil-flres, cooking. 
And chatter and scream and bawl. 

And the maidens earnestly listened. 
Till at last we spoke no more ; 

The ship like a shadow had vanished, 
And darkness fell deep on the shore. 

Henry Heine (Gorman). 
Translation of Chasles G. Leland. 



ABOU BEN ADEEM. 



599 



VERSES 

eUPPOSED TO BE WEITTEN BY ALEXANDER SEL- 
KIRK, DURING ms SOLITARY ABODE IN THE 
ISLAND OF JUAN FERNANDEZ. 

I AM moniirch of all I survey — 
My right there is none to dispute ; 

From the centre all round to the sea, 
I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 

Solitude ! -where are the charms 
That sages have seen in thy face ? 

Better dwell in the midst of alarms 
Than reign in this horrible place. 

1 am out of humanity's reach ; 

I must finish my journey alone, 
Never hear the sweet music of speech — 

I start at the sound of my own. 
The beasts that roam over the plain 

My form with indifference see ; 
They are so unacquainted with man, 

Their lameness is shocking to me. 

Society, friendship, and love. 

Divinely bestowed upon man ! 
Oh, had I the wings of a dove, 

How soon would I taste you again ! 
My sorrows I then might assuage 

In the ways of religion and truth — ■ 
Might learn from the wisdom of age. 

And be cheered by the sallies of youth. 

Eeligion ! What treasure untold 

Resides in that heavenly word ! — 
More precious than silver and gold, 

Or all that this earth can afford ; 
But the sound of the church-going bell 

These valleys and rocks never heard. 
Never sighed at the sound of a knell, 

Or smiled when a sabbath appeared. 

Ye winds that liave made me your sport. 

Convey to this desolate shore 
Some cordial endearing report 

Of a land I shall visit no more ! 
My friends — do they now and then send 

A wish or a thought after me ? 
Oh tell me I yet have a friend. 

Though a friend I am never to see. 



How fleet is a glance of the mind ! 

Compared with the speed of its flight, 
The tempest itself lags behind. 

And the swift-winged arrows of light. 
When I think of my own native land, 

In a moment I seem to be there ; 
But, alas 1 recollection at hand 
■ Soon hurries me hack to despair. 

But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest. 

The beast is laid down in his lair; 
Even here is a season of rest. 

And I to my cabin repair. 
There 's mercy in every place. 

And mercy — encouraging thought ! 

Gives even afiliction a grace, 

And reconciles man to his lot. 

WlIXIAM COWPEE. 



ABOU BEN ADHEM. 

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !) 
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 
And saw within the moonlight in his room. 
Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, 
An angel writing in a book of gold : 
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold. 
And to the presence in the room he said, 
" What writest thou ? " — The vision raised its 

head. 
And, with a look made of all sweet accord, 
Answered — -"The names of those who love 

the Lord." 
"And is mine one?" said Abou; "Nay, not 

so," 
Replied the angel. — Abou spoke more low, 
But cheerly still ; and said, "1 pray thee, then, 
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." 

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next 

night 
It came again, with a great wakening light. 
And showed the names whom love of God 

had blessed — ■ 
And, lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest! 

Leigh IIunt, 



600 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



THE STEAMBOAT. 

See how yon flaming herald treads 

The ridged and rolling waves, 
As, crashing o'er their crested heads, 

She hows her surly slaves ! 
With foam hefore and fire behind, 

She rends the clinging sea, 
That flies before the roaring wind, 

Beneath her hissing lee. 

The morning spray, like sea-born flowers 

"With heaped and glistening bells. 
Falls round her fast in ringing showers, 

With every wave that swells ; 
And, flaming o'er the midnight deep, 

In lurid fringes thrown. 
The living gems of ocean sweep 

Along her flashing zone. 

With clashing wheel, and hfting keel. 

And smoking torch on high. 
When winds are loud, and billows reel. 

She thunders, foaming, by ! 
When seas are silent and serene 

With even beam she glides, 
Tlie sunshine glimmering through the green 

That skirts her gleaming sides. 

Now, like a wild nymph, far apart 

She veils her shadowy form, 
The beating of her restless heart 

Still sounding through the storm ; 
Now answers, like a courtly dame. 

The reddening surges o'er. 
With flying scarf of spangled flame, 

The pharos of the shore. 

To-night yon pilot shall not sleep, 

Who trims his narrowed sail ; 
To-night yon frigate scarce shall keep 

Her broad breast to the gale ; 
And many a foresail, scooped and strained. 

Shall break from yard and stay. 
Before this smoky wreath hath stained 

The rising mist of day. 

Hark 1 hark 1 I hear you whistling shroud, 

I see yon quivering mast — 
The black throat of the hunted cloud 

Is panting forth the blast ! 



An hour, and, whirled like winnowing chaft^ 

The giant surge shall fling 
His tresses o'er yon pennon-staff. 

White as the sea-bird's wing ! 

Yet rest, ye wanderers of tlio deep ! 

Nor wind nor wave sliall tire 
Those fleshless arms, whoso pidses leap 

AVith floods of living fire ; 
Sleep on — and when the morning light 

Streams o'er the shining bay. 
Oh, think of those for whom the night 

Shall never wake in day ! 

Oliteb "Wendell Holmes. 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 

Under a spreading chestnut tree 

The village smithy stands : 
The smith — a mighty man is he, 

With large and sinewy hands ; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 

Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long ; 

His fiice is like the tan ; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat — 

He earns whate'er he can ; 
And looks the vrhole world in the face, 

For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from morn tUl night. 
You can hear his bellows blow ; 

You can hear him swing his heavy sledge. 
With measured beat and slow — 

Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 
When the evening sun is low. 

And children, coming home from school. 

Look in at the open door ; 
Tiiey love to see the flaming forge. 

And hear the bellows roar. 
And catch the burning sparks, that fly 

Like chaff from a threshing floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church. 
And sits among his boys ; 



THE SONG OF THE FORGE. 



001 



He bears the parson pray and preach — 
He hears his daughter's voice, 

Singing in the village choir, 
And it makes his heart rejoice. 

It sounds to him like her mother's voice. 

Singing in Paradise ! 
He needs must think of her once more. 

How in the grave she lies ; 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 

A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing — 
Onward through life he goes ; 

Each morning sees some task begin, 
Each evening sees it close — • 

Something attempted, something done, 
Has earned a night's repose. 

Thanks, tlianks to thee, my worthy friend. 
For the lesson thou hast taught ! 

Thus at the flaming forge of life 
Our fortunes must be wrought — 

Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 
Each burning deed and thought ! 

Benky "Wadswoeth Longfellow. 



THE SONG OF THE FORGE. 

Clang, clang! the massive anvils ring; 

Clang, clang ! a hundred hammers swiag— 

Like the thunder-rattle of a tropic sky. 

The mighty blows still multiply — 

Clang, clang ! 

Say, brothers of the dusky brow, 

What are your strong arms forging now ? 

Clang, clang I — wo forge the coulter now — 
The coulter of the kindly plough. 
Sweet Mary mother, bless our toil ! 
May its broad furrow still unbind 
To genial rains, to sun and wind. 
The most benignant soil ! 

Clang, clang ! — our coulter's coiirse shall be 
On many a sweet and sheltered lea, 
By many a streamlet's sUver tide — 
Amidst the song of morning birds. 
Amidst the low of sauntering herds — 



Amidst soft breezes, which do .stray 
Through woodbine hedges and sweet May, 
Along the green hill's .side. 

When regal autumn's bounteous hand 
With wide-spread glory clothes the land- 
When to the valleys, from the brow 
Of each resplendent slope, is rolled 
A ruddy sea of living gold— 
We bless, we bless the plough. 

Clang, clang !— again, my mates, what glows 
Beneath the hammer's potent blows ? 
Clink, clank ! — we forge the giant chain. 
Which bears the gallant vessel's strain 
'Midst stormy winds and adverse tides ; 
Secured by this, the good ship braves 
The rocky roadstead, and the waves 
Which thunder on her sides. 

Anxious no more, the merchant. sees 
The mist drive dark before the breeze. 
The storm-cloud on the hill ; 
Calmly he rests — though far away. 
In boisterous climes, his vessel lay — 
Reliant on our skill. 

Say on what sands these links shall sleep. 
Fathoms beneath the solemn deep ? 
By Afric's pestilential shore ; 
By many an iceberg, lone and hoar ; 
By many a palmy western isle. 
Basking in spring's perpetual smile ; 
By stormy Labrador. 

Say, shall they feel the vessel reel. 

When to the battery's deadly peal 

The crashing broadside makes reply ; 

Or else, as at the glorious Nile, 

Hold grappling ships, that strive the while 

For death or victory ? 



Hurrah ! — cling, clang ! — once more, what 

glows. 
Dark brothers of the forge, beneath 
The iron tempest of your blows. 
The furnace's red breath ? 

Clang, clang ! — a burning torrent, clear 
And brilliant of bright sparks, is poured 



602 



POEMS OF SEXTIMEXT AXD REFLECTIOX. 



Around, and np in the dusky air, 
As our hammers forge the sowrd. 

The iword I — a name of dread ; ret when 
Upon the freeman's thigh 't is bound — 
"VThUe for his altar and his hearth, 
"While for the land that gave him birth, 
The ■war-drums roll, the trumpets sound — 
How sacred is it then ! 

\rhenever for the truth and right 
It flashes in the van of fight — 
"Whether in some wild mountain pass. 
As that where fell Leonidas ; 
Or on some sterile plain and stem, 
A llarston, or a Bannockbum ; 
Or amidst crags and bursting rills. 
The Switzer's Alps, grav Tyrors hiUs ; 
Or, as when sunk the Armada's pride, 
It gleams above the stormy tide — 
StiU, still, whene'er the battle word 
Is liberty, when men do stand 
For justice and their native land — 
Then heaven bless the sword ! 

AsosYuors. 



THE FOEGKG OF THE AXCHOE. 

Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged I 't is 

at a white heat now — 
The bellows ceased, the flames decreased; 

though, on the forge's brow. 
The little flames still fitfully play through the 

sable mound ; 
And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths 

ranking round ; 
All clad in leathern panoply, their broad 

hands only bare. 
Some rest upon their sledges here, some work 

the windlass there. 

The windlass strains the tackle-chains — the 
black mould heaves below ; 

And red and deep, a hundred veins burst out 
at every throe. 

It rises, roars, rends all outright — O, Yulcan, 
what a glow I 



'T is blinding white, 't is blasting bright — the 

high sun shines not so ! 
The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery 

fcart'ul show ! 
The roof-ribs s rvarth, the candent hearth, the 
ruddy lurid row 

Of smiths — that stand, an ardent band, like 
men before the foe ! 

As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the 
sailing monster slow 

Sinks on the anvil — all about, the faces fiery 
grow: 

" Hurrah I " they shout, "leap out, leap out! " 
bang, bang! the sledges go ; 

Hurrah! thejetted lightnings are hissing high 
and low ; 

A hailing fount of fire is struck at every 
squashing blow ; 

The leathern mail rebounds the hail ; the rat- 
tling cinders strew 

The ground aroimd; at every bound the 
sweltering fountains flow ; 

And, thick and loud, the swinking crowd at 
every stroke pant " ho ! " 

Leap out, leap out, my masters ! leap out, and 
lay on load ! 

Let 's forge a goodly anchor — a bower thick 
and broad ; 

For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, 
I bode ; 

And I see the good ship riding, all in a peril- 
ous road — 

The low reef roaring on her lea ; the roll of 
ocean poured 

From stem to stem, sea after sea ; the main- 
mast by the board ; 

The bulwarks down ; the rudder gone ; the 
boats stove at the chains ; 

But courage still, brave mariners — ^the bower 
yet remains ! 

And not an inch to flinch he deigns — save 
when ye pitch sky high ; 

Then moves his head, as though he said, 
"Fear nothing — here am I ! " 

Swing in yonr strokes in order ! let foot and 

hand keep time ; 
Tour blows make music sweeter far than 

any steeple's chime. 
But while ye swing your sledges, sing; and 

let the burthen be. 



THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. 



603 



The anchor is the anvil liing, and royal crafts- 
men we ! 

Strike in, strike in ! — the sparks begin to dull 
their rustling red ; 

Our hammers ring with sharper din — our 
work will soon be sped ; 

Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery 
rich array 

For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an 
oozy conch of clay .; 

Our anchor soon must change the lay of mer- 
ry craftsmen hero 

For the yeo-heave-o, and the heave-away, 
and the sighing seamen's cheer — 

"When, weighing slow, at eve they go, far, far 
from love and home ; 

And sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail o'er 
the ocean foam. 

In livid and obdurate gloom, he darkens down 
at last ; 

A shapely one he is, and strong, as e'er from 
cat was cast. 

O trusted and trustworthy guard! if thou 
hadst life like me, 

What pleasures would thy toils reward be- 
neath the deep green sea ! 

O deep sea-diver, who might then behold 
such sights as thou ? — 

The hoary monster's palaces! — Methinks 
what joy 't were now 

To go plumb-plunging down, amid the assem- 
bly of the whales. 

And feed the churned sea round me boil be- 
neath theii scourging tails ! 

Then deep in tangle-woods to fight the fierce 
sea-unicorn. 

And send him foiled and bellowing back, for 
all his ivory horn ; 

To leave the subtle sworder-fish of bony blade 
forlorn ; 

And for the ghastly-giinning shark, to laugh 
his jaws to scorn ; 

To leap down on the kraken's back, where 
'mid Norwegian isles 

He lies, a lubber anchorage for sudden shal- 
lowed miles- 
Till, snorting like an under-sea volcano, oft' 
he rolls ; 

Meanwhile to swing, a-bufieting the far 
astonished shoals 



Of his back-browsing ocean-calves ; or, hap- 
ly, in a cove 

Shell-strown, and consecrate of old to some 
Undine's love. 

To find the long-haired mermaidens ; or, bard 
by icy lands. 

To wrestle with the sea-serpent, upon ceru- 
lean sands. 

O broad-armed fisher of the deep! whose 

sports can equal thine ? 
The dolphin weighs a thousand tons, that 

tugs thy cable line ; 
And night by night 't is thy delight, thy glory 

day by day. 
Through sable sea and breaker white the giant 

game to play. 
But, shamer of our little sports 1 forgive the 

name I gave : 
A fisher's joy is to destroy — thine ofliee is to 

save. 
lodger in the sea-kings' halls ! .couldst thou 

but understand 
Whose be the white bones by thy side — or 

who that dripping band. 
Slow swaying in the heaving wave, that 

round about thee bend, 
With sounds like breakers in a dream bless- 
ing their ancient friend — 
Oh, couldst thou know what heroes glide with 

larger steps round thee. 
Thine iron side would swell with pride — 

thou 'dst leap within the sea ! 

Give honor to their memories who left the 

pleasant strand 
To shed their blood so freely for the love of 

father-land — 
Who left their chance of quiet age and grassy 

churchyard grave 
So freely, for a restless bed amid the tossing 

wave! 
Oh, though our anchor may not be all 1 have 

fondly sung. 
Honor him for their memory whose bones he 

goes among ! 

Samuel Feegitsox 



604 



POEMS OF SENTIMEXT AND REFLECTION. 



THE SOLDIER'S DREAiT. 

Ori! bugles sang tnicc; for the night-cloud 
had lowered, 
And the sentinel stars set their -watch in 
the sk\- ; 
And thousands had sunk on the ground over- 
powered — 
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to 
die. 

When reposing that night on my pallet of 
straw, 
By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the 
slaiu, 
At tho dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, 
And thrieo ero the morning I dreamt it 
ngain. 

Methought from tho battle-field's dreadful 
array 
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track : 
'Twas autumn — and sunshine arose on the 
way 
To the home of my fatlicrs, that welcomed 
nie back. 

I tlew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft 
In life's morning march, when my bosom 
was young ; 
I heard my own mountain-goats bleating 
aloft, 
And knew the sweet strain that the corn- 
reapers sung. 

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I 
swore 
From my home and my weeping friends 
never to part ; 
My little ones kissed me a thonsand times o'er, 
And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness 
of heai-t. 

Stay, stay with us ! — rest ; thou art weary and 
worn! — 
And fain was their war-broken soldier to 
stay; 
But sorrow returned with tho dawning of 
morn, 
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted 
away. 

ThOUAS CiMPBKLI. 



TIIE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. 

1. 

It was a summer evening — 
Old Kaspar's work was done. 

And he before his cottage door 
Was sitting in the sun; 

And by him sported on the green 

ITis little grandchild Wilhelmine. 



She saw her brother Peterkin 
Roll something large and round. 

Which he beside the rivulet. 
In playing there, had found ; 

Ho came to ask what he had found. 

That was so large, and smooth, and round. 



Old Kaspar took it from the boy. 

Who stood expectant by ; 
And then tho old man shook his head, 

And, with a natural sigh — 
" 'T is some poor fellow's skull," said he. 
" Who fell in the great victorv. 



'• I find them in tho gai'den, 
For there 's many here about ; 

And often when I go to plough. 
The ploughshare turns them out; 

For many thousand men," said he, 

'■ Were slain in the great victory." 



"Now tell us what 't was all about," 

Young Peterkin he cries ; 
And littlo Wilhelmine looks up 

With wonder-waiting eyes — 
"Xow tell us all about the war, 
-Vud what they fought each other for." 



"It was the English," Kaspar cried, 
" Who put tho French to rout ; 

But what they fought each other for 
I coidd not well make out ; 

But every body said," quoth he, 

" That 't was a famous victory. 



THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD. 



"My fiithoi- lived at Blcnlieim tlien, 

Yon little stream hard by ; 
They burnt his dwelling to the ground, 

And ho was forced to fly ; 
So with his wilo and child he (led, 
Nor had ho where to rest his head. 



" With fire and sword the country round 

Was wasted far and wide ; 
And many a chililing mother there, 

And new-born baby died; 
But things like that, you know, must be 
At every famous victory. 



" They say it was a shocking sight 

After the field was won — 
For many thousand bodies hero 

Lay rotting in the sun ; 
]5ut things like tliat, you know, must bo 
After a famous victory. 



"Great praise tho Duke of Marlbro' won, 
And our good Prince Eugene." 

" Why, 't was a very wicked thing! " 
Said little Wilhelmine. 

"Nay— nay— my little girl!" quoth he, 

"It was a famous victory. 



•'And everybody praised the duke, 
Who this great fight did win." 

" But what good came of it at last ? " 
Quoth little Petcrkin. 

" Why, that I cannot tell," said he ; 

" But 't was a famous victory." 

KOBEBT SoOTUEy. 



VICTOPJOUS MEN OF EARTH. 

Victorious men of earth, no more 
Proclaim how wide your empires are : 

Though you bind in every shore, 
And your triumphs reach as far 



As night or day, 
Yet you proud monarchs must obey, 
And minglu with forgotten ashes, when 
Death calls yo to the crowd of common 
men. 

Devouring famine, plague, and war, 

Each able to undo mankind. 
Death's servile emissaries are ; 
Nor to these alone confined— 
lie hath at will 
More quaint and subtle ways to kill : 
A smile or kiss, as ho will use tlie art. 
Shall have the cunning skill to break o 
heart. 

Jakes SniiiLET. 



THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD. 

Tins is the .arsenal. From floor to ceiling. 
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms; 

But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing 
Startles tlie villages with strange alarms. 

Ah ! wliat a sound will rise — how wild and 
dreary — 
When tlio death-angel touches those swift 
keys! 
Wh.at loud lament and dismal miserere 
Will mingle with their awful symphonies ! 

I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus — 
The cries of agony, tho endless groan, 

Which, through the ages that have gone be- 
fore us. 
In lung reverberations reach our own. 

On helm and harness rings the Saxon ham- 
mer; 
Through Cimbric forest roars the Norse- 
man's song ; 
And loud, amid the universal clamor, 

O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong. 

I hear tho Florentine, who from his palace 
Wheels out his battlc-bell with dreadful 
din ; 
And Aztec priests upon their teocallis 
Beat the wild war-druma made of serpents' 
skin; 



606 



POEMS OP SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



The tumult of each sacked and burning vil- 
lage; 
The shout that every prayer for mercy 
drowns ; 
The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage ; 
The wail of famine in beleaguered towns ; 

The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched 
asunder, 

The rattling musketry, the clashing blade — 
And ever and anon, in tones of thunder, 

The diapason of tlie cannonade. 

Is it, O man, with such discordant noises. 
With such accursed instruments as these, 

Thou drownest nature's sweet and kindly 
voices, 
And jarrest the celestial harmonies ? 

Were half the power that fills the world with 
terror, 
Were half the weakh bestowed on camps 
and courts. 
Given to redeem the human mind from error, 
There were no need of arsenals nor forts ; 

The warrior's name would be a name ab- 
horred ; 
And every nation that should lift again 
Its hand against a brother, on its forehead 
Would wear forevermore the curse of 
Cain! 

Down the dark future, through long genera- 
tions, 
The echoing sounds grow fainter and then 
cease ; 
And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, 
I hear once more the voice of Christ say, 
" Peace ! " 

Peace ! — and no longer from its brazen portals 
The blast of war's great organ shakes the 
skies ; 
But, beautiful as songs of the immortals, 
The holy melodies of love arise. 

ITeney Wadswokth Longfellow. 



THE BUCKET. 

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my 

childhood. 
When fond recollection presents them to 

view ! — 
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled 

wildwood, 
And every loved spot which my infancy knew ! 
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that 

stood by it ; 
The bridge, and the rock where the cata- 
ract fell ; 
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it; 
And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the 

well— 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. 
The moss-covered bucket which hung in the 

well. 

That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treas- 
ure; 

For often at noon, when returned from the field, 

I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure — 

The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. 

How ardent I seized it, with hands that were 
glowing, 

And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell ! 

Then soon, with the emblem of truth over- 
flowing. 

And dripping with coolness, it rose from 
the well — 

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 

The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well. 

How sweet from the green, mossy brim to re- 
ceive it. 

As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips! 

Not a full, blushing goblet could tempt me to 
leave it. 

The brightest that beauty or revelry sips. 

And now, far removed from the loved habi- 
tation. 

The tear of regret will intrusively swell. 

As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, 

And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the 
well— 

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 

The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the 

well! 

Samuel Woodwoeth, 



ON THE RECEIPT OP MY MOTHER'S PICTURE. 



607 



ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S 
PICTURE 

OUT OF NOEFOLK, TUB GIFT OF MT OOUSIIf, 
ANX BODHAM. 

Oh that those lips had language ! Life has 

passed 
With me but roughly since I heard thee last. 
Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smile I 

see, 
The same that oft in childhood solaced me ; 
Voice only fails — else how distinct they say 
"Grieve not, my child — chase all thy fears 

away ! " 
The meek inteUi-gence of those dear eyes 
(Blest be the art that can immortalize, 
The art that baflBes time's tyrannic claim 
To quench it!) here shines on me still the 

same. 
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear ! 

welcome guest, though unexpected here ! 
Who bidst me honor with an artless song, 
Affectionate, a mother lost so long. 

1 will obey — not willingly alone. 

But gladly, as the jirecept were her own ; 

And, while that face renews my filial grief, 

Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief — 

Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, 

A momentary dream that thou art she. 
My mother ! when I learned that thou wast 
dead. 

Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed? 

Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son — 

Wretch even then, hfe's journey just begun? 

Perhaps thou gavestme, though unfelt, a kiss; 

Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — 

Ah, that maternal smile ! it answers — Yes. 

I heard the bell toUed on thy burial day; 

I saw the hearse that bore tliee slow away; 

And, turning from my nursery window, drew 

A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! 

But was it such ? — It was. — Where thou art 
gone 

Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown ; 

May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, 

The parting word shall pass my lips no more. 

Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my con- 
cern. 

Oft gave me promise of thy quick return ; 



What ardently I wished I long believed, 
And, disappointed still, was still deceived— 
By expectation every day beguiled. 
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. 
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went. 
Till, all my stock of infant sorrows spent, 
I learned at last submission to my lot ; 
But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er for- 
got. 
Where once we dwelt our name is heard 
no more — 
Children not thine have trod my nursery 

floor; 
And where the gardener Robm, day by day, 
Drew me to school along the public way — 
Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapped 
In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet cap — 
'T is now become a history little known. 
That once we called the pastoral house our 

own. 
Short-lived possession ! hut the record fiiir, 
That memory keeps of all thy kindness there, 
Still outlives many a storm that has effaced 
A thousand other themes, less deeply traced : 
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made. 
That thou might'st know me safe and warm- 
ly laid ; 
Thy morning bounties ere I left my home — 
The biscuit, or confectionary plum ; 
The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed 
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and 

glowed : 

All this, and, more endearing still than all. 
Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall — 
Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and breaks 
That humor interposed too often makes ; 
All this, still legible in memory's page. 
And still to be so to my latest age. 
Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay 
Such honors to thee as my numbers may — 
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere — 
Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed 
here. 
Could time, his flight reversed, restore the 
hours 
When, playing with thy vesture's tissued 

flowers — 
The violet, the pink, the jessamine — 
I pricked them into paper with a pin, 
(And thou wast happier than myself the 
while — 



60S 



POEMS OP SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Wouldst softly speak, and stroke uiy head aud 

smile) — 
Could those few pleasant days again appear, 
Might one wish bring them, would I wish 

them here? 
I would not trust raj' heart — the dear delight 
Seems so to be desh-cd, perhaps I might. 
But no — what here we call om* life is such, 
So little to be loved, and thou so much. 
That I should ill requite thee to constrain 
Thy nnbound spirit into bonds again. 

Thou — as a gidlant bark, from Albion's 
coast, 
(The storms all weathered and the ocean 

crossed,) 
Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, 
'Where spices breathe and brighter seasons 

smile. 
There sits quiescent on the floods, that show 
Her beauteous form reflected clear below, 
"While airs impregnated with incense play 
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay — 
So thon, with sails how swift ! hast reached 

the shore 
"Where tempests never beat nor billows 

roar ; " 
And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide 
Of life long since has anchored by thy side. 
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, 
Always from port withheld, always dis- 
tressed — 
Mo howling blasts drive devious, tempest- 
tossed. 
Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and com- 
pass lost ; 
And day by day some current's thwarting 

force 
Sets me more distant from a prosperous 

course. 
Yet oh, the thought that thou art safe, and he! 
Tliat thought is joy, arrive what may to rae. 
My boast is not that I deduce my birth 
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the 

CM-th ; 
But higher fiir my proud pretensions rise — 
The son of parents passed into the skies. 
And now, ftireweU ! — Time, imrevoked, has 

run 
His wonted course; yet what I wished is 
done. 



By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, 
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er 

again — 
To have renewed the joys that once were 

mine, 

Witliout the sin of violating thine ; 

And, while the wings of fancy still are free. 

And I can view this mimic show of thee. 

Time has but half succeeded in his theft — 

Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me 

left. 

■William Cowpee. 



THE TRAVELIJ;R; 

OR, A PROSPECT OF SOOIETT. 

Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow. 
Or by the lazy Scheldt, or wandering Po, 
Or onwai'd, where the rude Cai'inthian boor 
Against the houseless stranger shuts the door. 
Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies, 
A weary waste expanding to the skies : 
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see. 
My heart untravelled fondly turns to thee ; 
Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain. 
And drags at each remove a lengthening 
chain. 

Eternal blessings crown my em-liest friend, 
And round his dwelling guardian saints at- 
tend! 
Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests re- 
tire 
To pause from toil, and time their evening 

fire! 
Blest that abode, where want and jiain re- 
pair, 
And every stranger finds a ready chair ! 
Blest be those feasts with simple plenty 

crowned, 
Where all the ruddy family around 
Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fiiil. 
Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale ; 
Or press the bashful stranger to his food. 
And learn the luxury of doing good ! 

But mc, not destined such delights to 
share. 
My prime of life in wandering spent, and 
care; 



THE TRAVELLER. 



oou 



Impelled, with steps uaceasing, to pursue 
Soino fleeting good that mocks me with the 

view, 
That like the circle bounding earth and skies. 
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, tiies ; 
My future leads to traverse realms alone. 
And find no spot of all the world my own. 
E'en now, whore Alpine solitudes ascend, 
I sit me down a pensive hour to spend ; 
And, placed on high above the storm's career, 
Look downward where a hundred realms 

appear : 
Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide. 
The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler 

pride. 

When thus creation's charms around com- 
bine. 

Amidst the store should thankless pride re- 
pine ? 

Say, should the philosophic mind disdain 

That good which makes each humbler bosom 
vain ? 

Let school-taught prido dissemble all it can. 

These little things are great to little man ; 

And wiser he whose sympathetic mind 

Exults in all the good of all mankind. 

Ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendor 
crowned ; 

Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion 
round ; 

Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale ; 

Ye bending swains, that dross the flowery vale ; 

For me your tributary stores combine. 

Creation's heir, the world — the world is mine ! 

As some lone miser visiting his store. 
Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er. 
Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill. 
Yet still ho sighs, for hoards are wanting still. 
Thus to my breast alternate passions rise. 
Pleased with each good that heaven to man 

supplies ; 
Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, 
To see the sum of human bliss so small : 
And oft I wish, amidst the scene to find 
Some spot to real happiness consigned, 
Where my worn soul, each wandering hoi>e 

at rest. 
May gather bliss to see my fellows blest. 
40 



But where to find that happiest spot below 
Who can direct, when all pretend to know ? 
Tlie shuddering tenant of the frigid zone 
Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own ; 
Extols the treasures of his stormy seas. 
And his long nights of revelry and ease ; 
The naked negro, planting at the line, 
Boasts of bis golden sands and palmy wi[ie. 
Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, 
And tlianks his gods for all the goods they 

gave. 
Such is the patriot's boast where'er we roam. 
His first, best country, ever is at home. 
And yet perhaps, if countries we compare. 
And estimate the blessings which they share. 
Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom 

find 
An equal portion dealt to all mankind; 
As ditferent good, by art or nature given. 
To different nations, makes their blessings 

even. 

Nature, a mother kind alike to all. 
Still grants her bliss at labor's earnest call ; 
With food as well the peasant is siipplied 
On Idra's cliffs as Arno's shelvj' side; 
And though the rocky-crested summits 

frown. 
These rocks by custom turn to beds of down. 
From art more various are the blessings 

sent, — 
Wealth, commerce, honor, liberty, content. 
Yet these each other's power so strong con- 
test. 
That either seems destructive of the rest. 
Where wealth and freedom reign, content- 
ment fails. 
And honor sinks where commerce long pre- 
vails. 
Hence every state, to our loved blessing prone, 
Conforms and models life to that alone. 
Each to the favorite l]a|>piness attends, 
And spurns the plan that aims at other ends, 
Till, carried to excess in each domain. 
This favorite good begets peculiar pain. 

But let us try these truths with closer eyes, 
Andtrace them through the prospect as it lies; 
Here, for a while, my proper cares resigned, 
Here let me sit in sorrow for mankind ; 



610 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Like yon neglected shrub at random cast, 
That shades the steep, and sighs at every 
blast. 

Far to the right, where Apennine ascends, 
Bright as the summer, Italy extends ; 
Its uplands slopiug deck the mountain's side. 
Woods over woods, in gay theatric pride, 
While oft some temple's mouldering tops 

between 
With venerable grandeur mark the scene. 

Could nature's bounty satisfy the breast, 
The sons of Italy were surely blest : 
Whatever fruits in diflerent climes are found, 
That proudly rise, or humbly court the 

ground ; 
Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear. 
Whose briglit succession decks the varied 

year; 
TMiatever sweets salute the northern sky 
With vernal lives, that blossom but to die ; 
These here disporting own the kindred soil, 
Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil ; 
While sea-born gales their gelid wings ex- 
pand, 
To winnow fragrance round the smiling land. 

But smaU the bliss that sense alone bestows. 
And sensual bliss is all this nation kuows. 
In florid beauty groves and fields appear, 
Man seems the only growth that dwindles hero. 
Contrasted faults through all his manners 

reign : 
Though poor, luxurious ; though submissive, 

vain ; 
Thongh grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet un- 
true! 
And e'en in penance planning sins anew. 
All enls here contaminate the mind, 
That opulence departed leaves behind ; 
For wealth was theirs ; not far removed the 

date 
Wlien commerce proudly flourished through 

the state. 
At her command the palace learned to rise, 
Again the long-fallen column sought the skies. 
The canvas glowed, beyond e'en nature warm, 
The pregnant quarry teamed with human 
form ; 



Till, more unsteady than the southern g;de, 
Commerce on other shores displayed her sail ; 
While naught remained, of all that riches 

gave. 
But towns unmanned, and lords without a 

slave ; 
And late the nation found, with fruitless 

skiU, 
Its former strength was but plethoric ill. 

Yet stni the loss of wealth is here supplied 
By arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride; 
From these the feeble heai-t and long-f;illen 

mind 
An easy compensation seem to find. 
Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp ar- 
rayed. 
The pasteboard triumph and the cavalcade ; 
Processions formed for piety and love, 
A mistress or a saint in every grove. 
By sports like these are all their cares be- 
guiled ; 
The sports of children satisfy the child : 
Each nobler aim, repressed by long control. 
Now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul ; 
While low delights succeeding fost behind. 
In happier meanness occupy the mind. 
As in those domes where Ca?sars once bore 

sway, 
Defaced by time, and tottering in decay. 
There in the ruin, heedless of the dead, 
The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed ; 
And, wondering man could want the larger 

pile, 
Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile. 

My soul, turn from them ! turn me to sur- 
vey 
Wliere rougher climes a nobler race display, 
Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansion 

tread, 
And force a churlish soil for scanty liread : 
No product here the barren hills afford 
But man and steel, tlie soldier and his sword ; 
No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array. 
But winter lingering chills the lap of May ; 
No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast. 
But meteors glare, and stormy glooms in- 
vest. 



THE TRAVELLER. 



on 



Yet still, even here, content can spread a 

oliarm, 
Eeilross the clime, and all its rage disarm. 
Though poor the peasant's hut, his feast 

though small, 
He sees his little lot the lot of all ; 
Sees no contiguous palace rear its head, 
To shame the meanness of his humble shed ; 
No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal 
To make him loathe his vegetable meal ; 
But cahn, and bred in ignorance and toil, 
Each ivish contracting, flts him to the soil. 
Cheerful at morn he wakes fi-om short repose. 
Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes; 
With patient angle trolls the flnny deep, 
Or drives his venturous ploughshare to the 

steep ; 
Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark 

the way. 
And drags the struggling savage into day. 
At night returning, every labor sped, 
He sits him down the monarch of a shed ; 
Smiles by a cheerful fire, and round surveys 
His cliildrcn's looks tiiat Ijrighten to the 

blaze. 
While his loved partner, boastful of her 

hoard. 
Displays her cleanly platter on the board; 
And haply too some pilgrim, thither led, 
With many a tale repays the nightly bed. 

Thus every good his native wilds impart, 
Imprints the patriot lesson on his heart ; 
And e'en those ills that round his mansion rise. 
Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. 
JJear is that slied to which his soulconforms, 
And dear that hill that lifts him to the 

storms ; 
And as a child, when scaring sounds molest. 
Clings close and closer to the mother's breast. 
So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar 
But bind him to his native mountains more. 

Such are the charms to barren states 
assigned : 
Their wants but few, their wishes all con- 
fined; 
Yet let them only share the praises due, — 
If few their wants, their pleasures are but 
few : 



For every want that stimulates the breast 
Becomes a source of pleasure when redressed. 
Hence from such lands each pleasing science 

flies, 
Tliat first excites desire and then supplies ; 
Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures 

cloy. 
To fill the languid pause with finer joy ; 
Unknown those powers that raise the soul to 

flame. 
Catch every nerve, and vibrato through the 

frame. 
Their level life is but a smouldering fire. 
Nor quenched by want, nor fanned by strong 

desire ; 
Unfit for raptures, or if raptures cheer 
On some high festival of once a year, 
In wild excess the viJgar breast takes fire. 
Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire. 

But not their joys alone thus coarsely 

flow, — 
Their morals, like their pleasures, are but lo w ; 
For, as refinement stops, from su-e to son 
Unaltered, unimproved the manners run ; 
And love's and friendship's finely pointed 

dart 
Fall blunted from each indurated heart. 
Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's 

breast 
May sit like falcons cowering on the nest; 
But all the gentler morals,— -'snch as play 
Through life's more cultured walks, and 

charm the way, — 
These, far dispersed, on timorous pinions fly. 
To sport and flutter in a kinder sky. 

To kinder skies, where gentler manners 
reign, 
I turn, and France displays her bright do- 
main. 
Gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease, 
Pleased with thyself, whom all the world can 

please, 
How often have I led thy sportive choir 
With tuneless pipe beside the murmuring 

Loire ! 
When shading elms along the margin grew. 
And freshened from tlie wave, the zephyr 
flew ; * 



612 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION-. 



And baply, tliough my harsh touch flattering 
stiU, 

But mocked all time and marred the dancer's 
skUl; 

Yet would the village praise my wondrous 
power, 

And dance, forgetful of the noontide hour. 

Alike all ages : dames of ancient days 

Have led their cliildren through the mirthl'ul 
maze; 

And the gay grandsirc, skilled in gestio lore, 

Has frisked heneath the harden of three- 
score. 



So blest a life these thoughtless realms 
display. 
Thus idly busy rolls their world away. 
Theirs are those arts that mind to mind en- 
dear. 
For honor forms the social temper here : 
Honor, that praise which real merit gains. 
Or e'en imaginary worth obtains, 
Here passes current ; paid tVom hand to hand, 
It shifts in splendid traffic round the land ; 
From courts to camps, to cottages it strays. 
And all are taught an avarice of praise : 
They please, are pleased ; they give to get 

esteem ; 
Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they 
seem. 

But while this softer art their bliss sup- 
plies. 
It gives their follies also room to rise ; 
For praise too dearly loved or warmly sought 
Enfeebles all internal strength of thought ; 
And the weak soul, within itself unblest, 
Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. 
Hence ostentation here, with tawdy art. 
Pants for the vulgar praise which fools im- 
part ; 
Here vanity assumes her pert grimace, 
And trims her robes of fi-ieze w'ith copper 

laco ; 
Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer. 
To boast one sidendid banquet once a j'car ; 
Tlie mind still turns w'here shifting fashion 

draws, 
Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause. 



To men of other minds my fancy flies, 
Embosomed in the deep where Holland lies. 
Methinks her patient sons before me stand, 
Where the broad ocean leans against the laud, 
And, sedulous to stop the coming tide. 
Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride. 
Onward, methinks, and diligently slow, 
The firm connected bulwark seems to grow, 
Spreads its long arms amidst the watery roar, 
Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore ; 
While the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile. 
Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile ; 
The slow canal, the yellow-blossomed vale. 
The wiUow-tufted bank, the gliding sail, 
The crowded ra.art, the cultivated plain, 
A new creation rescued from his reign. 

Thus while around the wave-subjected soil 
Impels the native to repeated toil. 
Industrious habits in each bosom reign, 
And industry begets a love of gain. 
Hence all the good from opulence that springs. 
With all tliose ills superfluous treasure brings. 
Are here displayed. Their much-loved wealth 

imparts 
Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts ; 
But view them closer, craft and fi-aud appear ; 
E'en Uberty itself is bartered here ; 
At gold's superior charms all freedom flies. 
The needy sell it, and the rich man buys. 
A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves, 
Here wretches seek dishonorable graves. 
And, calmly bent, to servitude conform. 
Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm. 

Heavens ! how unlike their Belgic sires of 

old! 
Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold. 
War in each breast and freedom on each 

brow' ; 
How much unlike the sons of Britain now ! 

Fired at the sound, my genius spreads her 

wing, 
And flies where Britain courts the western 

spring; 
Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian 

jiride. 
And brighter streams than famed Hydaspes 

glide. 



THE TRAVELLER. 



613 



There all around t!ie gentlest breezes stray, 
There gentler music melts on every spray ; 
Creation's mildest charms are there com- 
bined, 
Extremes are only in the master's mind. 

Stern o'er each bosom reason holdsher state, 
With daring aims irregularly great. 
Pride in tlieir port, defiance in their eye, 
I see the lords of human kind pass by : 
Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band. 
By forms unfashioned, fresh from nature's 

hand. 
Fierce in their native hardiness of soul. 
True to imagined right above control, — 
While e'en the peasant boasts these rights to 

scan. 
And learns to venerate hunself as man. 

Thine, i'reedom, thine the blessings pictured 
here. 
Thine are those charms that dazzle and en- 
dear ! 
Too blest indeed were such without alloy ; 
But, fostered e'en by freedom, ills annoy ; 
That independence Britons prize too high 
Keeps man from man, and breaks the social 

tie; 
The self-dependent lordlings stand alone, 
All claims that bind and sweeten life un- 
known : 
Here, by the bonds of nature feebly held. 
Minds combat minds, repelling and repelled ; 
Ferments arise, imprisoned factions roar. 
Repressed ambition struggles round her shore. 
Till, overwrought, the general system feels 
Its motion stop, or frenzy fire the wheels. 

Nor this the worst : as nature's ties decay, 
As duty, love, and honor fail to sway. 
Fictitious bonds, tlie bonds of wealth and law, 
Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe. 
Hence all obedience bows to these alone. 
And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown ; 
Till time may come when, stripped of all her 

charms, 
The land of scholars and the nurse of arms, 
"Where noble stems transmit tlic patriot flame, 
Where kings have toiled and poets wrote for 

fame, 



One sink of level avarice sliall lie. 

And scholars, soldiers, kings, imhonored die. 

But think not, tlms when freedom's ills I 
state, 
I mean to flatter kings or court the great ; 
Ye powers of truth, that bid my soul aspire. 
Far from my bosom drive the low desire I 
And thou, fair freedom, taught alike to feel 
The rabble's rage and tyrant's angry steel ; 
Thou transitory flower, alike undone 
By proud contempt or favor's fostering sun,— 
Still may thy blooms the ohani;eful clime en- 
dure ! 
I only would roi)ress them to secure. 
For just experience tells, in every soil. 
That those that think must govern those that 

toil; 
And all that freedom's highest aims can reach 
Is but to lay proportioned loads on each. 
Hence, should one order disproportioned 

grow, 
Its double weight must ruin all below. 

Oh then how blind to all that truth i-e- 

quires. 
Who think it freedom when a part aspires ! 
Calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms, 
Except when fast apjiroaehing danger warms ; 
But when contending cliicfs blockade the 

throne, 
Contracting regal power to stretch their own ; 
When I behold a factious band agree 
To call it freedom when themselves are free. 
Each wanton judge new penal statutes 

draw, 
Laws grind Ihe poor, and rich men rule the 

law. 
The wealth of climes where savage nations 

roam 
Pillaged from slaves to purchase slaves at 

home,— 
Fear, pity, justice, indignation, start. 
Tear oft' reserve and bare my swelling heart; 
Till, half a patriot, half a coward grown, 
I fly from petty tyi-ants to the throne. 

Yes, brother, curse with me that baleful 
hour. 
When first ambition struck at regal power ; 



614 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



And thus, polluting honor in its source, 
Gave wealth to sw;iy the mind with double 

force. 
Ilavc we not seen, round Britain's peopled 

shore. 
Her useful sons exchanged for useless ore ? 
Seen all her triumphs but destructiou haste. 
Like flaring tapers brightening as they waste? 
Seen o[)ulence, her grandeur to maintain. 
Lead stern depopulation in her train, 
And over fields where scattered hamlets 

rose 
In barren, solitary pomp repose ? 
Have we not seen, at pleasure's lordly call, 
The smiling, oft-frequeuted village fall ? 
Beheld tlie duteous son, the sire decayed. 
The modest matron, and the blushing maid. 
Forced from their homes, a melancholy 

train, 
To traverse climes beyond the western main. 
Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps 

around, 
And Niagai'a stuns with thundering sound? 



E'en now, perhaps, as tliere some pilgrim 
strays 
Through tangled forests and through danger- 
ous ways. 
Where beasts with man divided empire claim, 
And the brown Indian marks with murder- 
ous aim ; 
Tlicre, vvliilo above the giddy tempest flies. 
And all around distressful yells arise. 
The pensive exile, bending with his woe, 
To stop too fearful, and too faint to go. 
Casts a long look where England's glories 

shine. 
And bids his bosom sympathize with mine. 

Vain, very vain, my weary search to find 
That bliss which only centres in the mind ; 
Why have I straj'ed from pleasure and re- 
pose, 
To seek a good each government bestows? 
In every government, though terrors reign, 
'J'liough tyrant kings or tyrant laws restrain, 
IIovv small, of all that human hearts endure, 
That part which laws or kings can cause or 
cure ? 



Still to ourselves' in every place consigned, 

Our own felicity wo make or find ; 

With secret coui'se which no loud storms 

annoy 
Glides the smooth current of domestic joy. 
The lifted axe, the agonizing wheel, 
Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel. 
To men remote from power but rai'ely known, 
Leave reason, faith, and conscience all our 

own. 

Oliver Goldsmitd. 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 

Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain. 
Where health and plenty cheered the laboring 

swain, 
Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, 
And parting summer's lingering blooms de- 
layed ! 
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and case — 
Seats of my youth, when every sport could 

please ! 
How often have I loitered o'er thy green, 
Where humble happiness endeared each 

scene ! 
How often have I paused on every charm — 
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, 
The never-failing brook, the busy mill. 
The decent church that topt the ncigliboring 

hill. 
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the 

shade — 
For talking age and whispering lovers made ! 
IIow often have I blest the coming day, 
When toil, remitting, lent its turn to play. 
And all the village train, fi-ora labor free. 
Led up their sports beneath the spreading 

tree ; 
While many a pastime circled in the shade, 
The young contending as the old surveyed ; 
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground. 
And sleights of art and feats of strength went 

round ; 
iind still as each repeated jdeasures tired. 
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired : 
The dancing pair, that simply sought renown 
By holding out, to tire each other down ; 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 



615 



riie swain mistrustless of his smutted face, 

While secret laugliter tittered round the 
place ; 

The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, 

The matron's glance that would those looks 
reprove : 

These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports 
like these, 

With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to 
please ; 

These round thy bowers their cheerful influ- 
ence shed ; 

These were thy charms — but all these charms 
are fled. 



Sweet-smiling village, loveliest of the lawn ! 
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms with- 
drawn ; 
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen. 
And desolation suddens all thy green ; 
One only master grasps the whole domain. 
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain ; 
No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, 
But, choked with sedges, works its weedy 

way ; 
Along thy glades, a solitary guest, 
Tlio hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest ; 
Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, 
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries ; 
Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all. 
And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering 

wall ; 
And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's 

hand. 
Far, fav away thy children leave tlio land. 

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey. 
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay ; 
Princes and lords may flourish, or may Aide — 
A breath can make them, as a breath has 

made ; 
lint a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 
Wlien once destroyed, can never be sup- 
plied. 

A time there was, ere England's griefs be- 
gan, 
When every rood of ground maintained its 
man: 



For .him light labor spread her wholesome 

store — 
Just gave what life required, but gave no 

more ; 
His best companions, innocence and hcaltli ; 
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. 

But times are altered: trade's unfeeling 
train 
Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain ; 
Along the lawn, where scattered liamlets 

rose, 
Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp re- 
pose; 
And every want to luxury allied, 
And every pang that folly pays to pride. 
Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, 
Those calm desires that asked but little room. 
Those healthful sports that graced the peace- 
ful scene, 
Lived in eacli look, and brightened all the 

green — 
These, far departing, seek a kinder shore. 
And rural mirth and manners are no more. 

Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour. 
Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's pow- 
er. 
Here, as I take my solitary rounds 
Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds, 
And, many a year elapsed, return to view 
Wiiero once the cottage stood, the hawthorn 

grew. 
Remembrance wakes with all her busy ti'aiii. 
Swells at my breast, and turns the jiast to 
pain. 

In all my wanderings round this world of 

care. 
In all my griefs — and God has given njy 

share — 
I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, 
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down ; 
To husband out life's taper at the close. 
And keep the flame from wasting by rei)oso; 
I still had hopes — for pride attends us still — 
Amidst the swains to show my book-learned 

skill, 
Around my fire an evening group to draw, 
And tell of all I felt, and aU I saw: 



616 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



And, as a hare, whom hounds and horn^pur- 

sue. 
Pants to the place from whence at first she 

flew, 
I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 
Here to return— and die at home at last. 

O blest retirement I friend to life's decline ! 
Retreats from care, that never must bo mine I 
How blest is he who crowns, in shades like 

these, 
A youth of labor with an age of ease ; 
Who quits a world where strong temptations 

try, 

And, since 't is hard to combat, learns to fly ! 
For him no wretches, born to work and 

weep, 
Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous 

deep; 
No surly porter stands in guilty state, 
To spurn imploring famine from the gate ; 
But on ho moves to meet his latter end. 
Angels around befriending virtue's friend ; 
. Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay 
While resignation gently slopes the way ; 
And, all his prospects brightening to the last. 
His heaven commences ere the world be past. 

Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's 
close 
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ; 
There, as I passed with careless steps and slow, 
The mingling notes came softened from be- 
low: 
The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung. 
The sober herd that lowed to meet their 

young. 
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, 
The playful children just let loose from school, 
The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whis- 
pering wind. 
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant 

mind. 
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, 
And filled each pause the nightingale had 

made. 
But now the sounds of popiJation fail ; 
No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale ; 
No busy steps the grass-grown footway 

tread — 
But all the bloomy blush of life is fled. 



All but one widowed, solitary thing. 

That feebly bends beside the plashy spring ; 

She, wretched matron, forced in ago, for 

bread, 
To strip the brook with mantling cresses 

S])read, 
To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn. 
To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn 
She only loft of all the harmless train, 
The sad historian of the pensive plain. 

Near yonder copse, where once the garden 
smiled. 
And still where many a garden-flower grows 

wild, 
There, where a few torn shrubs the place 

disclose, 
The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 
A man he was to all the country dear. 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; 
Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, 

his place ; 
Unskilfi'l he to fawn, or seek for power 
By doctrines fiishioned to the varying hour ; 
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize- 
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. 
His house was known to all the vagrant train ; 
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their 

pain. 
The long-remembered beggar was his guest, 
Whose beard, descending, swept his aged 

breast ; 
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud. 
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims al- 
lowed ; 
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 
Sato by his fire, and talked the night away — 
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow 

done, 
Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields 

were won. 
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned 

to glow, 
And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; 
Careless their merits or their faults to scan. 
His pity gave ere charity began. 

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride. 
And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ; 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 



But in bis duty prompt at every call, 

He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for 

all; 
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries 
To tempt its new-fledged oftspring to the skies, 
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 

Beside the bed where parting life was laid, 
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dis- 
mayed. 
The reverend champion stood. At his con- 
trol 
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; 
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to 

raise. 
And his last faltering accents whispered praise. 

At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 
His looks adorned the venerable place ; 
Truth from his lips prevailed with double 

sway, 
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to 

pray. 
The service past, around the pious man. 
With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 
E'en children followed, with endearing wile, 
And jilucked his gown, to share the good 

man's smUe. 
His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest ; 
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares 

distressed; 
To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were 

given — 
But all his serious thoughts bad rest in hea- 
ven. 
As some tall cliff that lifts its awfiil form, 
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the 

storm, 
Though round its breast the rolling clouds 

are spread. 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 



C17 



"Well had the boding tremblers learned to 

trace 
The day's disasters in his morning face ; 
Full weU they laughed, with counterfeited 

glee. 
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; 
Full well the busy whisper, circling round, 
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned ; 
Yet be was kind— or, if severe in aught. 
The love he bore to learning was in fault. 
The village all declared how nmch he knew ; 
'Twas certain ho could write, and ciijJier 

too; 
Lands he could measure, terms and tides pre- 
sage. 
And e'en the story ran that he could gauge. 
In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill, 
For, e'en though vanquished, he could argue 

still; 
While words of learned length and thundei-- 

ing sound 
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around ; 
And still they gazed, and still the wonder 

grew. 
That one small head could carry all he knew. 
But past is all his fame ; the very spot, 
Where many a time he triumphed, is forgot. 



Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the 
way. 
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay. 
There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule. 
The village master taught his little school. 
A man severe he was, and stern to view — 
I knew him well, and every truant knew; 



Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on 
high. 
Where once the sign-post caught the passing 

eye, 
Low Ues that house where nut-brown draughts 

inspired. 
Where gray-beard mirth and smiling toil re- 
tired. 
Where village statesmen talked with looks 

profound, 
And news much older than their ale went 

round. 
Imagination fondly stoops to trace 
The parlor splendors of that festive place : 
The whitewashed wall, the nicely sanded 

floor. 
The varnished clock that clicked behind the 

door, 
The chest contrived a double debt to pay — 
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day. 
The pictures placed for ornament and use. 
The twelve good rules, the royal game of 
goose ; 



C18 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



The lieartli, except wlion winter cbilled the 

Jay, 
With aspen boughs, fuid flowei-s ami feiiuel 

While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for sliow, 
Rrtuseil o'er the ohimney, glistened iu a row. 

Vain, transitory splendor! could not all 
Koprieve the tottering mansion from its t':illf 
Obscnre it sinks, nor shall it more impart 
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart ; 
Thither no more the peasant sbjill repair 
To sweot oblivion of his daily care ; 
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, 
Ko more the woodman's ballad shall prevail ; 
No more the smith his dusky brow shall 

clear, 
Rehix his ponderous strength, and lean to 

hear ; 
The host himself no longer shall be found 
Careful to see the mantling bliss go round ; 
Nor the coy maid, half willing to bo prest. 
Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. 

Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 
These simple blessings of tlie lowly train; 
To me more dear, congeitiiU to my he;u-t. 
One native charm than all the gloss of art 
Spontaneous joys, where nature has its i>lay, 
The soul adopts, and owns their tirst-born 

sway; 
Lightly they fivlio o'er the vacant mind, 
I'uenvied, unmolested, nnconfined; 
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, 
^Yith all the freaks of wanton wealth ar- 
rayed — 
Iu these, ere tritlers half their wisli obtain, 
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain ; 
And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy. 
The heart, distrusting, asks if this be joy. 

Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who sur- 
vey 

The rich man's joys increase, the poor's de- 
cay! 

'T is yours to judge how wide the limits stand 

Hotween a splendid and a happy land. 

Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted 
ore, 

And shouting folly hails tliem from her 
shore ; 



Hoards, e'en beyond the miser's wish, abound, 
And rich men llock from all the world ari>und. 
Yet count our gains: this wealth is but a 

name, 
That leaves our usefid products still the same. 
Not so the loss: the man of wealth aiul 

pride 
Takes up a space that many poor sni>plied — 
Space for his lake, his park's e.\tendeii 

boimds — 
Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds ; 
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth 
lias ivbbed the neighboring fields of half 

their growth ; 
His seat, where solitary sports are seen, 
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green; 
Around the world each needful product flies. 
For all the luxuries the world supplies ; 
While thus the laud, adorned for pleasure all, 
In barren splendor, feebly waits the fall. 

As some fiiir female, unadorned and plain, 
Secure to please while yontb confirms her 

reign. 
Slights every borrowed clianu that dress sup- 
plies. 
Nor sluires with art the triumph of her eyes ; 
But when tliose charms are past — for charms 

are frail — 
When time advances, atul when lovers fail. 
She then shines forth, solicitous to bless. 
In till the glaring impotence of dress : 
Thus fiU-es the land, by luxury betrayed. 
In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed ; 
But-, verging to decline, its splendors risa. 
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ; 
While, scourged by ftuuiue from the smilmg 

land, ^ 
The mournful peasiint leads his hnmblo baud; 
And while he sinks, witLout one arm to save. 
The country blooms — a garden and a grave. 

Where then, ah! where, shjdl poverty re- 
side. 
To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride ? 
If, to some common's fenceless limits strayed, 
He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, 
Those fenceless fields the sons of wcjdth di- 
vide. 
And even the bjire-worn common is denied. 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 



619 



If to the city sped, what waits him there ? 
To see prorusiou that ho must not sliui'o ; 
To st'O ten Miousaiid l)aiic'l'iil arts eoinbii:od 
To pamper luxiuy, and thin nuinkiud ; 
To see eacli joy the sons of pleasure laiow 
Extorted from his follow-croatures' woo. 
Here while the courtier glitters in brocade, 
There the pale artist jdies the sickly trade; 
Hero while the proud tlieir long-drawn pomps 

display, 
There the black gibbet glooms beside the 

way. 
Tlie dome where pleasure holds her midnight 

reign, 
Here, richly decked, ndniits the gorgeous 

train ; 
Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing 

square — ■ 
The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. 
Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy I 
Sure these denote one universal joy ! 
Arc these thy serionij thoughts? All! turn 

thine eyes 
Where the poor, houseless, shivering female 

lies: 
Slie once, perhaps, in village plenty blest, 
Has wept at tales of innocence distrest; 
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, 
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the 

thorn ; 
Now lost to all — her friends, her virtue lied — 
Near her betrayer's door she lays her head ; 
And, ]iinolied with cold, and shrinking from 

the shower, 
With heavy heart dejjlores that luckless hour 
■^Vhen, idly first, ambitious of the town. 
She left her wheel, and robes of country 

brown. 

Do thine, sweet Auburn — tliine the love- 
liest train — 
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain? 
E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led. 
At proud men's doors they ask a little bread. 

All, no ! To distant climes, a dreary scene, 
Where half the convex world intrudes be- 
tween, 
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they 

Whore wild Altama murmurs to their woe. 



Far difleront there, from all that charmed be- 
fore, 

Tlio various terrors of that horrid .shore: 

Those blazing suns tliat dart a downward ray, 

And fiercely shed intolerable day ; 

Those matted woods where birds forget to 
sing, 

Rut silent bats in drowsy clusters cling; 

Those pois'noua fields, with rank hixuriauce 
crowned. 

Where the dark scorpion gathers death 
around ; 

Where at each step the stranger fears to wake 

The rattling terrors of the vengeful snuke ; 

Where crouching tigers wait their hapless 

pray, 

And savage men more murderous still than 

they ; 
While oft in whirls the mad tornado (lies, 
Mingling the ravaged landscape with the 

skies. 
Far difleront these from every former scene — 
The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, 
The breezy covert of the warbling grove, 
That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. 

Good lieaven! wliat sorrows gloomed lliat 

parting day 
That called them from their native walks 

away; 
When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, 
Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked 

their last, 
And took a long farewell, and wished in vain, 
For seats like these beyond the western main ; 
And, shuddering still to face the distant deoj), 
Returned and wept, and still returned to 

weep! 
The good old sire the first prejiared to go 
To new-found worlds, and wept for others' 

woe ; 
But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, 
lie only wislied for worlds beyond the grave. 
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, 
The fond companion of his helpless years. 
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms. 
And left a lover's for lier father's arms. 
With louder plaints the mother sjjoke lier 

woes. 
And blessed the cot where every pleasure 

rose; 



r 



620 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



And kissed her thoughtless babes with many 

a tear, 
And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly 

dear ; 
Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief 
In all the silent manliness of grief. 

O luxury ! thou curst by heaven's decree, 
How ill exchanged are things lil;e these for 

thee! 
How do thy potions, with insidious joy, 
Difluse their pleasures only to destroy ! 
Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown, 
Boast of a florid vigor not their own. 
At every draught more large and large they 

grow, 
A bloated mass of rank imwieldy woe ; 
Till sapped their strength, and every part un- 
sound, 
Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin 
round. 

Even now the devastation is begun. 
And half the business of destruction done ; 
Even now, methinks, as pondering hero I 

stand, 
I see the rural virtues leave the land. 
Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads 

the sail 
That, idly waiting, flaps with every gale — 
Downward they move, a melancholy band, 
Pass from the shore, and darken all the 

strand. 
Contented toil, and hospitable care, 
And kind connubial tenderness are there ; 
And piety with wislies placed above. 
And steady loyalty, and faithful love. 
And thou, sweet poetry, thou loveliest maid, 
Still first to fly where sensual joys invade — 
Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame. 
To catch the heart, or strike for honest ftime! 
Dear, charming nymph, neglected and decried, 
My shame in crowds, my solitary i)ride ! 
Tliou source of all my bliss and all my woe — 
That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st 

me so ! 
Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel ! 
Thou nurse of every virtue — faro thee well ! 
Farewell ! — and oh ! whci'e'er thy voice be 

tried. 
On Toruo's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side— 



Whether where eqninoctial fervors glow, 
Or winter wraps tlie polar world in snow — 
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, 
Eedress the rigors of th' inclement clime ; 
Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain; 
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain ; 
Teach him th.at states, of native strength pos- 

sest. 
Though very poor, may still bo very blest ; 
That trade's proud empire hastes to swift de- 
cay. 
As ocean sweeps the labored mole away ; 
While self-dependent power can time defy, 
As rocks resist the billows and the sky. 

Oliver Goldsmith. 



THE BELLS OF SHANDON. 

Sabhata pango ; 

Funera plango ; 
Solemnia clanQO. 

iNSCniPTlON ON AN OLD BELU 

With deep aftection 
And recollection 
I often think of 

Those Shandon bells. 
Whose sounds so wild would, 
In the days of childhood, 
Fling round my cradle 

Their magic spells. 

On this I ponder 
Where'er I wander, 
And thus grow fonder, 

Sweet Cork, of thee — 
With thy bells of Shandon, 
That sound so grand on 
The pleasant waters 

Of the river Lee. 

I 've heard bells chiming 
Full many a clime in. 
Tolling sublime in 

Cathedral shrine. 
While at a glibe rate 
Brass tongues would vibrate; 
But all their music 

Spoke naught like thine. 



THE BELLS. 



For memory, dwelling 
On each i)roucl swelling 
Of thy belfi-y, knelling 

Its bold notes free, 
Made the bells of Shandon 
Sound far more grand on 
The pleasant waters 

Of the river Lee. 

I 've heard bells tolling 
Old Adrian's Mole in. 
Their thimder rolling 

From the Vatican — 
And cymbals glorious 
Swinging uproarious 
In the gorgeous turrets 

Of Notre Dame ; 

But thy sounds were sweeter 
Than the dome of Peter 
Flings o'er the Tiber, 

Pealing solemnly. 
Oh ! the bells of Shandon 
Sound fiir more grand on 
The pleasant waters 

Of the river Lee. 

There's a bell in Moscow; 
While on tower and kiosk oh 
In Saint Sophia 

The Turkman gets. 
And loud in air 
Calls men to prayer. 
From the tapering summit 

Of tall minarets. 

Such empty phantom 
I freely grant them ; 
But there 's an anthem 

More dear to me — 
'T is the bells of Shandon, 
That sound so grand on 
The pleasant waters 

Of the river Lee. 

Father Prout. (Fnmeis Muhoiiy.) 



G2I 



THE BELLS. 
I. 
Hear the sledges with the bells — 

Silver bells— • [tells! 

What a world of merriment their melody fore- 
Uow they tiuklo, tinkle, tinkle. 

In the icy air of night ! 
While the stars that overspriukle 
All the heavens, seem to twinkle 

With a crystalline delight- 
Keeping time, time, time. 
In a sort of Pamio rhyme. 
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells 
From the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells— 
From the jingling and the tinkling of the 
bells. 

u. 
Hear the mellow wedding bells — 
Golden bells ! 
What a world of happiness their harmony 
foretells ! 
Through the balmy air of night 
How they ring out their deliglitl 
From the molten-golden notes, 

And all in tune, 
What a liquid ditty floats 
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she 
gloats 
On the moon ! 
Oh, from out the sounding cells, 
What a gash of euphony voluminously wells ! 
How it swells ! 
How it dwells 
On the Future ! how it tells 
Of the rapture that impels 
To the swinging and the ringing 

Of the bells, bells, bells. 
Of the bells, beUs, bells, bells. 
Bells, bells, bells— 
To the rhyming and the chiming of tlio 
bells. 

ni. 
Hear the loud alarum bells — 
Brazen bolls ! 
What a tale of terror, now, their turbuleacy 
tells ! 
In the startled ear of night 
How they scream out their affright ! 



622 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Too mucli horrified to speak, 
They can only shriek, shriek. 
Out of tune, 
In the clamorous appealing to the mercy of 

the fire. 
In a mad expostulation •(vitli the deaf and 
frantic fire 
Leaping higher, higher, higher, 
With a desperate desire, 
And a resolute endeavor, 
Now — now to sit or never, 
By the side of the pale-faced moon. 
Oh, the bells, bolls, bells, 
What a tale their terror tells 
Of despair! 
IIow they clang, and clash, and rear! 
What a horror they outpour 
On the bosom of the palpitating air! 
Yet the car it fully knows. 
By the twanging. 
And tlio clanging, 
IIow the danger ebbs and flows ; 
Yet the ear distinctly tells. 
In the jangling. 
And the wrangling, 
How the danger sinks and swells, 
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger 
of the bells — 

Of the bells— 
Of the bells, bells, hells, bells. 
Bells, hells, bells— 
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells! 



Hear the tolling of the bells — 
Iron bells ! 
What a world of solemn thought their mon- 
ody compels ! 
In the silence of tlio night, 
IIow wo shiver with aftright 
At the mclanchol}' menace of their tone ! 
For every sound that floats 
From the rust within their throats 

Is a groan. 
And the people — ah, the people — 
They that dwell up in the steeple, 

All alone. 
And who tolling, tolling, tolling, 

In that mutfied monotone, 
Feel a glory in so rolling 

On the himian heart a stone — 



They are neither man nor woman — 
They arc neither brute nor human — 

Tliey are ghouls: 
And their king it is who tolls; 
And he rolls, rolls, rolls. 
Bolls, 
A pasan from the bells ! 
And his merry bosom swells 

With the pajan of the bells ! 
And he dances and he yells ; 
Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of liunic rhyme. 
To the pa;an of the bolls — 
Of the beUs : 
Keeping time, time, time. 
In a sort of Runic rhyme, 

To the throbbing of the bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bolls— 

To the sobbing of the bells; 
Keeping time, time, time. 

As ho knells, knolls, knells. 
In a happy Runic rhyme. 

To the rolling of the bolls — 
Of the bells, bolls, boUs— 
To the tolling of the bells, 
Of the bolls, bolls, bolls, bolls- 
Bolls, bolls, bells— 
To the moaning and the groaning of the bolls 
Edqab Allak Fob. 



THOSE EVENING BELLS. 

Those evening b'eUs! those evening bolls ! 
How many a tale their music tells. 
Of youth, and home, and that sweet time 
When last I heard their soothing chime ! 

Those joyous hours are passed away ; 
And many a heart that then was gay. 
Within the tomb now darkly dwells. 
And hears no more those evening bells. 

And so 't will be when I am gone— 
That tuneful peal will still ring on; 
While other bards shall walk these dells. 
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells. 

Thomas Mooke. 



ALEXANDER'S FEAST. 



(I'lX 



ALEXANDER'S FEAST; 

OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC. — AN ODE IK HONOK 

OF ST. Cecilia's day. 

'T WAS at tho royal feast for Persia won 
By Philip's warlike sou : 
Aloft, in awful state, 
Tho godlike hero sate 

On his imperial tlirone ; 
His valiant peers were placed around, 
Their brows with roses and with myrtles 

bound ; 
(So should desert in arms be crowned) ; 
The lovely Thais by bis side 
Sate, like a blooming eastern bride, 
In ilower of youth and beauty's pride. 
Happy, happy, happy pair 1 
None but tho brave. 
None but the brave, 
None but the brave deserves the fair. 



Happy, hapjpy, happy pair ! 

None Imt the hrave, 

None lut the Irave, 
None hut the hrave deserves the fair. 

Timotheu3,placed on high 
Amid the tuneful quire, 
With flying fingers touched the lyre ; 
Tho trembling notes ascend the sky. 

And heavenly joys inspire. 
The song began from Jove, 
Who left his blissful seats above, 
(Such is tho power of mighty Love). 
A dragon's liery form belied the god ; 
Sublime on radiant spires he rodo, 
When he to fair Olympia pressed. 
And while ho sought her snowy breast; 
Then, round her slender waist he curled, 
And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign 

of tho world. 
The listening crowd admire tho lofty sound — 
A present deity ! they shout around ; 
A present deity I tho vaulted roofs rebound. 
With ravished ears 
The monarch hears, 
Assumes tho god, 
Atfects to nod, 
And seems to shake the spheres. 



CHORUS. 

With ravished ears 
The monarch hears, 

Assumes the god, 

Affects to nod, 
And seems to sliahe the spheres. 

The praise of Bacchus, tlien, tho sweet musi- 
cian sung — 
Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young; 
The jolly god in triumph comes : 
Sound the trumpets ; be:it tho drums ! 
Phished with a [lurplo grace, 
lie shows his honest face ; 
Now give tlio hautboys breatli — ho comes, 
ho comes! 
Bacclius, ever fair and young. 

Drinking joys did first ordain ; 
Bacchus' blessings are a trcasui'O ; 
Drinking is tho soldiers' pleasure: 
Kich tho treasure. 
Sweet the i>leasure; 
Sweet is pleasure after pain. 

cnoRus. 
Bacchus' hlessings are a treasure ; 
Drinking is the sold icr^s pleasure : 

Rich the treasure, 

Sweet the pleasure ; 
Sweet is pleasure after pain. 

Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain; 

Fought all his battles o'er again ; 
And thrico he routed all his foes, and tbrico 
ho slow the slain. 
The master saw the madness rise — 
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; 
And, while be heaven and earth defied. 
Changed his hand, and checked his jirido. 

lie chose a mournful muse, 

Soft pity to infuse, 
lie sung Darius great and good. 

By too severe a fate 
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen — 
Fallen from his high estate, 

And weltering in his blood; 
Deserted, at his utmost need, 
By those his former bounty fed ; 
On tho bare earth exposed he lies, 
With not a friend to close his eyes. 
With downcast looks the joyless victor sate 



624 POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 


Revolving in his altered soul 


Hark, hark I the horrid sound 


The various turns of chance below ; 


Has raised up his head ! 


, And, now and then, a sigh he stole ; 


As awaked from the dead, 


And tears began to flow. 


And amazed, he stares around. 




Revenge! revenge! Timotheus cries; 


CHORUS. 


See the Furies arise ! 


RewUing in Ids altered soul 


See the snakes that they rear, 


The variom turns qfcJiance hclow ; 


How they hiss in their hair, 


And, no%o and then, a sigh he stole; 


And the sparkles that flash from their 


And tears began to flow. 


eyes! 




Behold a ghastly band. 


The mighty master smiled, to see 


Each a torch in his hand ! 


That love was in the next degree ; 


Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were 


'T was but a kindred sound to move, 


slain. 


For pity melts the mind to love. 


And unburied remain. 


Softly sweet, in Lydi.m measures, 


Inglorious, on the plain ! 


Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. 


Give the vengeance due 


"War, he sung, is toil and trouble ; 


To the valiant crew. 


Honor but an empty bubble — 


Behold how they toss their torches on 


Never ending, still beginning — 


high, 


Fighting still, and still destroying ; 


How they point to the Persian abodes. 


If the world be worth thy winning. 


And glittering temples of their hostile gods ! 


Think, oh think it worth enjoying ! 


The princes applaud with a furious joy. 


Lovely Thais sits beside thee — 


And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to 


Take the goods the gods pro^nde thee. 


destroy ; 


The many rend the sky with loud applause ; 


Thais led the way 


So love was crowned, but music won the 


To light him to his prey, 


cause. 


And, like anotner Helen, fired another Troy. 


Tlie prince, unable to conceal his pain. 




Gazed on the fair 


CHORUS. 


"Who caused his care. 


And the king seised a flambeau with zeal to 


And sighed and looked, sighed and looked, 


destroy ; 


Sighed and looked, and sighed again. 


Thais led the way 


At length, with love and wine at once op- 


To light him to his prey, 


pressed. 


And, lil-e another Helen, fired another Troy. 


The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast. 






Thus, long ago — 


CHORUS. 


^ ^^ J ^ O o 




Ere heaving bellows learned to blow. 


Theinbice unable to conceal his pain, 


"While organs yet were mute — 


Gazed on the fair 


Timotheus, to his breathing flute. 


Who caused his care, 


And sounding lyre, 


And sighed and looTced, sighed and loohed. 


Gould swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft 


Sighed and looTced, and sighed again. 


desire. 


At length, with love and wine at once ojii)ressed, 


At last divine Cecilia came, 


The vanquished victor sunh upon her breast. 


Inventress of the vocal frame ; 




The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, 


Now strike the golden lyre again — 


Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 


A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ! 


And added length to solemn sounds. 


Break his bands of sleep asunder. 


"With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown 


And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. 


before. 



THE PASSIONS. 



625 



Let old Timotbeus yield the prize, 

Or both divide the crown ; 
He raised a mortal to the skies — 

She drew an angel down. 

GRAND CHOEtjS. 

At last divine Cecilia came, 
Imcntrcss oftlie vocal frame ; 
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store. 
Enlarged the former narrow hounds, 
And added length to solemn sounds. 
With nature's mother-wit, and arts unTcnown 
lefore. 
Let old Timotheus yield the -prise. 

Or l/oth divide the croion ; 
He raised a mortal to the skies — 
She dreto an angel down. 

John Dkydkk. 



INPLUENOE OF MUSIC. 

Orpheus, with his lute, made trees, 
And the mountain-tops that freeze. 

Bow themselves wbcn he did sing ; 
To bis music plants and flowers 
Ever sprung — as sun and showers 

There had made a lasting Spring. 

Every thing that heard him play, 
Even the billows of the sea, 

Ilung their beads, and then lay by. 
In sweet music is such art. 
Killing care, and grief of heart — 

Fall asleep, or, hearing, die ! 

Shaeesfeakb. 



MUSIC. 

On, lull me, lull me, charming air ! 

My senses rock with wonder sweet ! 
Like snow on wool thy fallings are ; 
Soft, like a spirit's, are thy feet. 
Grief who need fear 
That hath an ear ? 
Down let him lie, 
And slumbering die. 
And change bis soul for harmony. 

William Stkode. 

41 



THE PASSIONS. 

AN ODE FOE MUSIC. 

When Music, heavenly maid, was young, 
"While yet in early Greece she sung, 
Tlie Passions oft, to bear her shell. 
Thronged around her magic cell- 
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting— 
Possest beyond the muse's painting; 
By turns they felt the g.owing mind 
Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined ; 
Till once, 't is said, when all were fired. 
Filled with fury, rapt, inspired. 
From the supporting myrtles round 
They snatched her instruments of sound; 
And, 'as they oft bad beard apart 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 
Each (for madness ruled the hour) 
Would prove his own expressive power. 

First Fear bis band, its skill to try. 
Amid the chords bewildered laid. 

And back recoiled, be knew not why, 
E'en at the sound himself had made. 

Next Anger msbed ; his eyes, on fire. 
In lightnings owned his secret stings : 

In one rude clash he struck the lyre, 
And^wept with hurried hand the strings. 

With woful measures wan Despair, 
Low, sullen sounds, bis grief beguiled — 

A solemn, strange, and mingled air; 
'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. 

But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair — 

What was thy delightful measure ? 
Still it whispered promised pleasure. 
And bade the lovely scenes at distance 
hail! 
Still would her touch the strain prolong ; 

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 
She called on Echo still, through all the 
song; 
And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 
A soft responsive voice was lieard at 
every close ; 
And Hope enchanted, smiled, and waved 
her golden hair. 



626 



POEMS OP SENTIMENT AND REFLECTIOJN. 



And longer had slio sung — Imt, \vitU a 
Irown, 
Revenge impatient rose; 
lie threw his Wood-stained sword in thun- 
der down ; 
And, with a witlicring loolc, 
The war-denouncing trumpet took, 
And blew a blast so loud and dread, 
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe ! 
And, ever and anon, ho beat 
The doubling drum, with furious heat; 
And though sometimes, each dreary pause 
between, 
Dejected Pity, at his side, 
Her soul-snhdning voice applied. 
Yet still he kept his wild, unidtered mein, 
While each strained ball of sight -seemed 
bursting from his head. 
Thy mmibers, Jealousy, to naught were 
fixed — 
Sad proof of thy distressful state; 
Of differing themes the veering song was 
mixed; 
And now it courted love — now, rav- 
ing, called on Hate. 

With eyes upraised, as one inspired. 
Pale Melancholy sate retired ; 
And, from her wild sequestered seat. 
In notes by distance made more sweet, 
Poured through the mellow horn her pen- 
sive soul ; 
And, dashing soft from rooks around, 
Bubbling runnels joined the sound ; 
Through glades and glooms the mingled 
measure stole ; 
Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond 
delay. 
Hound an holy calm diffusing, 
Love of peace, and lonely musing. 
In hollow murmurs died away. 

But oh! how altered was its spriglitlior tone 
When Cheerfulness, a, nymph of healthiest 
hue. 
Her bow across her shoulder flung. 
Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, 
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket 
rung— 
The hunter's call, to fann and dryad 
known ! 



The oak-crowned sisters, and their chasto- 
eyed queen, 
Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen. 
Peeping from forth their alleys green ; 
Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear; 
And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechou 
spear. 

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial : 
He, with viuy crown advancing. 

First to the lively pipe his hand addrest; 
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, 
Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the 
best; 
They would have thought, who heard the 
strain, 
They saw, in Tempo's vale, her native maids, 
Amidst the festal sounding shades. 
To some unwearied minstrel dancing, 
WhOe, as his flying fingers kissed tlie strings, 
Love framed with Mirth a gay timtastic round : 
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone un- 
bound ; 
And he, amidst his frolic play. 
As if he would the charming air repay. 
Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings. 

O Music ! sphere-descended maid. 
Friend of pleasure, wisdom's aid ! 
Why, goddess ! why, to us denied, 
Lay"st thou thy ancient lyre aside ? 
As, in that loved Athenian bower, 
You learned an all commanding power. 
Thy mimic soul, O nymph endeared. 
Can well recall what then it heard ; 
Where is thy native simple heart. 
Devote to virtue, fancy, art ? 
Arise, as in that elder time. 
Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime! 
Thy wonders, in that gotlliko age, 
Fill thy recording sister's page ; 
'T is said — and I believe the tale — 
Thy humblest reed could more prevail. 
Had more of strength, diviner rage. 
Than all which charms this laggard age — 
E'en all at once together found — 
Cecilia's mingled world of sound. 
Oh bid our vain endeavors cease ; 
Revive the just designs of Greece ! 
Return in all thy simple state — 
Confirm the tales her sons relate ! 

William Column. 



TO A LADY WITH A GUITAR. 



G2'7 



TO A LADY WITH A GUITAR. 

Ariel to Miranda:— Take 

This slave of music, for the sake 

Of liiiii who is tho slave of tlioc ; 

And teach it all tho harmony 

In which thou canst, and only thou. 

Make the delighted spirit glow, 

Till joy denies itself again. 

And, too intense, is turned to pain. 

For by permission and command 

Of thino own prince Ferdinand, 

Poor Ariel sends this silent token 

Of more tiian ever can bo spoken ; 

Your guardian spirit, Ariel, who 

From life to life must still pursue 

Your liappiness, for thus alono 

Can Ariel over find his own. 

From Prospero's enchanted cell, 

As the mighty versos toll, 

To the throne of Naples ho 

Lit you o'er tho trackless sea, 

Flitting on, your prow before, 

Like a living meteoi-. 

When you die, tho silent raooa 

In hor interlunar swoon 

Is not sadder in her cell 

Tlian deserted Ariel; 

When you live again on earth. 

Like an unseen star of birth 

Ariel guides you o'er the sea 

Of life from your nativity. 

Jlariy changes have been run 

Since Ferdinand and you begun 

Your course of love, and Ariel still 

Has tracked your stops and served your will. 

Now ill liuiablcr, happier lot. 
This is all remembered not; 
And now, id.is! the poor sprite is 
Imprisoned for some fault of his 
In a body like a grave — 
From you he only daros to crave 
For his service and his sorrow 
A smilo to-day, a song to-morrow. 

Tlie artist who this viol wrought 
To echo all harmonious thought. 



Felled a tree, while on the steep 

The woods were in their winter sleep. 

Hocked in tliat repose divine 

On the wind-swept Apennino; 

And dreaming, some of autumn past. 

And some of spring approaching fast, 

And some of April buds and showers. 

And some of songs in July bowers, 

And all of love; and so this tree — 

Oh, that such our death may be! — 

Died in sleep, and felt no pain. 

To live in happier form again ; 

From which, beneath heaven's fairest star. 

The arti.st wrought this loved guitar ; 

And taught it justly to reply 

To all who question skilfnlly 

In language! gentle as thine own ; 

Whispering in etuimored tone 

Sweet oracles of woods and dells, 

And summer winds in sylvan colls. 

For it had learned all harmonies 

Of the plains and of the skies. 

Of the forests and tho mountains. 

And the many-voiced fountains ; 

The clearest echoes of tho hills, 

The softest notes of fiilling rills, 

The melodies of birds and boos, 

The nmrmuring of summer seas. 

And ])attoring rain, and lireathing dew, 

And airs of evening ; an<l it knew 

That seldom-heard mysterious sound 

Which, driven on its diurnal round. 

As it floats througli boimdless day 

Our world enkindles on its way. 

All this it knows, but will not tell 
To those who cannot question well 
Tlie spirit that inhabits it; 
It talks according to the wit 
Of its companions ; and no more 
Is heard than has been felt before 
By those who tempt it to betray 
Tlioso secrets of an elder day. 
But, sweetly as its answers will 
Flatter hands of perfect skill. 
It keeps its highest holiest tone 
For one beloved friend alone. 

Peiioy Byssiik Siiellet. 



628 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



TO CONSTANTIA— SINGING. 

Thus to be lost, aud thus to sink and die, 
Percliaiice urere death indeed! — Constan- 

tia, turn ! 
In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie, 
Even though the sounds -ffhieh were thy 
voice, which burn 
Between thy lips, are laid to sleep ; 
Within thy breath, and on thy hair, like 
odor it is yet, 
And from thy touch hke fire doth leap. 
Even while I write, my burning cheeks are 

wet — 
Alas, that the torn heart can bleed, but not 
forget ! 

A breathless awe like the swift change. 
Unseen but felt, in youthfid slumbers, 

"Wild, sweet, but uncoiumunicably strange. 
Thou breathest now in fast ascending num- 
bers. 

The cope of heaven seems rent and cloven 
By the enchantment of thy strain ; 

And on my shoulders wings are woven, 
To follow its sublime career 

Beyond the mighty moons that wane 

Upon the verge of nature's utmost sphere. 
Till the world's shadowy walls are past and 
disappear. 

Her voice is hovering o'er my soul — it lingers, 
O'ershadowing it with soft and lulling 
wings ; 

Tlie blood and life within those snowyfingers 
Teach witchcraft to the instrumental 
strings. 

My brain is wild, my breath comes quick — 
The blood is Hstening in my frame ; 

And thronging shadows, fast and thick. 
Fall on my overflowing eyes ; 

My heart is quivering like a flame ; 

As morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies, 
I am dissolved in these consuming ecstasies. 

I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee ; 
"Whilst, like the world-snrrounding air, thy 
song 
Flows on, and fills all things with melody. 



Now is thy voice a tempest, swift and 
strong, 
On which, like one in trance upborne. 

Secure o'er rocks and waves I sweep, 
Rejoicing like a cloud of morn. 

Now 't is the breath of summer night, 
"Which, when the starry waters sleep. 
Round western isles, with incense-blossoms 

- bright. 
Lingering, suspends my soul in its volup- 
tuous flight. 

Percy Bysshe Seelley. 



ON A LADY SINGING. 

Oft as my lady sang for me 

That song of the lost one that sleeps by the 

sea, 
Of the grave on the rock, and the cypress 
tree. 
Strange was the pleasure that over mo 

stole. 
For 't was made of old sadness that li\e3 in 
my soul. 

So still grew my heart at each tender 

word 
That the pulse in my bosom scarcely 

stirred. 
And I hardly breathed, but only heard. 
Where was I? — not in the world of men. 
Until she awoke me with silence again. 

Like the smell of the vine, when its early 

bloom 
Sprinkles the green lane with sunny per- 
fume, 
Such a delicate fragrance filled the room. 
"Whether it came from the vine without, 
Oi- arose from her presence, I dwell in 
doubt. 

Light shadows played on the pictured 

wall 
From the maples tliat fluttered outside the 

hall. 
And hindered the dayliglit — yet ah! not 
all; 
Too little for that all the forest would be — 
Such a sunbeam she was, and is, to me! 



WOMAN' 


S VOICE. 629 


When my sense returned, as the song was 




o'er, 


WOMAN'S VOICE. 


I fain would have said to her, " Sing it once 




more ; " 


*' Iler voice was ever low, 


But soon as she smiled my wish I forbore : 


Gentle and soft— an excellent thing in woman." 


Music enough in her look I found, 


KiNH Leae. 


And the hush of lier hp seemed sweet as the 


Not in the swaying of the simimer trees. 


sound. 

Thomas 'Wn.LiAM Paesons. 


When evening breezes sing tlieir vesper 




hymn — 


> 


Not in the minstrel's mighty symphonies. 




Nor ripples breaking on the river's brim. 


A CANADIAN BOAT SONG. 


Is earth's best music ; these may move awhile 




High thoughts in happy hearts, and carking 


Et remigem cantua hortatur. 


cares beguile. 


QPINTILIAN. 




Faintly as tolls the evening chimo. 


But even as the swallow's silken wings, 


Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time. 


Skimming the water of the sleeping lake. 


Soon as the woods on shore look dim. 


Stir the still sUver with a hundred rings — 


We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. 


So doth one sound the sleeping spirit wake 


Row, brothers, row ! the stream runs fast, 


To brave the danger, and to bear the harm— 


The rapids are near, and the daylight 's past ! 


A low and gentle voice — dear woman's chief- 




est chai'in. 


Why should we yet our sail unfurl? — 




There is not a breath the blue wave to curl. 


An excellent thing it is, and ever lent 


But when the wind blows off the shore 


To truth and love, and meekness ; they 


Oh ! sweetly we '11 rest our weary oar. 


who own 


Blow, breezes, blow ! the stream runs fast. 


This gift, by the all-gracious Giver sent. 


The rapi<l3 are near, and the daylight's past! 


Ever by quiet step and smile are known ; 




By kind eyes that have wept, hearts that have 


Utawa'a tide ! this trembling moon 


sorrowed — 


Shall see us float over thy surges soon. 


By patience never tired, from their own trials 


Saint of this green isle, hear our pi-ayers — 


borrowed. 


Oh ! grant us cool heavens and favoring airs ! 




Blow, breezes, blow ! the stream runs fast. 


An excellent thing it is, when first in glad- 


The rapids are near, and the daylight 's past! 


ness 


Thomas Mooee. 


A mother looks into her infant's eyes. 




Smiles to its smiles, and saddens to its sad- 
ness 
Pales at its paleness, sorrows at its cries ; 




EGYPTIAN SERENADE. 


Its food and sleep, and smiles and little joys — 


SnjG again the song you sung 


AH these come ever blent with one low gen- 


When we were together young — 


tle voice. 


When there were but you and I 




Underneath the summer sky. 


An excellent thing it is when life is leaving, 




Leaving with gloom and gladness, joys and 


Sing the song, and o'er and o'er. 


cares. 


Though I know that nevermore 


The strong heart failing, and the liigli soul 


Will it seem the song you sung 


grienog 


Wlien we were together young. 


With strangest thoughts, and with unwont- 


George William Cdetis. 


ed fears ; 



630 POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 


Then, then a woman's low soft sympathy 




Comes like an angel's voice to teach us Low 


HEBE. 


to die. 




But a most excellent thing it is in youth, 
When the fond lover hears the loved one's 


I SAW tlie twinkle of wliite feet, 
I saw the flash of robes descending ; 
Before her r.in an influence fleet, 


tone, 
That fears, hut longs, to syllahle the truth — 


That bowed my heart like barley bonding. 


How their two hearts are one, and she his 


As, in bare fields, the searching bees 


own ; 
It makes sweet human music — oh ! the spells 
That haunt the tremhiing tale a hright-cyed 

maiden tells ! 

Edwin Aunold. 


Pilot to blooms beyond our finding, 
It led me on — by sweet degrees, 
Joy's siinple honey cells unbinding. 

Those graces were that seemed grim fates ; 




With nearer love the sky leaned o'er me ; 
The long sought secret's golden gates 




SONG. 


On musical hinges swung before me. 


Still to be neat, still to bo drest. 


I saw tlie brimmed bowl in her grasp 


As you wore going to a feast ; 

Btill to be powdered, still perfumed — 

Lady, it is to be presumed, 

Though art's hid causes are not found, 


Thrilling with godhood ; like a lover, 
I sprang tlie proflered life to clasp — 
The beaker fell ; the luck was over. 


All is not sweet, all is not sound. 


The earth has drunk tlie ^-intage up ; 


Give mo a look, give me a face. 
That makes simplicity a graoo ; 
Kobcs loosely flowing, hair as free — 


That boots it patch the goblet's splinters ? 

Can summer fill the icy cup 

Whoso treacherous crystal is but winter's? 


Such sweet neglect more taketh me 
Than all the adulteries of art ; 
They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. 
Ben Jonson. 


spendthrift haste ! await the gods ; 
Their nectar crowns the lips of patience. 
Haste scatters on unthankful sods 
The immortal gift in vain libations. 

Coy Hebe flies from those that woo. 




DELIGHT IX DISORDER. 


And shuns the hands would seize upon her ; 


A SWEET disorder in the dress 
Kindles in clothes a wantonness : 
A lawn about the shoulders thrown 


Follow thy life, and she will sue 
To pour for thee the cup of honor. 

James Ucssell Lowell. 


Into a fine distraction — 




' 


An erring lace, which hero and there 




Entlu'alls the crimson stomacher — 


SONNET. 


A cnft' neglectful, and thereby 




Ribbons to flow confusedly — 


'T IS much innnortal beauty to admire. 


A winning wave, deserving note. 


But more immortal beauty to withstand ; 


In the tempestuous petticoat^ 


The perfect soul can overcome desire. 


A careless shoe string, in whose tie 


If beauty with divine doliglit be scanned. 


I see a wild ciWlity — 


For what is l>eauty, but the blooming child 


Do more bewitcli me than when art 


Of fair Olympus, that in nis'lit must end, 


Is too precise in every part. 


And be for ever from that bliss exiled, 


EOBERT IlKKltlCK. 


If admiration stand too imich its friend? 



TO MISTRESS MARGARET HUSSEY. 631 


The wind may be enamored of a flower, 




The ocean of the green and laughing shore, 


WHO IS SYLVIA? 


'J'he silver lightning of a lofty tower — 




■ But must not with too near a love adore ; 


Who is Sylvia? what is she, 


Or flower, and margin, and cloud-capped tow- 


That all the swains commend her? 


er. 


Holy, fail-, and wise, is she ; 


Lovo and delight sIuiU with deliglit devour! 

Lord TutritLOW. 


The heavens such grace did lend her 
That she might adored be. 

Is she kind, or is she fair ? 




TO MISTRESS MARGARET HUSSEY. 


For beauty lives with kindness. 
Love does to her eyes repair 


Meert Margaret, 

As midsummer flower — 


To help him of his blindness — 
And, being helped, inliabits there. 


Gentle as falcon, 

Or hawk of the tower ; 

With solace and gladness. 

Much mirth and no madness, 

AH good and no badness ; 

So joyously, 

So maidenly, 


Then to Sylvia let us sing 

That Sylvia is excelling; 
She excels each mortal thing 

Ui)on the dull earth dwelling ; 
To her let us garlands bring. 

SllAKESPEABB. 


So womanly 
Her demeaning — 






In everything 
Far, far passing 


SHE WALKS IK BEAUTY. 


That I can indite, 
■ Or suffice to write. 
Of merry Margaret, 
As midsummer flower. 
Gentle as falcon 
Or hawk of the tower ; 
As patient and as stUl, 


She walks in beauty like tlie night 
Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; 


And all that's best of dark and bright 
Meets in her aspect and her eyes : 

Thus mellowed to that tender light 
Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 


And as full of good will, 




As fair Isiphil, 
Coliander, 


One shade the more, one ray the less 
Had half impaired the nameless grace 


Sweet Pomander, 


Which waves in every raven tress. 


Good Cassander ; 


Or softly lightens o'er her face — 


Steadfast of thought. 


Where thoughts serenely sweet express 


Well made, well wrought ; 


How pure, bow dear their dwelling place. 


Far may be sought 




Ere you can find 


And on that cheek, and o'er that brow. 


So courteous, so kind. 


So soft, so calm, yet eloquent. 


As merry Margaret, 


The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 


This midsummer flower. 


But tell of days in goodness spent, 


Gentle as falcon, 


A mind at peace with all below. 


Or hawk of the tower. 


A heart whose love is innocent. 


Joan Skeltos. 


LoED ByuoN. 





(532 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



HERMIONE. 

Tnou hast beauty bright and fair, 
Manner noble, aspect free, 

Eyes that are untouched by care : 
What then do wo ask from thee ? 
Jlermione, Hermlone f 

Thou hast reason quick and strong, 
Wit that envious men admire. 

And a voice, itself a song ! 

What then can we stiU desire ? 

Hermione, Ilermione ? 

Sometiiing tliou dost want, O queen ! 

(As tlie gold dotli ask alloy). 
Tears — amid thy laughter seen, 
Pity mingling with thy joy. 

This is all we ash from thee, 
Hermione, Hcrmione ! 

Bahrt Cornwall. 



UPOJ^' JULIA'S RECOVERY. 

Dboop, droop no more, or hang the liead, 

Ye roses almost witliered ! 

New strength and newer purple get. 

Each here declining violet ! 

O primroses ! let this day be 

A resm-rection nnto ye. 

And to all flowers allied in blood. 

Or sworn to that sweet sisterhood. 

For health on Julia's cheek hath shed 

Claret and cream commingled ; 

And those her lips do now appear 

As beams of coral but more clear. 

KOBERT ITerRIOK. 



SONG. 



O Lady, leave thy silkcu thread 

And flowery tapestry — ■ 
There 's living roses on the bush, 

And blossoms on the tree. 
Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand 

Some random bud will meet; 
Thou canst not tread but thou wilt find 

The daisy at thy feet. 

'Tis like the birthday of the world, 
AVhen earth -was born in bloom ; 



The light is made of many dyes. 

The air is all perfume ; 
There 's crimson buds, and white and bhie- 

The very rainbow showers 
Have turned to blossoms \\-here they fell. 

And sown the earth Mitli flowers. 

There 's fairy tulips in the east — 

The garden of the sun ; 
The very streams reflect the hues. 

And blossom as they run ; 
While morn opes like a crimson rose, 

Still wet with pearly showers: 
Then, lady, leave the silken thread 

Thou twinest into flowers 1 

Thomas Uood. 



TO A HIGHLAND GIRL. 

Sweet Highland girl ! a very shower 

Of beauty is thy earthly dower ; 

Thrice seven consenting years have shed 

Their utmost bounty on thy head. 

And these gray rocks ; that household lawn ; 

Those trees— a veil just half withdrawn ; 

This fall of water, that doth make 

A murmur near the silent lake : 

This little lia3', a quiet road 

That holds in shelter thy abode — 

In truth, together do ye seem 

Like something fashioned in' a dream — 

Such forms as from their covert peep 

When earthly cares are laid asleep. 

But, O fair creature! in the light 

Of common day so heavenly bright — 

I bless thee, vision as thou ai-t, 

I bless thee with a human heai-t ; 

God shield thee to thy latest years ! 

Thee neither know I, nor thy peers ; 

And yet my eyes are filled with tears. 

With earnest feeling I shall pray 
For thee when I am far away ; 
For never saw I mien or face 
In which more plainly I could trace 
Benignity and homebred sense 
Ripening in perfect innocence. 
Here, scattered, like a random seed. 
Remote from men, thou dost not need 
The embarrassed look of shy distress. 
And maidenly shamefaccdness ; 



THE SOLITARY REAPER. 



033 



Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear 
The freedom of a mountaineer : 
A face with ghidness overspread ; 
Softi smiles, by luiraan kiudnesg bred : 
And soemliness complete, tliat sways 
Tliy courtesies, about thee plays ; 
With no restraint, but sucli as springs 
From quioli and eager visitings 
Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach 
Of thy few words of English speech — 
A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife 
Tliat gives thy gestures grace and life ; 
So have I, not unmoved in mind. 
Seen birds of tempest-loving kind 
Thus beating up against the wind. 

What hand but would a garland cull 
For thee, who art so beautiful 3 

happy jileasure ! here to dwell 
Beside thee in some heathy dell — 
Adopt your homely ways and dress, 
A shepherd, thou a shepherdess ! 
But I could frame a wish for thee 
Jlore like a grave reality. 

Thou art to me but as a wave 

Of the wild sea; and I would have 

Some claim upon thee, if I could, 

Though but of common neighborhood. 

What joy to hear thee, and to see ! 

Thy elder brother I would be, 

Thy father — anything to thee ! 

Now thanks to heaven, that of its grace 
Ilath led me to this lonely place ! 
Joy have I had ; and, going hence, 

1 bear away my recompense. 

In spots like these it is we prize 
Our memory, feel that she hath eyes. 
Then why should I bo loth to stir ? 
I feel this place was made for her, 
To give new pleasure like the [last — 
Continued long as life shall last. 
Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart. 
Sweet Highland girl ! from thee to part ; 
For I, mcthinks, till I grow old, 
As fair before me shall behold, 
As I do now, the cabin small. 
The lake, the bay, the waterfall — 
And thee, the spirit of them all ! 

"William Woudswoetu. 



TEE SOLITARY REAPER. 

Behold lier, single in the field, 
Yon solitary Highland lass I 
Reaping and smging by herself; 
Stop here, or gently pass ! 
Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 
And sings a melancholy strain ; 
Oh listen! for the vale profound 
Is overflowing with the sound. 

No nightingale did ever chant " 
More welcome notes to weary bands 
Of travellers in some shady haunt, 
Among Arabian sands ; 
A voice so thrilling ne'er Vvas heard 
In spring time from tlie cuckoo bird, 
Breaking the silence of the seas 
Among the farthest Hebrides. 

Will no one tell me what she sings ? — 

Perhaps the plaintive nnndiers flow 

For old, unhappy, far-off things. 

And battles long ago ; 

Or is it some more humlde lay, 

Familiar matter of to-day ? 

Some natural sorrow, hjss, or pain, 

That has been, or may be again ? 

Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang 
As if her song could have no ending; 
I saw her singing at her work 
And o'er her sickle bonding ; — 
I hstened motionless and still ; 
And, as I mounted up the hill, 
The music in my heart I boi'e 
Long after it was heard no more. 

William "Woedswoktii. 



" PROUD MAISIE IS IN THE WOOD.' 

Proud Maisie is in the wood, 

Walking so early ; 
Sweet robin sits on the bush. 

Singing so rarely. 

"Tell me, thou bonny bird, 
When shall I marry me ? " 

— " When six braw gentlemen 
Kirkward shall carry ye." 



634 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



" Who makes the bridal bed, 

Birdie, say truly ? " 
— " Tlie gray-headed sexton 

That delves the grave duly. 

" The glow-worm o'er grave and stone 

Shall light thee steady ; 
The owl from the steeple sing 

Welcome, proud lady ! " 

Sib Walter Scott. 



THE TWO BRIDES. 

I SAW two maids at the kirk, 
And both were ftiir and sweet — 

One in her wedding robe, 

And one in her winding-sheet. 

The choristers sang the hymn — 
The sacred rites were read ; 

And one for life to life. 
And one to death, was wed. 

They were borne to their bridal beds, 

In loveliness and bloom — 
One in a merry castle, 

The other a solemn tomb. 

One on the morrow woke 
In a world of sin and pain ; 

But the other was happier far, 
And never awoke again ! 

KicHAKD Henry Stoddahd. 



"SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT." 

She was a phantom of delight 

When first she gleamed upon my sight ; 

A lovely apparition, sent 

To be a moment's ornament : 

Her eyes as stars of twilight tiiir ; 

Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair, 

But all things else about her drawn 

From May-time and the cheerful dawn — 

A dancing shape, an image gay. 

To haunt, to startle, and waylay. 

I saw her upon nearer view, 
A spirit, yet a woman too : 



Her household motions light and free, 
Ajid steps of virgin liberty ; 
A countenance in which did meet 
Sweet records, promises as sweet ; 
A creature, not too bright or good 
For human nature's daily food — 
For transient sorrows, simple wiles. 
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and 
smiles. 

And now I see with eye serene 
The very pulse of the machine ; 
A being breathing thonglitful breath, 
A traveller between life and death ; 
The reason firm, the temperate will. 
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill : 
A perfect woman, nobly planned, 
To warn, to comfort, and command ; 
And yet a spirit still, and bright 
With something of an angel light. 

William Wordsworth. 



TO MY SISTER. 

WITH A COPY OF " SUPEHNATURALISM OF KEW 
ENGLAND." 

Dear sister ! while the wise and sage 
Turn coldly from my playful page. 
And count it strange that ripened age 

Should stoop to boyhood's foUy- 
I know that thou wOt judge aright 
Of all that makes the heart more light, 
Or lends one star-gleam to the night 

Of clouded melancholy. 

Away with weary cares and themes ! 
Swing wide the moonlit gate of dreams I 
Leave free once more the land which teems 

With wonders and romances ! 
Where thou, with clear discerning eyes, 
Shalt rightly read the truth which lies 
Beneath the quaintly-masking guise 

Of wild and wizard fancies. 

Lo ! once again our feet we set 

On still green wood paths, twilight wet. 

By lonely brooks, whose waters fret 



THE OLD MAID. 



635 



The roots of spectral beecbes ; 
Again the hearth-flre glimmers o'er 
Home's white-washed wall aud painted 

floor, 
And young eyes widening to the lore 

Of faery-folks and -witches. 

Dear heart ! — the legend is not vain 
Which lights that holy hearth again ; 
Aud, calling back from care and pain, 

And death's funereal sadness, 
Draws round its old familiar blaze 
The clustering groups of happier days, 
And lends to sober manhood's gaze 

A glimpse of childish gladness. 

And, knowing how my life hath been 
A weary work of tongue and pen, 
A long, harsh strife, with strong-willed 
men. 

Thou wilt not chide iny turning 
To con, at times, an idle rhyme, 
To pluck a flower from childhood's clime. 
Or listen, at life's noonday chime. 

For the sweet bells of morning ! 

John Geeenleap WnirriEE. 



THE OLD MAID. 

Why sits she thus in solitude ? Her heart 

Seems melting in her eyes' delicious blue ; 
And as it heaves, her ripe lips lie apart. 

As if to let its heavy throbbings through ; 
In her dark eye a depth of softness swells, 

Deeeper than that her careless girlhood 
wore; 
And her cheek crimsons with the hue that 
tells 

The rich, fair fruit is ripened to the core. 

It is her thirtieth birthday ! With a sigh 
Her soul hath turned from youth's luxuri- 
ant bowers, 
And her heart taken up the last sweet tie 
That measured out its links of golden 
hours ! 



She feels her inmost soul within her stir 
With thoughts too wild and passionate to 
speak ; 

Yet her full heart- its own interpreter — 
Translates itself in silence on her cheek 

Joy's opening buds, affection's glowing flow- 
ers. 
Once lightly sprang within her beaming 
track ; 
Oh, life was beautiful in those lost hours I 

And yet she does not wish to wander back ; 
No ! slie but loves in loneliness to think 
On pleasures past, though never more to 
be; 
Hope links her to the future — but the link 
That binds her to the past is memory. 

From her lone path she never turns aside, 
Though passionate worshippers before lier 
fall; 
Like some pure planet in her lonely pride. 

She seems to soar and beam above them all. 
Not that her heart is cold — emotions new 
And fresh as flowers are with her heart- 
strings knit ; 
And sweetly mournful pleasures wander 
through 
Her virgin soul, and softly ruffle it. 

For she hath lived with heart and soul alive 

To all that makes life beautiful and fair ; 
Sweet thoughts, like honey-bees, have made 
their hive 

Of her soft bosom-cell, and cluster there. 
Yet life is not to her what it hath been — 

Her soul hath learned to look beyond its 
gloss; 
And now she hovers, like a star, between 

Her deeds of love, her Saviour on the cross I 

Beneath the cares of earth she does not bow, 

Though she hath ofttimes drained its bit- 
ter cup ; 
But ever wanders on with heavenward brow, 

And eyes whose lovely lids are lifted up. 
She feels that in that lovelier, happier sphere 

Her bosom yet will, bird-like, find its mate, 
And aU the joys it found so blissful here 

Within that spirit-realm perpetuate. 



r 



636 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Yet sometimes o'er Ler trembling heart- 
strings thrill 
Soft sighs — ^for raptures it hatli ne'er en- 
joyed ; 
And then she dreams of love, and strives to fill 
"With wild and passionate thoughts the 
craving void. 
And thus she wanders on — half sad, half 
blest— 
Without a mate for the pure, lonely heart 
That, yearning, throbs within her virgin 
breast, 
Never to find its lovely counterpart ! 



MOTHER MARGERY. 

On a bleak ridge, from whose granite edges 

Sloped the rough land to the grisly north ; 
And whose hemlocks, clinging to the ledges, 

Like a thinned banditti staggered forth — 
lu a crouching, wormy-timbered hamlet 

Mother Margery shivered in the cold. 
With a tattered robe of faded camlet 

On her shoulders — crooked, weak, and old. 

Time on her had done his cruel pleasure ; 

For her face was very dry and thin. 
And tlie records of his growing measure 

Lined and cross-lined all her shrivelled skin. 
Scanty goods to her had been allotted, 

Y^et her thanks rose oftener than desire ; 
While her bony fingers, bent and knotted. 

Fed with withered twigs the dying fire. 

Raw and weary were the northern winters ; 

Winds howled piteously around her cot, 
Or with rude sighs made the jarring splinters 

Moan the misery she bemoaned not. 
Drifting tempests rattled at her windows. 

And hung snow-wreaths aronnd her naked 
bed; 
While the wind-flaws muttered on the cinders. 

Till the last spark fluttered and was de.ad. 

Life had fresher hopes when she was younger. 
But their dying wrung out no complaints ; 

Chill, and penury, and neglect, and hunger — 
These to Margery were guardian saints. 



When she sat, her head was, prayer-like, 
bending; 
When she rose, it rose not any more ; 
Faster seemed her true heai't graveward 
tending 
Than her tired feet, weak and travel-sore. 



She was mother of the dead and scattered — 

Had been mother of the bravo and fair ; 
But her branches, bough by bough, were 
shattered. 

Till her torn breast was loft dry and 
bare. 
Yet she knew, though sadly desolated. 

When the children of the poor depart 
Their earth-vestures are but sublimated, 

So to gather closer in the heart. 



With a courage that had never fitted 

Words to speak it to the soul it blessed, 
She endured, in silence and unpitied. 

Woes enough to mar a stouter breast. 
Thus was born such holy trust within her. 

That the graves of all who had been dear, 
To a region clearer and serener. 

Raised her spirit from our chilly sphere. 

They were footsteps on her Jacob's ladder ; 

Angels to her were the loves and hojies 
Which had left her purified, but sadder ; 

And they lured her to the emerald slopes 
Of that heaven where anguish never flashes 

Her red fire-whips, — happy land, where 
flowers 
Blossom over the volcanic ashes 

Of this blighting, blighted world of ours! 

All her power was a love of goodness ; 

All her wisdom was a mystic faith 
That the rough world's jargoning and rude- 
ness 
Turns to music at the gate of death. 
So she walked while feeble limbs allowed 
her. 
Knowing well that any stubborn grief 
She might meet with could no more than 
crowd her 
To that wall whose opening was relief 



THE NYMPH'S SONG. 



G37 



So she lived, an anchoress of sorrow, 

Lone and peaceful, on the rocky slope ; 
And, when burning trials came, would bor- 
row 
New fire of them for the lamp of hope. 
When at last her palsied hand, in groping, 

Rattled tremulous at the grated tomb, 
Heaven flashed round her joys beyond her 
hoping, 
And her young soul gladdened into bloom. 
George S. Eukleigh, 



THE NYMPH'S SONG. 

Gentle swain, good speed befall thee ; 

And in love still prosper thou ! 
Future times shall happy call thee. 

Though thoif Ire neglected now. 
Virtue's lovers shall commend thee. 
And perpetual fame attend thee. . 

Happy are these woody mountains. 
In whose shadows thou dost hide ; 

And as happy arij those fountains 
By whose murimn-s thou dost bide : 

For contents are here excelling, 

More than in a prince's dwelling. 

These thy flocts do clothing bring thee, 
And thy food out of the fields ; 

Pretty songs the birds do sing thee ; 
Sweet perfumes the meadow yields ; 

And what more is worth the seeing. 

Heaven and earth thy pros.peot being? 

None comes hither who denies thee 
Thy contentments for despite ; 

Neither any that envies thee 
That wherein thou dost delight : 

But all happy things are meant thee. 

And whatever may content thee. 

Thy affection reason measures. 
And distempers none it feeds ; 

Still so harmless are thy pleasures 
That no other's grief it breeds ; 

And if night beget thee sorrow. 

Seldom stays it till the morrow. 



Why do foolish men so vainly 
Seek contentment in their store. 

Since they may perceive so plainly 
Thou art rich in being poor — 

And that they are vexed about it, 

"Whilst thou merry art without it ? 

Why are idle br.ains devising 
How high titles may be gained. 

Since by those poor toys despising 
Thou hast higher things obtained? 

For the man who scorns to crave them 

Greater is than they that have them. 

If all men could taste that sweetness 
Thou dost in thy meanness know, 

Kings would be to seek where greatness 
And their honors to bestow ; 

For it such content would breed them 

As they would not think they need them. 

And if those who so aspiring 

To the court preferments be. 
Knew how worthy the desiring 

Tliose things are enjoyed by thee. 
Wealth and titles would hereafter 
Subjects be for scorn and laugliter. 

He that courtly styles affected 

Should a May-lord's honor have — 

He that heaps of wealth collected 
Should be counted as a slave ; 

And the man with few'st things cumbered 

With the noblest should be numbered. 

Thou their folly hast discerned 
That neglect thy mind and thee ; 

And to slight them thou hast learned. 
Of what title e'er they be ; 

Tliat no more with thee obtaineth 

Than with them thy meanness gainetli. 

All their riches, honors, pleasures, 

Poor unworthy trifles seem, 
If compared with thy treasures — 

And do merit no esteem ; 
For they true contents provide thee, 
And from them can none divide thee. 



■ 
688 POEMS OP SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 


TTlietlicr thnilleil or exiled, 


So those virtues now neglected 


■\Vliethor poor or rich thou be — 


To be more esteemed will come ; 


■Wliether praised or reviled, 


Yea, those toys so much aflected 


Not a rush it is to thee ; 


Many sh;vU be wooed ft-om ; 


This nor that thy rest doth wiu thee, 


And the golden ago deplored 


But the mind which is within thee. 


Shall by some be thought restored. 




Geokgb WiTniB. 


Then, oh wliy so m.idly dote we 






Ou those things that lis o'erload ? 




Why no more their vainness note we, 


ON ANACREON. 


But still make of them a god ? 




For, aliis ! they still deceive us, 


Arouxd the tomb, bard divine. 


And in greatest need they leave us. 


Where soft thy hallowed brow reposes. 




Long may the deathless ivy twine, 


Therefore have the fates provided 


And summer pour her waste of roses ! 


Veil, thou happy swain, for tliee, 




That may'st hero so far divided 


Aud many a fount shall there distil, 


From the world's distractions be. 


Aud many a rill refresh the flowere; 


Thee distemper lot them never. 


But wine shdl gush in every rill, 


But in peace continue ever. 


And every fount yield milky showers. 




Thus — shade of him whom nature taught 


In these lonely groves enjoy thou 
That contentment here begun ; 


To tune his lyre and soul to pleasure — 


And thy hours so pleased employ thou. 
Till the latest glass bo run. 


Who gave to love his warmest thought, 
Who gave to love his fondest measure — 


From a fortune so assured 




By no temptings be allured. 


Thus, after death if spirits feel 




Thou m.ay' st from odors round thee stream- 


Much good do 't them, with their glories, 


mg, 
A pulse of p.ast enjoyment steal. 


■yriio in courts of princes dwell ; 


And live again in blissful dreaming. 


We have read in antique stories 


AxTiPATKR or SiDos, (Greek.) 


riow some rose .sud how they fell — 


rar.iphrase of TnouAS Mooke. 


And "t is worthy well the heeding, 




There 's like end where 's like proceeding. 
Be thou still in thy affection 




AN EPITAPH ON THE ADMIKABI.E 


To tliy noble mistress true ; 


DR.:VMATIO POET W. SHAEESPEAKE. 


Let her never-matched perfection 




Bo the same unto thy view ; 


What needs my Shakespeare for Ms honored 


And let never other beauty 


bones — 


Make thee ftiil in love or duty. 


The labor of an ago iu piled stones ? 




Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid 


For if thou shalt not estranged 


Under a starry-poinfing pyramid? 


From tliy course professed be. 


Dear son of memory, great heir of fiime, 


But rem.ain for ,aye unchanged, 


What need'st thou such weak witness of thy 


KotUing shtill have power on thee. 


niime ? 


Those that slight thee now shall love thee. 


Thou in our wonder .and astonishment 


Aud in spite of spite approve thee. 


Hast built thyself a live-long monument. 



LINES ON THE MERMAID TAVERN. 



639 



For wliilst to tliG sbame of slow-eiidcavoring 

art 
Tljy easy luimbcrs flow, and that oac)i lieart 
Hath fi'oin the leaves of thy unvalued book 
Those Delphic linea with deep impression 

tl !()]<, 

Then tlum, our fancy of itself bercavinfj, 
Dost malce us marble witli too much conceiv- 
ing'; 
And, so scimlchrcd, in such pomp dost lie 
Tliat kings for such a tomb would wish to die. 

John Milton. 



SHAKESPEARE. 

How little fades from earth when sink to rest 

Tlie hours and cares that move a great man's 
breast ! 

Tliough nought of all wo saw the grave may 
spare, 

His life pervades tlio world's impregnate air; 

Tliougli S]iakesj)care'8 dust beneath our foot- 
steps lies. 

His spirit breathes amid his native skies; 

With meaning won from him for ever glows 

Each air that England feels, and star it 
knows; 

His whispered words from many a mother's 
voice 

Can make her sleeping child in dreams re- 
joice ; 

And gleams from spheres ho first conjoined 
to earth 

Are blent with rays of each new morning's 
birth. 

Amid tlio sights and tales of common tilings, 

Leaf, flower, and bird, and wars, and deaths 
of kings, — 

Of shore, and sea, and nature's daily round. 

Of life tliat tills, and tombs tluit load, t!ic 
ground, 

His visions mingle, swell, command, pace by, 

And baunt with living presence heart and eye ; 

And tones from him, by otlier bosoms cauglit. 

Awaken flush and stir of mmmting thought; 

And the long sigh, and deep impassioned 
thrill. 

Rouse custom's trance and spur the faltering 
will. 



Above the goodly land, more Iiis than ours, 

lie sits supreme, enthroned in skyey towers; 

And sees the heroic brood of his creation 

Teach larger life to his ennobled nation. 

sh.aping brain! flasliing fancy '.s luics! 

O boundless heart, kept fresli l,y pity's dewsl 

O wit humuno and blitliel O sense siibrmie! 

For each dim oracle of mantled tiino! 

Tran.scendant form of man I in wliom wo 
read 

Mankind's whole tale of impulse, tlionght 
and deed I 

Amid the o.ipauso of years, beholding thee. 

Wo know bow vast our world of life may be; 

Wherein, perchance, witli aims as pure as 
tliinc. 

Small tasks and strengths may bo no less di- 
vine. 

John Stkiilino. 



LINES ON THE MERMAID TAVERN. 

Soiir.s of poets dead and gone, 
Wliat Elysium have ye known, 
Happy field or mossy cavern. 
Choicer than the Mermaid tavern ? 
Have ye tippled drink more fine 
Tlian mine host's Canary wine? 
Or are fruits of Paradise 
Sweeter than those dainty j/ics 
Of venison? O generous food! 
Drestas though bold Robin Hood 
Would, with his maid Marian, 
Sup and bowse from horn and can. 

I have heard that on a day 
Mine host's sign-board flew away, 
Nobody knew wliither, till 
An astrologer's old quill 
To a sheepskin gave the story, — 
Said he saw you in your glory. 
Underneath a new old-sign 
Sipping beverage divine. 
And pledging witli contented smack, 
Tlio Mermaid in the zodiac. 

Souls of poets dead and gone, 
What Elysium have ye known, 
Happy field or mossy cavern, 
Choicer than the Mermaid tavern ? 

JOUU KKAT9. 



6-tO 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



AN ODE— TO HIMSELF. 

Wheee dost thou careless lie 

Buried in ease and sloth? 
Knowledge that sleeps, doth die : 
And this security, 

It is the common moth 
That eats on wits and arts, and so destroys 

them both. 

Are aU the Aonian springs 

Dried np ? lies Thespia waste ? 
Doth Clarius' harp want strings, 
That not a njTuph now sings? 
Or droop they as disgraced 
To see their seats and bowers by chattering 
pies defaced ? 

If hence thy silence be. 

As 't is too just a cause — 
Let this thought quicken thee ; 
Minds that are great and free 

Should not on fortune pause ; 
'T is crown enough to virtue still, her own 

applause. 

"What though the greedy fry 

Be taken with false baits 
Of worded balladry, 
And think it poesy ? 

They die with their conceits, 
And only piteous scorn upon their folly 

waits. 

Then take in hand thy lyre. 

Strike in thy proper strain ; 
"With Japhet's line aspire 
Sol's chariot for new fire 

To give the world again ; 
Who aided him, will thee, the issue of 

Jove's brain. 

And since our dainty age 

Cannot endure reproof, 
Make not thyself a page 
To that strumpet, the stage ; 

But sing high and aloof 
. Safe from the wolf's black jaw, and the 

duU ass's hoof. 

Ben J0N6ON. 



THE SHEPHERD'S HUNTING. 

AN ECLOGUE. 

THE ARGUMENT. 

Philarete on Willy calls^ 

To sing out his pastorals ; 

Warrants fame shall grace his rJiytjiM, 

^Spite of envy and the times; 

And sheics how in care he uses 

To take comfort from his muses. 

Philarete; Willy. 

PHILAEETE. 

Pbtthee, "Willy! tell me this — 
What new accident there is 
That thou, once the blithest lad. 
Art become so wondrous sad. 
And so careless of thy quill. 
As if thou hadst lost thy skill? 
Thou wert wont to charm thy flocks, 
And among the massy rooks 
Hast so cheered me with thy song 
That I have forgot my wrong. 
Something hath thee surely crost, 
That thy old wont thou bast lost. 
Tell me — ^have I ought mis-said. 
That hath made thee ill-apaid? 
Hath some churl done thee a spite ? 
Dost thou miss a lamb to-night? 
Frowns thy fairest shepherd's lass? 
Or bow comes this ill to pass ? 
Is there any discontent 
Worse than this my banishment? 

WiLLT. 

Why, doth that so evil seem 
That thou nothing worse dost deem ? 
Shepherds there fidl many be 
That wiU change contents with thee ; 
Those that choose their walks at wiU, 
On tbe valley or the hill — 
Or those pleasures boast of can 
Groves or fields may yield to man — 
Never come to know the rest, 
Wherewitlial thy mind is blest. 
Many a one that oft resorts 
To make up the troop at sports. 



THE SHEPHERD'S HUNTING. 641 


And in company some while 


Condon, with his bold rout. 


Happens to strain fortli a smUe, 


Ilath already been about 


Feels more want and outward smart, 


For the elder shepherd's dole. 


And more inward grief of heart, 


And fetched in the summer-pole ; 


Than this place can bring to thee. 


"Whilst the rest have built a bower 


Whilo thy mind remaineth free. 


To defend them from a shower — 


Thou bewail'st my want of mirth — 


Coiled so close, with boughs all green, 


But what find'st thou in this earth 


Titan cannot pry between. 


"Wherein aught may be believed 


Now the dairy wenches dream 


"Worth to make me joyed or grieved? 


Of their strawberries and cream ; 


And yet feel I, naitheless, 


And each doth herself advance 


Part of both I must confess. 


To be taken in to dance ; 


Sometime I of mirth do borrow- 


Every one that knows to sing 


Otherwhile as much of sorrow ; 


Fits him for his carolling; 


But my present state is such 


So do those that hope for meed 


As nor joy nor grieve I much. 


Either by the pipe or reed ; 




And, though I am kept away. 


PniLAEETE. 


I do hear, this very day. 


"Why hath "Wdly then so long 


Many learned grooms do wend 


Thus forborne his wonted song ? 


For the garlands to contend ; 


"Wherefore doth he now let fall 


"Which a nymph, that hight Desert, 


His well-tuned pastoral, 


Long a stranger in this part, 


And my ears that music bar 


"With hei; own fair hand hath wrought — 


"Which I more long after far 


A rare work, they say, past thought. 


Than the liberty I want ? 


As appeareth by the name. 




For she calls them wreaths of fame. 


wn.LT. 


She hath set in their due place 


That were very much to grant. 


E very flower that may grace ; 


But doth this hold alway, lad — 


And among a thousand moe, 


Those that sing not must be sad ? 


"Whereof some but serve for show. 


Didst thou ever that bird hear 


She hath wove in Daphne's tree. 


Sing well that sings all the year? 


That they may not blasted be ; 


Tom the piper doth not play 


"Which with time she edged about. 


Till he wears his pipe away — 


Lest the work should ravel out ; 


There's a time to slack the string, 


And that it might wither never, 


And a time to leave to sing. 


Intermixed it with live-ever. 




These are to be shared among 


PHILAEETE. 


Those that do excel for song. 


Yea ! but no man now is still 


Or their passions can rehearse 


That can sing or tune a quUl. 


In the smooth'st and sweetest verso. 


Now to chaunt it were but reason — 


Then for those among the rest 


Song and music are in season. 


That can play and pipe the best. 


Now, in this sweet jolly tide, 


There's a kidling with the dam. 


Is the earth in all her pride ; ■ 


A fat wether and a lamb. 


The fair lady of the May, 


And for those that leapen far. 


Trimmed up in her best array, 


"Wrestle, run, and throw the bar, 


Ilath invited all the swains. 


There's appointed guerdons too: 


"With the lasses of the plains. 


He that best the first can do 


To attend upon her sport 


Shall for his reward be paid 


At the places of resort. 
42 


"With a sheep-hook, fair inlaid 







642 POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION 


With fine bono of ii s(rau2;o boast 


But whato'or it bo, I must 


That nion bring out of tlie wost ; 


Be content, and shall, I trust. 


For the noxt a scrip of red, 


For a song I do not pass 


Tassollod with fine colored thread ; 


'Mongst my friends ; but what, alas ! 


There's prepared for their meed 


Should I have to do with them 


That in runninj; inako most speed. 


That my music do contemn? 


Or the cunning iiioasuros foot, 


Some there are, as well I wot, 


Cups of turned nia]do-root, 


That the same yet favor not; 


"Whereupon the skilful man 


Yet I cannot well .tvow 


llath engraved tlio loves of Pan ; 


They my carols disallow ; 


And the last hath for his due 


But such malice I h.ive spied, 


A tine napkin wrought with blue. 


'T is as much as if they did. 


Tlion, my Willy, why art thou 




Careless of thy merit now ? 


PHILARETB. 


What dost thou here, with a wight 


Willy ! what m.iy those men be 


That is shut up from delight 


Are so ill to malice thee ? 


lu a solitary den. 




As not fit to live with men? 


WILLY. 


Go, my Willy 1 get thee gone — 


Some are worthy-well esteemed ; 


Leave mo in exile alone; 


Some without worth, are so deemed: 


Hie thoo to that merry throng. 


Others of so base a spirit 


And amaze them with thy song ! 


Thoy have nor esteem nor merit 


Thou art young, yet such a lay 




Never graced the mouth of May, 


rniLABKTK. 


As, if tbey provoke thy skill, 


What's the wrong} .... 


Thou canst tit unto thy quill. 




I with wonder heard thee sing 


WILLY. 


At our last year's revelling. 


A slight offence. 


Then I with the rest was free, 


Wherewith.al I can dispense ; 


When, tmkuown, I noted thee, 


But heroiifter, for their Sitke, 


And perceived the ruder swains 


To myself I '11 nmsio make. 


Envy tliy far sweeter strains- 




Yea, I saw the lasses cling 


rmiARETE. 


Eound about thee in a ring, 


What, because some clown odends. 


As if each one jealous were 


WUt thou punish all thy friends ? 


Any but herself should hear ; 




And I know they yet do long 


WILLY. 


For tlio residue of thy song. 


Do not, Phil ! misunderstand me — 


Haste theo then to sing it forth ; 


Those that love me m.ay command mo : 


Take the benefit of worth ; 


But thou know'st I am but young. 


And Pesert will sure bequeath 


And the pastond I snng 


Fame's fair garland for thy wreath. 


Is by some supposed to be. 


Hie thoo, Willy 1 hie away. 


By a strain, too high for me ; 




So they kindly let me gain 


WU.LT. 


Not my labor for my p.<un. 




Trust ir.e, I do wonder why 


Phila ! rather let me stay, 


They should me my own deny. 


And bo desolate with thee, 


Though I "m young, I scorn to flit 


Than at those their revels be. 


On the wings of borrowed wit ; 


Naught such is my skill, I wis, 


I '11 m.ike iity own feathers rear me. 


As indeed thou deom'st it is ; 


Whither others cannot bear me. 







THE SnEPIIERD'S HUNTING. 



043 



Yet I 'U keep my skill in store, 
Till I 'vo seen some winters more. 



rnlLAEETE. 

But in earnest mean'st thou so? — 

Then thou art not wise, I trow : 

Better shall advise thee Pan, 

For thou dost not rightly then; 

That 's the ready way to blot 

All the credit thou hast got. 

Eather in thy age's prime 

Get another start of time ; 

And make those that so fond be, 

Spite of their own dulness, see 

That the sacred muses can 

Make a child in years a man. 

It is known what thou canst do ; 

For it is not long ago, 

"When that Cuddy, thou and I, 

Each the other's skill to try. 

At Saint Dunstan's charmed well. 

As some present there can tell, 

Saug upon a sudden theme, 

Sitting by the crimson stream ; 

Where if thou didst well or no 

Yet remains the song to show. 

Much experience more I 've had 

Of thy skill, thou happy lad ; 

And would make the world to know it, 

But that time will further show it. 

Envy makes their tongues now run. 

More than doubt of what is done ; 

For that needs must be thine own, 

Or to be some other's known ; 

But how then will't suit unto 

What thou shalt hereafter do ? 

Or I wonder where is he 

Would with that song part with thee ! 

Nay, were there so mad a swain 

Could such glory sell for gain, 

Phoebus would not have combined 

That gift with so base a mind. 

Never did the nine impart 

The sweet secrets of their art 

Unto any that did scorn 

Wo should see their favors worn. 

Therefore, unto those that say 

Were they pleased to sing a lay 

They could do 't, and will not tho' 

This I speak, for this I know — 



None e'er drank the Thespian spring, 

And know how, but he did sing; 

For, that once infused in man, 

Makes him shew 't, do what he can ; 

Nay, those that do only sip. 

Or but e'en their fingers dij) 

In that sacred fount, poor elves I 

Of that brood will show themselves. 

Yea, in hope to get them fume, 

They will speak, though to their shame. 

Let those, then, at thee repine 

That by their wits measure thine ; 

Needs those songs must bo thine own, 

And that one day will bo known. 

That i)Oor imputation, too, 

I myself do undergo ; 

lint it will appear, ere long. 

That 't was envy sought our wrong. 

Who, at twice ten, have sung more 

Than some will do at four score. 

Cheer thee, honest AVilly I then, 

And begin thy song again. 



Fain I would ; but I do fear, 
When again my lines they hear, 
If they yield they are my rhymes, 
Tlicy will feign some other crimes ; 
And 'tis no safe venturing by 
Where we see detraction lie; 
For, do what I can, I doubt 
She will pick some quarrel out ; 
And I oft have heard defended 
Little said is soon amended. 

PnlLAEETE. 

See'st thou not, in clearest days 

Oft thick fogs cloud heaven's rays? 

And that vapors, which do breathe 

From the earth's gross womb beneath, 

Seem unto us with black steams 

To pollute the sun's bright beams — 

And yet vanish into air, 

Leaving it, unblemished, fair? 

So, my Willy, shall it be 

With detraction's breath on thee — 

It shall never rise so high 

As to stain thy poesy. 

As that sun doth oft exhale 

Vapors from each rotten vale, 



644 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Poesy so sometimes drains 

Gross conceits from nuulily brains — 

Mists of envy, fogs of spite, 

"i'wixt men's judgments and her light; 

]5nt so much lior power may do 

That she can dissolve them too. 

If thy verse do bravely tower, 

As she makes wing- she gets power; 

Yet the higher she dolli soar 

She 's atl'ronted still the more. 

Till she to the high'st hatli past, 

Then she rests with fame at last. 

Let naught, therefore, thee atl'right, 

Hut make forward in thy flight. 

For, if I could match thy rliynie, 

To the very stars I 'd climb ; 

There begin again, and lly 

Till I reached eternity. 

l>ut, alas ! my muso is slow — 

For thy place she flags too low ; 

Yea — the more 's her hapless fate — 

Her short wings were dipt of late ; 

And poor I, her fortune ruing, 

And myself put up a-mewing. 

]5ut if I my cage can rid, 

I '11 fly where I never did ; 

And though for her sake Fm crost, 

Though my best hopes I have lost. 

And knew she would make my trouble 

Te\i times more than ten times double, 

I should love and keep her too, 

'Spite of all the world could do. 

For, though banished from my flocks. 

And confined within these rooks, 

Here I waste away the light. 

And consume the sullen night. 

She doth for my comfort stay. 

And keeps many cares away. 

Though I miss the flow'ry fields, 

■\Vith those sweets the spring -tide 

yields — 
Though I may not see these groves 
"Where the shepherds cliaunt their loves. 
And the lasses more excel 
Thau the sweet-voiced Philomel — 
Thongli of all those pleasures past 
Nothing now remains at last 
But remembrance, poor relief, 
That more makes than mends my grief — 
She 's my mind's cominiuion still, 
Mangro envy's evil will ; 



Whence she should be driven too, 

Were 't in mortal's power to do. 

She doth tell mo where to borrow 

Comfort in the midst of sorrow. 

Makes the desolatest place 

To her presence he a grace. 

And the blackest discontents 

To be pleasing ornaments. 

In my former days of bliss 

Her divine skill taught me this — 

That from every thing I saw 

1 could some invention draw. 

And raise pleasure to her height 

Through the meanest object's sight; 

By the murmur of a spring, 

Or the least bough's rusteling — 

By a daisy, whose leaves, spi-ead. 

Shut when Titan goes to bed — 

Or a shady bush or tree. 

She could more infuse in me 

Thau all nature's beauties can 

In some other wiser man. 

By her help I also now 

Make this churlish place allow 

Some things that may sweeten gladness 

In the very giill of s.adncss : 

The dull loneness, the black shade 

That these hanging-vaults have nuide; 

The strange music of the waves. 

Beating on these hollow caves; 

This hl.ack den, which rocks emboss. 

Overgrown with eldest moss ; 

The rude port.als that give light 

More to terror than delight ; 

This my chamber of neglect. 

Walled about with disrespect; — 

From all these, and this dull air, 

A fit object for despair. 

She hath taught me, by her might, 

To draw comfort and deliglit. 

Therefore, thou best earthly bliss ! 

1 will cherish thee for this. 

Poesy, thou sweet'st content 

That e'er heaven to mortals lent ! 

Though they as a trifle leave tliee 

Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive 

thee — 
Though thou be to tliem a scorn 
That to naught but earth are boru — 
Let mj- life no longer be 
Thau I am in love with thee ; 



COWPEU'f 


i GRAVE. 645 


Thougli our wise ones call thee madness, 


Frosts wo see do nip that thing 


Let me never taste of gladness 


AVhich is forward's! in the spring; 


If I love not tljy madd'st fits 


Yet at last, for all such lets, 


More than all their greatest wits ; 


Somewhat of the rest it gets; 


And though some, too seeming lioly, 


And I 'm sure that so mayst thou. 


Do account thy raptures folly, 


Therefore, my kind Willy, now. 


Thou dost teach mo to contemn 


Since thy folding-time draws on, 


"What makes knaves and fools of them. 


And I sue thou nnist be gone. 


high power! that oft doth carry 


Thee I earnestly beseech 


Men above 


To romoiriber this my speech, 




And some little counsel take. 


wiixy. 


For Philarete Ills sake; 


' .... Good Philarete, tarry I 


And I more of this will say. 


1 I do fear thou wilt he gone 


If thou come next holiday. 


1 Quite above my reach anon. 


OeOBCB WlTIIEfl. 


The kind flames of poesy 

Have now horno thy thoughts so high 






That they up in heaven be, 




And have quite forgotten me. 


COWPER'S GP.AVE. 


Call thyself to mind again — 




Are these raptures for a swain 


I will Invito tlict', from tliy c-nvlous hcnrM 


That attends on lowly sheep, 


To rlMO, and 'bout the world tliy befkrriM to eprcad, 


And with sim]jle Iierds doth keep? 


That wo may boo there 'm brIffhtnesH In tlio dead. 

Hariiinoto.v. 


PJIILAI'.HTK. 


It is a place where poets crowned 


Thanks, my Willy ! I had run 


May feel the heart's decaying — 


Till that time had lodged the sun. 


It is a place where hajipy saints 


If thou hadst not made me stay ; 


May weep amid their praying; 


But thy pardon hero I pray; 


Yet let the grief and himibleness, 


Loved Ajiollo's sacred sire 


As low as silence, languish — 


Had raised up my spirits higher. 


Earth surely now may give her calm 


Through the love of poesy, 


To whom she gave lier anguish. 


Than indeed they use to fly. 




But as I said I say still — 




If that I had Willy's skilt 


poets! from a maniac's tongue 


Envynf)r detraction's tongue 


Was poured the deathless singing! 


Should e'er make me leave my song; 


Christians! .at your cross of hope 


But I 'd sing it every day, 


A hopeless hand was clinging! 


Till they pined tliemselves away. 


men! tins 7nan, in brotherhood, 


Be thou then advised in this, 


Your weary paths beguiling. 


Which both just and fitting is — 
Finish what thou hast begiui. 


(iroaned inly while he taught you peace, 


And died while ye were smiling! 


Or at least still forward run. 




Hail and thunder ill he'll Ijoar 


And now, what time ye all may read 


That a blast of wind doth fear; 


Through dimming tears his story — 


And if words will thus affray thee, 


How discord on the music fell, . 


Prythce liow will deeds dismay thee ? 


And darkness on the glory — 


IJo not think so rathe a song 


And how, when one by one, sweet sounds 


Can pass through the vulgar throng. 


And wandering lights departed. 


And escape without a touch — 


lie wore no loss a loving face, 


Or that they can hurt it much. 


Because so broken-hearted — 



646 POEMS OF SENTIMEXT AND REFLECTION. 


ITe shall be strong to sanctify 


That turns his fevered eyes around — 


Tho poet's high vocation, 


" My mother ! where 's my mother? " — 


Anil bow the meekest Christian down 


As if such tender words and looks 


In meeker adoration ; 


Could conic from any other — 


Nor ever shall he be in praise 




By wise or good forsaken — 


The fever gone, with leaps of heart 


Named softly, as the household name 


He sees her bending o'er him ; 


Of one whom God hath taken ! 


Her face all p.ale from watchful love, 




Th' unweary love she bore him ! 


■With sadness that is calm, not gloom, 

I learn to think upon him ; 
\Vith meekness that is gratefulness, 

Ou God whose heaven hath won him — 


Thus woke tlie poet from the dream 
His life's long fever gave him. 

Beneath these deep pathetic eyes 
Which closed in death to save him ! 


Who suflered once the madness-cloud 
Toward his love to blind him ; 

But gently led the blind along 

Where breath and bird could find him ; 


Thus ! oh, not thus ! no type of earth 
Could im.nge that awaking. 

Wherein he scarcely heard the chant 
Of seraphs, round him breaking — 




Or felt the new immortal throb 


And wrought within his shattered brain 


Of soul from body parted ; 


Such quick poetic senses 


But felt those eyes alone, and knew 


As hUls have language for, and stars 


" STy Saviour ! not deserted ! " 


Harmonious iutluences ! 




The pulso of dew upon the grass. 


Deserted ! who hath dreamt that when 


His own did caludy number ; 


The cross in darkness rested. 


And silent shadow from the trees 


Upon the victim's hidden face 


Fell o'er him like a slumber. 


No love w.ts manifested ? 




What frantic hands outstretched have e'er 


Tho very world, by God's constraint, 
From falsehood's chill removing. 

Its women and its men became. 
Beside him, true and loving! — ■ 


The atoning drops averted — 
What tears have washed them from the 
soul — 
That one should be deserted? 


And timid hares were drawn from woods 

To share his home-caresses, 
Uplooking to his human eyes 

With sylvan tendernesses. 


Deserted! God could separate 
From His jwn essence rather ; 

And Adam's sins have swept between 
The righteous Son and Father — 




Yea ! once, Immanuel's orphaned cry 


But while in blmdness ho remained 


His universe hath shaken — 


Uuconseious of tho guiding. 


It went up single, echoless, 


And things provided came without 


'■ My God, I am forsaken ! " 


Tho sweet sense of providing. 




He testified this solemn truth. 


It went up from the holy lips 


Though frenzy desolated — 


Amid His lost creation, 


Nor man nor nature satisfy. 


That of tho lost no son should use 


When only God created ! 


Those words of desolation ; 




That earth's worst frenzies, marring hope. 


Like a sick child that knoweth not 


Should mar not hope's fruition ; 


His mother while she blesses, 


And I, on Cowper's grave, should see 


And droppeth ou his burning brow 


His rapture, in a ^■ision ! 


The coolness of her kisses ; 


EuzAEirrn Bakbeit Browxixo 



THE VISION. 



647 



TlIK VISION. 



DUAN FIRST. 



The suu had closed tlio winter day, 
The curlers quat their roaring play, 
An' hungered maukin ta'en her way 

To kail-yards green, 
While faithless snaws ilk step betray 

Wliar she has been. 

Tiie thresher's weary flingin-tree 
The lee-laiig day had tired luo ; 
And whan the day had closed his ee, 

Far i' the west, 
Ben i' the spence right pensivelie 

I gaed to rest. 

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, 
I sat and eyed the spewing reek. 
That fiUed, wi' hoast-provoking smeek, 

The auld clay biggin ; 
An' heard tho restless rattons squeak 

About the riggin'. 

All in this mottie, misfy dime, 

I backward mused on wasted time — 

How I had spent my youthfu' prime, 

An' done nao thing 
But stringin' blethers up in rhyme. 

For fools to sing. 

Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
I might, by this, hae led a market. 
Or strutted in a bank and clarkit 

My cash-account ; 
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit, 

la a' th' amount. 

I started, muttering, "blockhead! coof!" 
And heaved on high my waukit loof. 
To swear by a' yon starry roof, 

Or some rash aith. 
That I, henceforth, would bo rhyme proof 

Till my last breath — 

When click ! tho string the snick did draw ; 
And jee ! the door gaed to tho wa' ; 
All' by my ingle lowo I saw. 

Now bleezin' bright, 
A tight, outlandish liizzie, braw. 

Come full in siglit. 



Yo need na doubt I hold my whist — 
Tho infant aith, half-formed, was crusht , 
I glowered as oerio 's I 'd been dush't 

In some wild glen, 
When sweet, like modest worth, she bluslit, 

And stepped beii. 

Green, slender, leaf-clad liolly-bouglis 
Were twisted, gracofu', round her brows; 
I took her for somo Scottish muso 

By that same token. 
An' come to stop those reckless vows, 

Wou'd soon been broken. 

A " hair-brained sentimental trace " 
Was strongly marked in her face ; 
A wildy-witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her ; 
Her eye, cv'n turned on empty space, 

Beamed keen with lienor. 

Down flowed her robe, a tartan sheen, 
Till half a leg was serimply seen ; 
And such a log I — my bonnio Jeau 

Could only peer it ; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and cleau, 

Nano else came near it. 

Her mantio large, of greenish hue. 

My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 

Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw 

A lustre grand, 
And seemed, to my astonished view, 

A well-known land. 

Hero rivers in the sea were lost ; 

There mountains to the skies were tost ; 

Here tumbling billows marked tho coast 

With surging foam ; 
There distant shone art's lofty boast. 

The lordly dome. 

Hero Doon poured downhis far-fetched floods; 
There well-fed Irwine stately thuds ; 
Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods, 

On to the shore ; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds. 

With seeming roar. 

Low, in a sandy valley spread, 

An ancient borough reared her head; 



643 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Still, as in Scottish story read, 

She boasts a race 
To every nobler virtue bred, 

And polished grace. 

By stately to-\ver or palace fair. 

Or ruins pendent in the air, 

Bold stems of heroes, here and there, 

I could discern ; 
Some seemed to muse— some seemed to dare, 

With feature stern. 

My heart did glowing transport feel. 

To see a race heroic ■wheel, 

And brandish round the deep-dyed steel 

In sturdy blows ; 
While back-recoiling seemed to reel 

Their Suthron foes. 

His country's saviour, mark him well ! 
Bold Richardton's heroic swell ; 
The chief on Sark who glorious fell, 

In high command ; 
And ho whom ruthless fotes expel 

His native land. 

There, where a sceptored Pictish shade 
Stalked round his ashes lowly laid, 
I marked a martial race, portrayed 

In colors strong ; 
Bold, soldier-featured, undismayed, 

They strode along. 

Through many a wild, romantic grove, 
Near many a hermit-fancied cove 
(Fit haunts for friendship or for love). 

In musing mood. 
An aged judge, I saw him rove, 

Dispensing good. 

With deep-struck reverential awe 

The learned sire and son I saw : 

To nature's God and nature's law 
They gave their lore ; 

This, all its source and end to draw- 
That, to adore. 

Brydone's brave ward I well could spy 
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye. 
Who called on fame, low standing by 

To hand him on 
Where many a patriot-name on higli. 

And hero shone. 



DUAN SECOND. 

With musing deep, astonished stare, 
I viewed the heavenly-seeming fair ; 
A whispering throb did witness bear 

Of kindred sweet. 
When, with an elder sister's air. 

She did me greet: — 

All hail ! my own inspired bard 
In mo thy native muse regard ; 
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, 

Thus poorly low ! 
I come to give thee such reward 

As we bestow. 

Know the great genius of this land 
Has many a light aerial band. 
Who, all beneath his high command, 

Harmoniously, 
As arts or arms they understand. 

Their labors ply. 

They Scotia's race among them share : 
Some fire the soldier on to dare ; 
Some rouse the patriot up to bare 

Corruption's heart ; 
Some teach the bard — a darling care — 

The tuneful art. 

'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore 
They ardent, kindling spirits pour ; 
Or 'mid the venal senate's roar 

They, sightless, stand. 
To mend the honest patriot lore, 

And grace the land. 

And when the bard, or hoary sage, 
Charm or instruct the future age, 
They bind the wUd poetic rage 

In energy, 
Or point the inconclusive page 

Full on the eye. 

Hence Fullarton, the brave and young ; 
Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue; 
Hence sweet harmonious Beattie sung 

His minstrel lays ; 
Or tore, with noble ardor stung. 

The sceptic's bays. 



THE VISION ,;43 


To lower orders are assigned 


And joy and music pouring forth 


The humbler ranks of human kind : 


In every grove, 
I saw thee eye the general mirth 


The rustic bard, the lab'ring hind, 


The artisan — 


With boundless love. 


AH choose, as various they 're inclined, 




The various man. 


When ripened fields and azure .skies 




Called forth the reapers' rustling noise. 


When yellow waves the heavy grain, 


I saw thee leave their evening joys, 


The threat'ning storm some strongly rein ; 


And lonely stalk 


Some teach to meliorate the plain 


To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 


With tillage skill; 


In pensive walk. 


And some instruct the shepherd train, 
Blythe o'er the hill. 


When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong, 
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, 




Those accents grateful to thy tongue, 


Some hint the lover's harmless wile ; 


Th' adored name. 


Some grace the maiden's artless smile ; 


I taught thee how to pour in song, 


Some sooth the lab'rer's weary toil 


To sooth thy flame. 


For humble gains. 




And make his cottage-scenes beguile 


I saw thy pulse's maddening play 


His cares and pains. 


Wild send thee pleasure's devious way, 




Misled by fancy's meteor ray, 


Some, bounded to a district-space. 


By passion driven ; 


Explore at large man's infant race. 


But yet the light that led astray 


To mark the embryotic trace. 


Was light from heaven. 


Of rustic bard ; 




And cartful note each op'ning grace — 


I taught thy manners-painting strains, 


A guide and guard. 


The loves, the ways of simple swains — 




TiU now, o'er all my wide domains 


Of these am I — Coila my name ; 


Thy fame extends. 


And this district as mine I claim. 


And some, the pride of Coila's plains. 


Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame. 


Become tliy friends. 


Held ruling pow'r; 


Thou canst not learn, nor can I show. 


I marked thy embryo tuneful flame. 


To paint with Thomson's landscape glow ; 


Thy natal hour. 


Or wake the bosom-melting throe. 




With Shenstone's art; 


With future hope I oft would gaze, 


Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow 


Fond, on thy little early ways. 


Warm on the heart. 


Thy rudely carolled, chiming phrase 




In uncouth rhymes, 


Yet all beneath th' nnrivaUed rose 


Fired at the simple artless lays 


The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; 


Of other times. 


Though large the forest's monarch throws 




His army shade. 


I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 


Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows 


Delighted with the dashing roar ; 


Adown the glade. 


Or when the north his fleecy store 




Drove through the sky. 


Then never murmur nor repine ; 


I saw grim nature's visage hoar 


Strive in thy humble sphere to shine; 


Struck thy young eye. 


And trust me, not Potosi's mine, 




Not kings' regard, 


Or when the deep green-mantled earth 


Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, 


Warm cherished every flow'ret's birth, 


A rustic bard. 



650 



POEMS OF SEXTIMEXT AXD REFLECTION. 



To give my counsels all in one — 
Thy timelul flame still careful fau; 
rroserve the diguity of man, 

With soul erect ; 
And bust the iiniversjil plan 

■Will all protect. 

And wear thou this ! — she solemn said, 
And bound the holly round my head ; 
The polished leaves and berries red 

Did rustling play — 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 

In light away. 

KOB££T BrENS. 



ON THE DEATH OF BUKXS. 

Rear high thy bleak mi\iestic hills. 

Thy sheltered valleys proudly spread — 
And, Scotia, jiour thy thousand rills, 

And wave thy heaths with blossoms red ; 
But, ah ! what poet now shall tread 

Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign. 
Since he, the sweetest ban!, is dead, 

That ever breathed tJie soothing strain i 

As green thy towering pines may grow, 

As clear thy streams may speed sUong, 
As bright thy summer suns may glow, 

As gayly chjirni thy featliery tlirong ; 
But now unheeded is the song. 

And dtiU and lifeless aU around — 
For his wild harp lies all nnstrimg. 

And cold the hand that wtiked its sound. 

TVhat though thy vigorous oflspring rise — 

In arts, in arms, thy sons excel ; 
Though beauty in thy daughters' eyes, 

And heiilth in every feature dwell ; 
Yet who shall now their praises tell 

In strains impassioned, fond, and free, 
Since he no more the song shall swell 

To love, and liberty, and thee ! 

VTith step-dame eye :md frown severe 
His hapless youth why didst thou view i 

For all thy joys to him were dear. 
And all his vows to thee were due ; 



Xor greater bliss his bosom knew. 
In opening youth's delightful prime, 

Thim when thy favoring ear he drew 
To listen to his chanted rhyme. 

Thy lonely w.istes and frowning skies 

To him were all with rapture fraught ; 
He heard witli joy tlio tempest rise 

That waked him to sublimer thought ; 
.;Vnd oft thy winding dells he sought, 

■Wliere wild flowers poured their rathe per- 
fume, 
And with sincere devotion brought 

To tbee the summer's earliest bloom. 

But ah! no fond maternal smile 

His unprotected youth enjoyed — 
His limbs inured to CiU'ly toil. 

His days with early hardsliips tried ! 
And more to m.«irk the gloomy void. 

And bid him feel his misery, 
Before his infant eyes would glide 

Day-dreams of iinmortjtlity. 

Yet, not by cold neglect depressed, 

"With sinewy arm he turned tlie soil. 
Sunk with the evening sun to rest, 

And met at morn his earliest smile. 
Waked by his rustic pipe meanwhile. 

The powers of fancy came along. 
And soothed his lengthened hours of toil 

■With native wit and sprightly song. 

Ah ! days of bliss too swiftly fled, 

AVhen vigorous health from labor springs, 
And bland contentment soothes the bed, 

And sleep his re.idy opiate brings ; 
-InJ hovering round on airy wings 

Float the light forms of young desire. 
That of unutterable things 

The soft and shadowy hope inspire. 

Xow spells of mightier power prepare — 

Bid brighter phsmtoms roimd him dance ; 
Let flattery spread her viewless snare, 

And t^une attract his vagrant glance ; 
Let sprightly pleasure too advance. 

Unveiled her eyes, nnchisped her zone — 
Till, lost in love's deUrious trance. 

He scorn the joys his yonti has known. 



AT THE GRAVE OF BURNS. 



CBl 



r,«t friond.-iliip pour hor briglitost blazo, 

Exiiaiiding all tlio bloom of soul ; 
And mirth concentre all licr rays, 

Anil point them from the sparkling bowl; 
And lot the careless moments roll 

In social pleasures unconfined, 
And confidonco that spnrns control, 

Unlock the inmost S])rings of mind! 

And load liis steps those bowers among, 

Where elegance with splendor vies, 
Or science bids hor favored throng 

To more rclined sensations rise ; 
Beyond the peasant's hnmbler joys. 

And freed from each laborious strife. 
There let him learn the bliss to prize 

Tiiat waits the sons of polished life. 

Tlien, whilst his throbbing veins beat high 

With every impulse of delight. 
Dash from his lips the cup of joy, 

And shroud the scene in shades of night ; 
And let despair with wizard light 

Disclose the yawning gulf below. 
And pour incessant on his sight 

Her spectred ills and shapes of woo ; 

And show beneath a cheerless shed. 

With sorrowing heart and streaming eyes, 
In silent grief where droops her head 

The partner of his early joys; 
And let his infants' tender cries 

His fond parental succor claim. 
And bid him hear in agonies 

A husband's and a father's name. 

'T is done — tlio powerful charm succeeds ; 

His high reluctant si)irit bonds ; 
In bitterness of soul ho bleeds. 

Nor longer with his fate contends. 
An idiot laugh the welkin rends 

As genius thus degraded lies ; 
Till pitying heaven the veil extends 

That shrouds the poet's ardent eyes. 

Rear high thy bleak majestic hills, 

Thy sheltered valleys proudly spread, 
And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills. 
And wave thy heaths with blossoms red; 



But never more shall poet tread 

Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign— 

Since ho, the sweetest bard, is dead 
That ever breathed the soothing strain. 

"WlLtlAM Ilf>8C0a. 



AT THE GRAVE OF BURNS. 

SEVEN YEAKS AFTEI! IliS DEATir. 

I snivEii, spirit fierce and bold. 

At thought of what I now behold : 

As vapors breathed from dungeons colil 

Strike pleasure dead, 
So sadness comes from out the mould 

Where Burns is laid. 

And have I then thy bones so near, 
And thou forljidden to ajipear? 
As if it were thyself that 's hero, 

I shrink with pain ; 
And both my wishes and my fear 

Alike are vain. 

Oif weight, — nor press on weight I — away 
Dark thoughts! — they came, but not to stay ; 
With chastened feelings would I pay 

The tribute due 
To him, and aught that hides liis clay 

From mortal view. 

Fresh as the flower whose modest worth 
lie sang, his genius "glinted" forth — 
Rose like a star that, touching earth, 

(For 80 it seems) 
Doth glorify its humble birth 

With matchle.ss beams. 

The piercing eye, the thoughtful brow, 
Tlie struggling heart, where bo they now ?— 
Full soon the asjiirant of the plough. 

The prompt, the brave, 
Slept, with the obscurest, in the low 

And silent grave. 

I mourned with thousands — but a.s one 
More deeply grieved ; for he was gone 
Whose light I hailed when first it shone, 

And showed my youth 
How verse may build a princely throne 

On humble truth. 



Cfi2 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT ANB REFLECTION. 



Alas ! wliero'er tho current teuds 
Eegret jnirsiios niul -with it bleiuls ! 
Ihigo CrilVi'l'rf lunn-y top iisi-ouds 

By t^kiJilaw seen ; 
Neighbors wo were, ami loving friends 

Wo might have been — 

Trne friends, though diversely inclined : 
But heart with heart and mind with mind, 
M'horo tho main fibres are entwined 

Tlirongh nature's skill, 
!^[ay even by contraries be joined 

More closely still. 

The tear will start, and let it flow ; 
Thou "poor inhabitant below," 
At this dread moment — even so — 

Might we together 
Have sat and tiUked where gowans blow, 

Or on wild heather. 

AV hat treasures would have then been placed 
Witliin my reach, of knowledge graced 
By fancy, what a rich repast! 

But why go on ? — 
Oil ! spare to sweep, thou mournful blast.. 

His grave grass-grown. 
There, too, a son, his joy and pride, 
(Not three weeks past tlie stripling died). 
Lies gathered to his lather's side — 

Soul-moving sight ! 
Yet one to which is not denied 

Some sad delight. 

For he is safe, a quiet bed 

Hath early found among the dead — 

Iliirbored where none can be misled, 

■Wronged, or distrcst ; 
And surely here it may be s;ud 

That such are blest. 

And oh I for thee, by pitying grace 
Chocked olUiraes in a devious race — 
May He who halloweth tlio place 

AYhere man is laid. 
Receive thy spirit in tlie embrace 

For which it prayed ! 

Sighing, I turned away; bnt ere 
Night fell 1 heard, or seemed to hear. 
Music that sorrow comes not near — 

A ritual hymn, 
Ohantetl, in love that casts ont fear. 

By serapbiui. 



T II o u G u T s , 

SUGGESTED THE DAY FOLLOWrSQ, ON TnEBAXKS 
OP NITH, NEAU THE TOEt's RESIDENCE. 

Too frail to keep the lofty vow 
Tliat must have followed when his brow 
AVas wreathed — "The Vision" tells us 
how — 

Withln>lly spray, 
lie faltered, drifted to and fro, 

And passed away. 

■Well might such thoughts, dear sister, 

throng 
Our minds when, lingering all too long. 
Over the grave of Burns we hung 

In social grief, — 
Indulged as if it were a wrong 

To seek relief. 

But, leaving each nnqniet theme 
Where gentlest judgments may misdeem. 
And promjit to welcome every gleam 

Of good and tiiir. 
Let us beside this limpid stream 

Breatlio hopeful air. 

Enough of sorrow, wreck, and blight ! 
Think rather of those moments bright 
When to the consciousness of right 

Ilis coni-se was true — 
When wisdom prospered in his sight, 

And virtue grew. 

Yes, freely let our hearts expand. 
Freely as in youth's season bland. 
When, side by side, his book in h.and. 

We wont to stray, 
Our pleasure varyiug at command 

Of each sweet lay. 

How oft, insph-ed, must he have trod 
These pathways, yon far-stretching road I 
There lurks his home ; in that abode, 

With mirth elate. 
Or in his nobly pensive mood, 

The rustic sate. 

Proud thoughts that image overawes ; 
Before it humbly let us pause. 
And ask of nature from what c«nse, 

And by what rules. 
She trained her Burns to win applause 

That shames the schools. 



BURNS. 



(153 



Tbrough busiest street and loneliest glen 

Are felt the lltislies of liis pen ; 

Ho rules 'iiiiil winter snows, and when 

Itees iill their hives; 
Deep in the general heart of men 

His power survives. 

What need of fields in some far clime 
Wlierc heroes, sageo, bards sublime, 
And all tliut fetched the (lowing rhyme 

From genuine s|)rings. 
Shall dwell together till old time 

Folds up his wings 2 

Sweet mercy ! to the gates of heaven 
This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven — 
The rueful conflict, the heart riven 

With vain endeavor, 
And memory of earth's bitter leaven 

Effaced for ever. 

But why to hitn confine the prayer. 
When kindred thoughts and yearnings bear 
On the frail Iieart the purest share 

AVithall that live 2— 
The best of what we do and are, 

Just God, forgive ! 

William Wokdswobth. 



BURNS. 

No more these simple flowers belong 

To Scottisli maid and lover- 
Sown in the common soil of song. 
They bloom the wide world over. 

In smiles and tears, in sun and showers, 
The minstrel and the hcatlier — 

The deathless singer and tlie flowers 
He sang of — live together. 

Wild heather bells and Robert Burns! 

The moorland flower and peasant ! 
How, at their mention, memory turns 

Her pages old and pleasant ! 

The gray sky wears again its gold 

And purple of adorning, 
And manhood's noonday shadows hold 

The dews of boyliood's morning — 

The dews that washed the dust and soil 
From off the wings of pleasure — 



The gky that flecked the ground of toil 
'tt'ith golilen threads of leisure. 

I call to mind the sunnner day — 

The early harvest mowing. 
The sky with sun and cloud at play, 

And flowers with breezes blowing. 

I hear the blackbird in tlio corn, 

The locust in the haying; 
And, like the fabled hunter's horn. 

Old tunes my lieart is playing. 

How oft that day, with fond delay, 

I sought the maple's shadow, 
And sang with Ihirns the hours away, 

Forgetful of the meadtnv ! 

Bees hummed, birds twittered, overhead 
I heard the squirrels leaping — 

The good dog listened while I road. 
And wagged his tail in keeping. 

I watched him while in sportive mood 
I read " The Twa Dogs' " story, 

And half believed he understood 
Tiie poet's allegory. 

Sweet day, sweet songs ! — ITie golden lion i-h 
Grew brighter for that singing. 

From brook and bird and meadow flowers 
A dearer welcome bringing. 

New light on home-seen nature beamed. 

New glory over woman ; 
And daily life and duty seemed 

No longer poor and common. 

I woke to find the simple truth 

Of fact and feeling better 
Than all the dreams that held my youth 

A still repining debtor — 

That nature gives her handmaid, art, 
The tliemes of sweet discoursing. 

The tender idyls of the heart 
In every tongue rehearsing. 

Why dream of lands of gold and pearl, 

Of loving knight and lady. 
When farmer boy and barefoot girl 

Were wandering there already? 

I saw through all familiar things 
The romance underlying — 



654 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



The joys and griefs that plume the wings 
Of fancy skyward flying. 

I saw the same hlithe day return, 

The same sweet fall of even, 
That rose on wooded Craigie-hurn, 

And sank on crystal Devon. 

I matched with Scotland's heathery hUls 
The sweet-brier and the clover — 

With Ayr and Doon my native itIIs, 
Their wood hymns chanting over. 

O'er rank and pomp, as he had seen, 

I saw tlie man uprising — 
No longer common or unclean, 

The child of God's baptizing. 

With clearer eyes I saw the worth 

Of life among the lovrly ; 
The bible at his cotter's hearth 

Had made my own more holy. 

And if at times an evil strain. 

To lawless love appealicg, 
Broke ia upon the sweet refrain 

Of pure and healthful feeling. 

It died upon the eye and ear, 

No inward answer gaining ; 
No heart had I to see or hear 

The discord and the staining. 

Let those who never erred forget 
Ilis worth, in vain bewailings ; 

Sweet soul of song ! — I own my debt 
Uncancelled by his faihngs ! 

Lament who will tlio ribald line 
Which tells his lapse from duty — 

How kissed the maddening lips of wine. 
Or wanton ones of beauty — 

But think, while falls that shade between 

The erring one and heaven, 
That he who loved like Magdalen, 

Like her may he forgiven. 

Not his the song whose thunderous cliime 

Eternal echoes render — 
The mournful Tuscan's haunted rhyme, 

And Milton's starry splendor ; 

But who his human heart has laid 
To nature's bosom nearer? 



Who sweetened toil like him, or paid 
To love a tribute dearer ? 

Thi-ough all his tuneful art how strong 

The human feeling gushes ! 
The very moonlight of his song 

Is warm with smiles and blushes. 

Give lettered pomp to teeth of time. 
So " Bonnie Doon " but tarry ; 

Blot out the epic's stately rhyme. 
But spare his Higldand Mary I 

John Greekleaf WniTTiEE. 



ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S 
HOMER. 

Muon have I travelled in the realms of gold. 
And many goodly states and Iringdoms seen ; 
Round many western islands have I been 
Which bards in fealty to Apollo liold. 
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told 
That deep-browed Homer ruled as his de- 
mesne; 
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene 
Tin I heard Chapman speak out loud and 

bold : 
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies - 
When a new planet swims into his ken ; 
Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes 
He stared at the Pacific — and all his men 
Looked at each other with a wUd surmise — 
Silent, upon a peak in Darien. 

John Keats. 



UHLAND. 

It is the poet Uhland, from whose wrcath- 
ings 
Of rarest harmony I here have drawn, 
To lower tones and less melodious breathings. 
Some simple strains, of youth and jjassion 
born. 

His is the poetry of sweet expression — 
Of clear, unfaltering tune, serene and 
strong — 
Where gentlest thoughts and words, in soft 
procession. 
Move to the even measures of his song. 



UHLAND. 



665 



Delighting ever in Lis own calm fancies, 
He sees much beauty where inost men see 
niuiglit — 
Looking at nature with famihar glances, 
And weaving garlands in the groves of 
thought. 

He sings of yoatli, and hope, and high en- 
deavor ; 

He sings of love — oh crown of poesy ! — 
Of fate, and sorrow, and the grave — forever 

The end of strife, the goal of destiny. 

He sings of tatlierland, the minstrel's glory — 
High theme of memory and hope divine — 

Twining its tame with gems of antique story, 
In Suahian songs and legends of the Khine; 

In baUads breathing many a dim tradition. 

Nourished in long belief or minstrel rhymes. 
Fruit of the old romance, whose gentle mis- 
sion 
Passed fl'om the earth before our wiser 
times. 

Well do thoy know his name among the 
mountains, 
And plains and valleys, of his native land ; 
Part of their nature are the sparkling foun- 
tains 
Of his clear thought, with rainbow fancies 
spanned. 

His simple lays oft sings the mother, cheerful. 
Beside the cradle in the dim twilight; 

His plaintive notes low breathes the maiden, 
tearful, 
With tender murmurs in the ear of night. 

The Iiillside swain, the reaper in the mead- 
ows, 

Carol his ditties through the toilsome day ; 
And tlie lone hunter in the Alpine shadows 

Recalls his ballads by some ruin gray. 

Oh precious gift ! oh wondrous inspiration ! 

Of all high deeds, of all hai'monious things. 
To be the oracle, while a whole nation 

Catches the echo from the sounding strings ! 

Out of the depths of feeling and emotion 
Rises the orb of song, serenely bright — 



As who beholds, across the tracts of ocean. 
The golden sum-ise bursting into light. 

Wide is its magic world — divided neither 

By continent, nor sea, nor narrow zone : 
Who would not wish sometimes to travel 
thither, 
In fancied fortunes to forget his own ? 

WiLLiAsi Allen Butlee. 



THE GRAVE OF A POETESS. 

Let her I)e laid within a silent dell. 

Where hanging trees throw round a twilight 

gleam — 
Just within hearing of some village-bell, 
And by the margin of a low-voiced stream ; 
For these were sights and sounds she once 

loved well. 

Tlien o'er her grave the star-paved sky will 
beam ; 

While all around the fragrant wild-flowers 
lilow, 

And sweet birds sing her requiem to the wa- 
ter's flow. 

Thomas Miller. 



SONNET. 

The nightingale is mute — and so .art thou, 
Whose voice is sweeter tlian the nightin- 
gale; 

While every idle scholar makes a vow 
Above thy worth and glory to prevail. 

Yet shall not envy to that level bring 
The true precedence which is born in thee ; 

Tliou art no less the prophet of tlie spring, 
Though in the woods thy voice now silent 
be. 

For silence may impair but cannot kill 
Tlio music that is native to thy soul; 

Nor thy sweet mind, in this thy froward will. 
Upon thy purest honor have control ; 

But, since thou wilt not to our wishes sing. 

This truth I speak — thou ai't of poets king. 

LOED ThuELOW. 



650 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



OHAKADE. 

Come from niy first, ay, come ! 

The battle dawn is nigh : 
And the screaming trump and the tlmudering 
drum. 

Are calling thee to die ! 

Fight as thy father fought; 

Fall as thy father fell ; 
Thy task is taught ; thy shroud is wrought ; 

So forvyard and farewell! 

Toll yo my second ! toll ! 

Fling high the flambeau's light : 
And sing the hymn for a parted soul 

Beneath the silent night 1 

The wreath upon his he.ad, 
■ The cross upon his breast. 
Let the prayer bo said, and the tear be shed, 
So, — take him to his rest! 

Call ye my whole, ay, call 

Tlie lord of lute and lay ; 
And let him greet the sable pall 

"With a noble song to-day ; 

Go, call him by his name! 

No fitter hand may crave 
To light the flame of a soldier's fame 

On the turf of a soldier's grave. 

WlNTOROP Maokwoktu Pbaed. 



And shows the British youth, who ne'er 
Will lag behind, what Eonians were, 
When all the Tuscans and their Lars 
Shouted, and shook the towers of Mars. 

"Walter Savage LANDOfi. 



TO MAOAULAY. 

The dreamy rliymer's measured snore 
Falls heavy on our oars no more ; 
And by long sti-ides are left behind 
The dear delights of womankind, 
Who wage their battles like their loves. 
In satin waistcoats and kid gloves. 
And have achieved the crowning work 
When tliey have trussed and skewered a Turk. 
Anolher comes with stouter tread. 
And stalks among the statelier dead: 
He rushes on, and hails by turns 
High-crested Scott, broad-breasted Burns ; 



ODE. 



Babds of passion and of mirth, 
Ye have left your souls on earth ! 
Have ye souls in heaven too. 
Double-lived in regions new ? 
Yes, and those of heaven commune 
With the sphei-es of sun and moon ; 
With the noise of fountains wondrous. 
And the parte of voices thund'rous ; 
With the whisper of heaven's trees 
And one another, in soft ease 
Seated on Elysian lawns 
Browsed by none but Dian's fawns ; 
Underneath large blue-bells tented. 
Where the daisies are rose-scented, 
And the rose herself has got 
Perfume which on earth is not ; 
Where the nightmgale doth sing 
Not a senseless, tranced thing. 
But divine, melodious truth — 
Philosoiddc numbers smooth — 
Tales and golden histories 
Of heaven and its mysteries. 

Thus ye live on high, and then 
On the earth ye live again; 
And the souls ye left behind you 
Teach us here the way to find you. 
Where your other souls are joying. 
Never slumbered, never cloying. 
Here your earth-born souls still speak 
To mortals, of their little week ; 
Of their sorrows and delights ; 
Of their passions and their spites ; 
Of their glory and their shame ; 
Wliat doth strengthen and what maim. 
Thus ye teach ns, every day. 
Wisdom, though fled l;u' away. 

Bards of passion and of mirth. 
Ye have left your souls on eai'th I 
Ye have souls in heaven too, 
Double-lived in regions new ! 

John Keats 



A POET'S THOUGHT. 



657 



THE MINSTREL. 

" What voice, wLat harp, are those wo bear 

Beyond the gate in chorus 1 
Oo, pagel^the lay delights our ear; 

We '11 have it sung hcforo us ! " 
So speaks the king: the stripling flies — 
He soon returns ; his master cries — ■ 

" Bring in the hoary minstrel ! " 

" Hail, princes mine ! Hail, nohle knights ! 

All hail, enchanting dames 1 
"What starry heaven I What blinding lights ! 

Whoso tongue may tell their names? 
In this bright hall, amid this blaze. 
Close, close, mine eyes! Ye may not gaze 

On such stupendous glories ! " 

The minnesinger closed his eyes; 

He struck his mighty lyre : 
Then beauteous bosoms heaved with sighs. 

And warriors felt on fire ; 
The king, enraptured by the strain, 
Commanded that a golden chain 

Be given the hard in guerdon. 

"Not so! Reserve thy chain, thy gold, 
For those brave knights whose glances. 

Fierce flashing through the battle bold, 
Might shiver sharpest lances ! 

Bestow it on thy treasurer there — 

The golden burden let him bear 
With other glittering burdens. 

" I sing as in the greenwood bush 

The cageless wild-bird carols — 
The tones that from the fiiU heart gush 

Themselves are gold and laurels ! 
Yet might I ask, then thus I ask — 
Let one bright cup of wine, in flask 

Of glowing gold, be brought me ! " 

They set it down ; he qnaflTs it all — 

" Oh ! draught of richest flavor! 
Oh ! thrice divinely happy haU 

Where that is scarce a favor! 
If heaven shall bless ye, think on me ; 
And thank your God as I thank ye 

For this delicious wine-cup ! " 

JoHANN WoLFOANO VON GOETHE (German). 

Translation of James Clarence Manoan. 
43 



SONNET. 

Wno best can paint th' enamelled robe of 
spring. 
With flow'rots and fair blossoms well bo- 
dight; 
Who best can her melodious accents sing, 
With which she greets the soft return of 
light; 
Who best can bid the quaking tempest rage, 
And make th' imperial arch of Ijeav'n to 
groan — 

Breed warfare with the winds, and finely 
■wage 
Great strife with Neptune on his rocky 
throne — 
Or lose us in those sad and mournful days 
With which pale autumn crowns the misty 
year. 
Shall bear the prize, and in his true essays 

A poet in our awful eyes appear ; 
For whom let wine his mortal woes beguile, 
Gold, praise, and woman's thrice-endearing 
smile. 

LOED TnuELOW. 



A POET'S THOUGHT. 

Tell me, what is a poet's thought? 

Is it on the sudden born ? 
Is it from the starlight caught ? 
Is it by the tempest taught ? 

Or by whispering morn 2 

Was it cradled in the brain I 

Chained awhile, or nursed in night? 
Was it wrought with toil and pain ? 
Did it bloom and fade again. 

Ere it burst to light ? 

No more question of its birth : 
Rather love its better part ! 
'T is a thing of sky and earth. 
Gathering all its golden worth 
From the poet's heart. 

Bakkt Coenwall. 



65S 



rOEMS OF SEXTIMEXT AXP REFLECTION". 



RESOLmOX AXP IXDEPEXDEXCE. 



Thkek was a roaring in the -vrind sD night — 

The rain came heayilr and fell in floods ; 

But now the snn is rising calm and bright — 

The birds are singing in the distant woods; 

Over his own sweet voice the stock-dove 
broods; 

The jav makes answer as the magpie chat- 
ters; 

And all the air is filled with pleasant; noise of 
waters. 



All things that love the snn are ont of doors : 
The sky rejoices in the morning's birth; 
The grass is bright with rain-drops ; on the 

moors 
The hare is nmning races in her mirth ; 
And with her feet she from the plashv earth 
Kaises a mist that glittering in the snn, 
Rons with her all the way, wherever she 

doth ran. 



I was a traveller then npon the moor; 
I saw the hare that raced aKint with joy ; 
I heard the woods and distant waters roar — 
Or heard them not, as happy as a boy. 
The pleasant season did my heart employ ; 
My old remembrances went from me wholly — 
And all the ways of men, so vain and melan- 
cholv. 



Bnt as it sometimes chanceth. frtou the 

might 
Of joy in minds that can no fcrther so, 
As high as we have momited in delight 
In onr d^'eciion do we sink as low — 
To me that morning did it happen so ; 
And fears and fancies thick npon me came — 
Dim sadness, and blind thoughts, I knew not, 
ncH' conld name. 



I heard the skylark warbling in the sky ; 
And I l^ethoaght me of the playful hare : 



Even snch a happy child of earth am I ; 
Even as these blissfvd creatures do I fare ; 
Far from the world I walk, and from all care. 
But there may come another day to me— 
Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty. 



ify whole life I have lived in pleasant 

thought. 
As if life's business were a summer mood — 
As if all needfiil things would come unsought 
To genial &ith. still rich in genial good ; 
But how can he expect that others should 
Build for him, sow for him, and at his call 
Love him, who for himself will take no heed 
at all? 



I thotight of Chatterton, the marvellons boy. 
The sleepless soul that perished in his pride; 
Of him who walked in glory and in joy. 
Following his plough, along the raoimtaiu 

side. 
By our own spirits we are deified ; 
TVe poets in our youth begin in gladness. 
But thereof come in the end despondency 

and madness. 



Kow, whether it were by peculiar grace, 
A leading from above, a something given. 
Yet it befell ihi»t, in this lonely place. 
When I with these tmtoward thoughts had 

striven, 
Beade a pool bare to the eye of heaven 
I saw a man before me unawares — 
The oldest man he seemed that ever wotc 

gray haits^ 



As a hnge stone is sometimes seen to lie 
Couched on the bald top of an eminence, 
"Wonder to all who do the same espy 
By what means it could hither come, and 

whence ; 
So that it seems a thing endued with sense — 
Like a sea-beast crawled forth, that on a shelf 
Of rock or sand reposeth, ihoe to sun it- 
self— 



RESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE. 



OfiO 



Such seemed tliis man, not all alivo nor dead, 
Nor all asleep, in Lis extreme old age. 
His body was bent double, feet and head 
Coming together in lire's pilgrimage. 
As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage 
Of sickness, felt by him in times long past, 
A more than human weight uiiou his frame 
had cast. 



Himself he propped, limbs, body, and jialo face, 
Upon a long gray staff of shaven wood ; 
And still, as I drew near with gentle i)ace. 
Upon the mai-gin of that moorish flood 
Motionless as a cloud the old man stood, 
That heareth not the loud winds when they 

call, 
And moveth all together, if it move at all. 



At length, himself unsettling, he the pond 
Stirred with his staft', and fixedly did look 
Upon tliat muddy water, wliioli ho conned 
As if he had been reading in a book. 
And now a stranger's privilege I took; 
And, drawing to his side, to him did say 
" Tliis morning gives us promise of a glorious 
day." 



A gentle answer did the old man make, 

In courteous speech which forth he slowly 

drew; 
And him with further words I thus bespake: 
" What occupation do you there pursue ? 
This is a lonesome place for one like you." 
Ere he replied, a flash of mild surprise 
Broke from the sable orbs of his yet vivid 

eyes. 



His words came feebly, from a feeble chest; 
But each in solemn order followed eacli. 
With sometliing of a lofty utterance drest, — 
Choice word and measured phrase, above the 

reach 
Of ordinary men, a stately speech, 
Such as grave livers do in Scotland use — 
Religious men, who give to God and man 

their dues. 



lie told that to those waters ho had come 
To gather leeches, being old and poor- 
Employment hazardous and wearisome I 
And ho had many hardships to endure; 
From jiond to i)ond lie roamed, fi'om uiooi- 

to moor — 
Housing, Willi God's good heip, liy clioico or 

clianco; 
And in this way ho gained an honest mainte- 
nance. 



The old man still stood talking by my side ; 
But now his voice to me was like a stream 
Scarce heard, nor word from word could I 

divide; 
And the whole body of the man did seem 
Like one whom I had met with in a dream — 
Or like a man from .some far region sent 
To give me human strength by apt admojiish- 

ment. 



My former tlioughts returned : tho fear that 

kills. 
And hope that is unwilling to be fed ; 
Cold, [lain, and labor, and all fleshly ills; 
And mighty poets in their misery dead. 
— Perplexed, and longing to be comforted, 
My question eagerly did I renew — 
"How is it that you live, and what is it yon 

do?" 



He with a smile di<l then his words repeat ; 
And said that, gathering leeches, far and 

wide 
Ho travelled, stirring thus about his feet 
The waters of tho pools where they abide. 
" Onco I could meet with them on every side, 
But they have dwindled long by slow decay ; 
Yet still I persevere, and find them wliere I 

may." 



While he was talking thas, the lonely place, 
Tho old man's shape and speech — all troubled 

me; 
In my -mind's eye I seemed to see him pace 



680 



rOEMS OF SEXTIMEXT AND REFLECTION. 



About the -n-eary moors continually, 
"Wandering about alone and silently. 
While I these thoughts within myself pursued, 
He, having made a pause, the same discourse 
renewed. 



And soon with this he other matter blend- 
ed— 
Cheerfully uttered, with demeanor kind, 
But stately in the main ; and when he ended 
I could have laughed myself to scorn, to find 
In that decrepit man so firm a mind. 
'• God," said I, " be my help and stay secure ; 
I '11 think of the leech-gatherer on the lonely 
moor! " 

William WoBOSWORTn. 



AK EXHORTATION. 

Chameleons feed on light and air — 

Poets' food is love and fame ; 
If in this wide world of care 

Poets could but find the same 
■VTith as little toil as they, 

"Would they ever change their hue 

As the light chameleons do. 
Suiting it to every ray 
Twenty times a-day ? 

Poets are on 'Jiis cold earth 

As chameleons might be. 
Hidden from their early birth 

In a cave beneath the sea : 
"Where light is, chameleons change — 

AVhere love is not, poets do. 

Fame is love disguised; if few 
Find either, never think it strange 
That poets range. 

Yet dare not stain with wealth or power 

A poet's fi-ee and heavenly mind ; 
If bright ch.ameleons should devour 

Any food but beams and wind, 
They would grow as earthly soon 

As their brother liz;xrds are : 

Children of a sunnier star, 
Spirits from beyond the moon, 
Oh, refuse the boon! 

PBfiCT BVSSHE .SHK LL ET. 



ODE OX A GRECLVJT HEX. 

Thou still unravished bride of quietness! 

Thou foster-child of silence and slow -time ! 
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express 
A flowery tale more sweetly than our 
rhyme ! 
"What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy 
shape 
Of deities or mortals, or of both. 

In Tempe or the dales of Arcady ? 
"What men or gods are these ? what maid- 
ens loath ? 
"What mad pursuit? "What struggle to escape? 
"What pipes and timbrels? "What wild 
ecstasy ? 

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard 
Are sweeter ; therefore, ye soft pipes, play 
on — 
Xot to the sensual ear, but, more endeared, 

Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone I 
Fair youth beneath the trees, thou canst not 
leave 
Thy song, nor ever can those ti-ees be bare ; 
Bold lover, never, never, canst thou kiss, 
Though winning near the goal ; yet do not 
grieve — 
She cannot fade, though thou hast not 
thy bliss; 
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair ! 

All , happy, happy boughs ! that cannot shed 
Your loaves nor ever bid the spring adieu ; 
And happy melodist, unwearied. 

For ever piping songs for ever new ; 
ITore happy love ! more happy, happy love I 
For ever warm and still to bo enjoyed, 
For ever panting and for ever young ; 
All breathing human passion far above. 
That leaves a heart high sorrowful and 
cloyed, 
A burning forehead and a parching 
tongue. 

"Who are these coming to the sacrifice f 
To what green .altar, O mysterious priest, 

Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, 
Aiid all her silken flanks with garlands 
drost? 



L'ALLEGRO. 



fiCl 



Wliat little town by river or sea shore, 
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, 
Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn ? 
And, little town, thy streets for evermore 
AVill silent be ; and not a soul, to tell 
"Why lliou art desolate, can o'er return. 

Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede 

Of marble men and maidens overwrought, 

With forest brandies and the trodden weed! 

Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of 

thought, 

As dotli eternity. Cold pastoral ! 

When old ago shall this generation waste. 

Thou slialt remain, in midst of other woe 

Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou 

say'st 

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty," — that is all 

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to 

know. 

John Keats. 



THE MEANS TO ATTAIN HAPPY LIFE. 

Martial, the things that do attain 
The happy life bo these, I find — 

The riches left, not got witli pain ; 
The fruitful ground, the quiet mind, 

The equ.al friend ; no grudge, no strife ; 

No charge of rule, nor governance ; 
Without disease, the healthful life; 

The household of continuance ; 

The mean diet, no delicate fare ; 

True wisdom joined with simpleness ; 
Tlie night discharged of all care. 

Where wine the wit may not oppress; 

The faithful wife, without debate ; 

Such sleeps as may beguile the night ; 
Contented with thine own estate, 

Ne wish for death, ne fear his might. 

LOED SCEEET. 



L'ALLEGRO. 

IIe.mok, loathed Melancholy, 

Of Cerberus and blackest midnight 
born ! 
In Stygian cave forlorn, 

'Mongst horrid shai)es, and shrieks, and 
sights unholy, 
Find out some uncoutli cell, 

Where brooding darkness spreads hi* 
jealous wings. 
And the night-raven sings ; 

There, under ebon shades, and low- 
browed rocks, 
As ragged as thy looks. 

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 
But come, thou goddess fair and free. 
In heav'n y-cleped Euplirosyno, 
And, by men, lieart-easing Mirth ! 
Whom lovely Venus, at a birth 
Witli two sister graces more. 
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore; 
Or whether (.as some sages sing) 
The frolic wind that breathes the spring, 
Zephyr, with Aurora playing — 
As he met her once a-M.iying — 
Tlicre, on beds of violets blue 
And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, 
Filled her with thee, a diiughtcr fair. 
So buxom, blitlie, and debonair. 

Haste thee, nymph, and bring with tliee 
Jest, and youthful jollity — 
Quips and cr.anks and wanton wiles, 
Nods and becks and wreathed smiles. 
Such as hang on llebc's cheek, 
And love to live in dimple sleek — 
Sport, that wrinkled care derides. 
And laughter holding both his sides. 
Come! and trip it, as you go, 
On tlie light fantastic toe; 
And in thy right hand lead with thee 
The mountain nymph, sweet liberty ; 
And if I give thee honor due, 
Mirth, admit me of thy crew. 
To live with her, and live with thee. 
In unreproved pleasures free — 
To hear the lark begin his flight, 
And singing startle the dull night 



662 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



From his watoh-tow'r in the skies, 
Till the dappled dawn doth rise ; 
Then to come, in spite of soitotv. 
And at my window hid good morrow. 
Through the sweet-brier, or the vine, 
Or the twisted eglantine ; 
While the cock with lively din 
Scatters the rear of darkness thin, 
And to the stack, or the barn door. 
Stoutly struts his dames before ; 
Oft listening how the hounds and horn 
Oheerly rouse the slumbering morn, 
From the side of some hoar hill 
Through the high wood echoing shrill ; 
Sometime walking, not unseen, 
By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green. 
Eight against the eastern gate, 
Where the great sun begins his state, 
Robed in ilames, and amber light, 
The clouds in thousand liveries dight ; 
While the ploughman near at hand 
Whistles o'er the furrowed land. 
And the milkmaid singeth blithe. 
And the mower whets his scythe. 
And every shepherd tells his tale 
Under the hawthorn in the dale. 



Straight mine eye hath caught new pleas- 
ures. 
Whilst the landscape round it measures 
Russet lawns, and fallows gray, 
Where the nibbling flocks do stray — 
Mountains, on whose barren breast 
The laboring clouds do often rest — 
Meadows trim with daisies pied. 
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide. 
Towers and battlements it sees 
Bosomed high in tufted trees. 
Where perhaps some beauty lies. 
The cynosure of neigboring eyes. 
Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes 
From betwixt two aged oaks. 
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met. 
Are at their savory dinner set 
Of herbs, and other country messes, 
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses ; 
And then in haste her bower she leaves, 
AVith Thestylis to bind the sheaves ; 
Or, if the earlier season lead, 
To the tanned haycock in the mead. 



Sometimes with secure delight 

The upland hamlets will invite. 

When the merry bells ring round, 

And the jocund rebecks sound 

To many a youth, and many a maid. 

Dancing in the chequered shade ; 

And young and old come forth to play 

On a sunshine holiday. 

Till the live-long daylight fail ; 

Then to the spicy nut-brown alo 

With stories told of many a feat: 

How fairy Mab the junkets eat — 

She was pinched and pulled, she said, 

And he by friar's lantern led ; 

Tells how the drudging goblin sweat 

To earn his cream-bowl didy set, 

When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, 

His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn 

That ten day-laborers could not end ; 

Then lies him down the lubber fiend, 

And stretched out all the chimney's length, 

Basks at the fire his hairy strength. 

And, crop-full, out of doors he flings 

Ere the first cock his matin rings. 

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep. 

By whispering winds soon lulled asleep. 

Towered cities please us then, 
And the busy hum of men. 
Where throngs of knights and barons bold 
In weeds of peace high triumphs hold — 
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes 
Rain inflnence, and judge the prize 
Of wit or arms, while both contend 
To win her grace whom all commend. 
There let Hymen oft appear 
In saffron robe, with taper clear, 
And pomp and feast and revelry. 
With mask, and antique pageantry — 
Such sights as youthful poets dream 
On summer eves by haunted stream : 
Then to tlie well-trod stage anon. 
If Jonson's learned sock be on. 
Or sweetest Shakspeare, fancy's child. 
Warble his native wood-notes wild. 

And ever, against eating cares, 
Lap me in soft Lydian airs, 
Married to immortal verse, 
Such as the meeting soul may pierce, 



IL PENSEROSO. 



In notes with many a winding bout 

Of linked sweetness long drawn out, 

With wanton heed and giddy cunning 

The melting voice through mazes running, 

Untwisting all the chains that tie 

The hidden soul of harmony — 

That Orpheus' self may heave his head 

From golden slumber on a bed 

Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear 

Such strains as would have won the ear 

Of Plutn, to have quite set free 

Ilis half regained Eurydice. 

These delights if thou canst give, 
Mirth, with thee I mean to live. 



IL PENSEROSO. 

Hence, vain deluding joys, 

The brood of folly without father bred ! 
IIo^v little you bestead. 

Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys! 
Dwell in some idle brain, 

And fancies fbnd with gaudy shapes pos- 
sess, 
As thick and numberless 

As the gay motes that people the sun- 
beams — • 
Or likest hovering dreams, 

The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. 
But hail, thou goddess, sage and holy ! 
Hail, divinest Melancholy ! 
Whose saintly visage is too bright 
To hit the sense of human sight, 
And therefore to our weaker view 
O'erlaid with black, staid wisdom's hue — ■ 
Black, but such as in esteem 
Prince Memnon's sister might beseem. 
Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove 
To set her beauty's praise above 
The sea-nymphs, and their powers offended. 
Yet thou art higher far descended ; 
Thee bright-haired Vesta, long of yore, 
To solitary Saturn bore — 
His daughter she (in Satui-n's reign 
Such mixture was not held a stain). 
Oft in glimmering bowers and glades 
He met her, and in secret shades 
Of woody Ida's inmost grove. 
While yet there was no foar of Jove. 



663 



Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, 
Sober, steadfast, and demure. 
All in a robe of darkest grain 
Flowing with majestic train. 
And sable stole of cypress lawn 
Over thy decent shoulders drawn ! 
Come ! but keep thy wonted state, 
With even step and musing gait. 
And looks commercing with the skies, 
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes ; 
There, held in holy passion still. 
Forget thyself to marble, till 
With a sad, leaden, downward cast 
Thou fis them on the earth as fast; 

And join with thee calm peace, and quiet 

Spare fast, that oft with gods doth diet. 
And hears the muses in a ring 
Aye round about Jove's altar sing ; 
And add to these retired leisure. 
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure ; 
But first, and chiefest, with thee bring 
Him that yon soars on golden wing, 
Guiding the fiery-wheclcd throne — 
The cherub contemplation ; 
And the mute silence hist along, 
'Less Philomel will deign a song 
In her sweetest, saddest plight, 
Smootliing the rugged brow of night, 
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke 
Gently o'er the accustomed oak. 
Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of fol- 

ly- 

Most musical, most melancholy ! 
Thee, chauntress, oft the woods among 
I woo, to hear thy even-song ; 
And, missing thee, I walk unseen 
On the dry, sraooth-shavon green. 
To behold the wandering moon 
Ptiding near her highest noon. 
Like one that had been led astray 
Through the heav'n's wide pathless way ; 
And oft, as if her head she bowed, 
Stooping through a fleecy cloud. 
Oft, on a plat of rising ground, 
I hear the far-off curfew sound 
Over some wide-watered shore, 
Swinging slow with sullen roar , 
Or if the air will not permit, 
Some still removed place will fit. 
Where glowing embers through the room 
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom — 



664 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Far from all resort of mirtli, 
Save the cricket on the hcartli, 
Or the beUmaa's drowsy cliarm, 
To bless the doors from nightly harm ; 
Or let my lamp at midnight hour 
Be seen in some high lonely tower, 
Where I may oft out-watcli the hear 
With thrice-great Ilermes, or unspliero 
The. spirit of Plato, to nnl'okl 
What worlds or what vast regions hold 
The Immortal mind that hath forsook 
Her mansion in this fleshly nook ; 
And of those demons that are found 
Tn fire, air, flood, or under ground. 
Whoso power hath a true consent 
With planet or with element. 
Sometime let gorgeous tragedy 
In sceptred pall come sweeping by, 
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line. 
Or the tale of Troy divine, 
Or what (though rare) of later ago 
Ennobled hath the bnskined stage. 

But, oh, sad virgin, that thy power 
Might raise Musteus from his bower ! 
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 
Such notes as, warbled to the string. 
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek. 
And made hell grant what love did seek ! 
Or call up him that left half- told 
The story of Cambusean hold — 
Of Caraball, and of Algarsife — 
jVnd who had Canace to wife. 
That owned the virtuous ring and glass — 
And of the wondrous horse of brass. 
On which tlie Tartar king did ride ! 
And, if aught else great bards beside 
In sage and solemn tunes have sung — 
Of tourneys and of trophies hung. 
Of forests, and enchantments drear, 
Where more is meant than meets the ear. 

Thus, night, oft see me in thy p.ile 
career. 
Till civil-suited morn appear — 
Xot tricked and flouuced, as she was wont 
With the xittic boy to hunt. 
But kerchiefed in a comely cloud 
While rocking winds are piping loud. 
Or ushered with a shower still 
When the gnst hath blown liis fill. 



Ending on the rustling leaves. 

With minute drops from oft' the eaves. 

And when the sun begins to fling 

His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring 

To arched walks of twilight groves. 

And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves. 

Of pine or monumental oak. 

Where the rude axe witli heaved stroke 

Was never heard the nymphs to daunt. 

Or fright them from their hallowed haunt. 

There in close covert by some brook. 

Where no profaner eye may look. 

Hide me from day's garish eye, 

While the bee with honied thigh. 

That at her flowery work doth sing, 

And the waters murmuring 

With such consort as they keep. 

Entice the dewy-feathered sleep ; 

And let some strange mysterious dream 

Wave at his wings, in airy stream 

Of lively portraiture displayed, 

Softly on my eyelids laid ; 

And, as I wake, sweet music breathe 

Above, about, or underneath. 

Sent by some spirit to mortals good, 

Or th' unseen genius of the -wood. 

But let my due feet never fail 
To walk the studious cloisters pale, 
And love the high embowed roof. 
With antic pillars massy proof, 
And storied windows, richly dight, 
Casting a dim religious light. 
There let the pealing organ blow 
To the full-voiced quire below, 
In service high, and anthems clear, 
As may with sweetness, through mine ear, 
Dissolve me into ecstasies. 
And bring all heaven before mine eyes. 

And may at last my weary ago 
Find out the peaceful hermitage. 
The hairy gown and mossy cell. 
Where I may sit and rightly spell 
Of every star that heav'n doth show. 
And every herb that sips the dew. 
Till old experience do attain 
To something like prophetic strain. 

These pleasures, Melancholy, give. 
And I with thee will choose to live. 

JOUX MllTOK. 



A CONTENTED MIND. 



6C5 



SONG. 

Sweet aro tlio thoughts that savor of con- 
tent — 
The quiet mind is riclier than a crown ; 

Sweet are the nights in careless shimber 
spent — 
The poor estate scorns fortune's angry 
frown : 

Such sweet content, sucli minds, such sleep, 
such bliss. 

Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss. 

The homely house that harbors quiet rest. 
The cottage that affords no pride or care, 

The mean that 'grees with country music best, 
The sweet consort of muth and music's fare, 

Obscured life sets down a type of bliss : 

A mind content both crown and kingdom is. 

KoBEKT Green. 



TUE REPLY. 



Since you desire of me to know 
Who's the wise man, I' 11 tell you who : 
Not he whose rich and fertile mind 
Is by the culture of the arts refined ; 
Who has the chaos of disordered thought 
By reason's light to form and method 

brought ; 
Who with a clear and piercing sight 
Can see through niceties as dark as night — 
You err if you think this is he, 
Though seated on the top of the Porphyrian 

tree. 



Nor is it he to whom kind heaven 

A secret cabala has given 

T' unriddle the mysterious test 

Of nature, with dark comments more per- 

jjlest — ■ 
Or to decipher her clean-writ and fair. 
But most confounding, puzzling character — 
That can througii all her windings trace 
This slippery wanderer, and unveil her face, 



Her inmost mechanism view, 
Anatomize each part, and see her tlirough 
and through. 



Nor lie that does the science know 
Our only certainty below — 
That can from problems dark and nice 
Deduce truths worthy of a sacrifice. 
Nor ho that can confess the stars, and see 
What's writ in the black leaves of destiny — 
That knows their laws, .and how the sun 
Ilis daily and his annuiil stage docs run. 
As if he did to them dispense 
Their motions and their fate — supreme intel- 
ligence ! 



Nor is it he (although he boast 
Of wisdom, and seem wise to most,) 
Yet 't is not he whose busy pate 
Can dive into the deep intrigues of state- 
That can the great leviathan control. 
Manage and rule it, as if he were its soul ; 
The wisest king thus gifted was. 
And yet did not in these true wisdom place. 
Who then is by the wise man meant ? 
He that can want all this, and yet can be 
content. 

John Noreis. 



A CONTENTED MIND._ 

I WEIGH not fortune's frown or smile ; 

I joy not much in eartlily joys ; 
I seek not state, I reck not style ; 

I am not fond of fancy's toy.s : 
I rest so pleased with what I have 
I wish no more, no more I crave. 

I quake not at the thunder's crack ; 

I tremble not at noise of war ; 
I swound not at the news of wrack ; 

I shrink not at a blazing star ; 
I fear not loss, I hope not gain , 
I envy none, I none disdain. 

I see ambition never pleased ; 

I see some Tantals starved in store ; 
I see gold's dropsy seldom eased ; 

I see even Midas gape for more : 



666 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



I neither want, nor yet abound — 
Enough's a feast, content is crowned. 

I feign not friendship where I hate ; 

I fawn not on the great (in sliow) ; 
I prize, I praise a mean estate — ■ 

Neither too lofty nor too low : 
This, this is all my choice, my cheer — ■ 
A mind content, a conscience clear. 

Joshua Stlvestek. 



SONG. 



What pleasure have great princes, 
More dainty to their choice 

Than herdsmen wild, who, careless, 
In quiet life rejoice, 

And fortune's fate not fearing, 

Sin^ sweet in summer morning. 



Their dealings, plain and rightful. 


If potentates reply. 


Are void of all deceit ; 


Give potentates the lye. 


They never know how spiteful 




It is to feel and wait 


Tell men of high condition. 


On favorite presumptuous, 


That rule affairs of state, 


Whose pride is vain and sumptuous. 


Their purpose is ambition, 




Then- practice only hate ; 


All day their flocks each tendeth ; 


And if they once reply. 


AU night they take their rest — 


Then give them all the lye. 


More quiet than who sendeth 




Kis ship into the east. 


Tell them that brave it most 


Where gold and pearls are plenty, 


They beg for more by spending. 


But getting very dainty. 


Who in their greatest cost 




Seek nothing but commending ; 


For lawyers and their pleading. 


And if they make reply, 


They esteem it not a straw ; 


Spare not to give the lye. 


They think that honest meaning 




Is of itself a law ; 


Tell zeale it lacks devotion ; 


Where conscience judgeth plainly. 


Tell love it is but lust ; 


They spend no money vainly. 


Tell time it is but motion ;' 




Tell flesh it is but dust ; 


Oh happy who thus liveth. 


And wish them not reply, 


Not caring much for gold. 


For thou must give the lye. 


With clothing which suthceth 




To keep him from the cold ; 


Tell age it daily wasteth ; 


Though poor and plain his diet. 


Tell honour how it alters ; 


Yet merry it is and quiet. 


Tell beauty how she blasteth ; 


"William Btrd. 


Tell favour how she falters ; 



THE LYE. 

GoE, soale, the bodie's guest. 
Upon a thanklesse arrawt ; 
Feare not to touche the best — 
The truth shall be thy warrant ! 
Goe, since I needs must dye. 
And gife the world the lye. 

Goe tell the court it glowes 

And shines like rotten wood ; 
Goe teU the church it showes 
What 's good, and doth no good ; 
If church and court reply, 
Then give them both the lye. 

Tell potentates they live 
Acting by others actions — 

Not loved unlesse they give, 
Not strong but by their factions ; 



TO THE LADY MARGARET. 667 


And as tbey then reply, 




Give each of them the lye. 


TO THE LADY MARGARET, COUNTESS 




OF CUMBERLAND. 


Tell wit how much it wrangles 


He that of such a height hath built his mind, 


lu tickle points of nicenesse ; 


And reared the dwellmg of his thoughts so 


Tell wisedome she entangles 


strong. 


Ilerselfe in over wisenesse ; 


As neither fear nor hope can shake the 


And if they do reply, 


frame 


Straight give them both the lye. 


Of his resolved powers ; nor all the wind 




Of vanity or malice pierce to wrong 


Tell physicke of her holdnesse ; 


His settled peace, or to disturb the same ; 


Tell skill it is pretension ; 


What a fair seat hath he, from whence he 


Tell charity of coldnesse; 


may 


Tell law it is contention ; 


The boundless wastes and weilds of man 


And as they yield reply. 


survey? 


So give them still the lye. 


And with how free an eye doth he look down 




Upon these lower regions of turmoil ? 


Tell fortune of her hlindnesse ; 


Where all the storms of passions mainly beat 


Tell nature of decay ; 


On flesh and blood, where honor, power, 


Tell friendship of unkindnesse ; 


renown. 


Tell justice of delay ; 


Are only gay afflictions, golden toil ; 


And if they dare reply, 


Where greatness stands upon as leeble feet 


Then give them all the lye. 


As frailty doth; and only great doth seem 




To little minds, who do it so esteem. 


Tell arts they have no soundfiesse, 


He looks upon the mightiest monarch's wars 


But vary by esteeming ; 


But only as on stately robberies ; 


Tell schooles they want profoundnesse. 


Where evermore the fortune that prevails 


And stand too mnch on seeming ; 


Must be the right ; the ill-succeeding Mai's 


If arts and schooles reply, 


The fairest and the best faced enterpi-ise. 


Give arts and schooles the lye. 


Great pirate Pompey lesser pirates quails ; 




.Justice, he sees (as if seduced), still 


TeU faith it's fled the citie; 


Conspires with power, whose cause must not 
be ill. 


Tell how the country erreth ; 


Tell, manhood shakes ofFpitie; 


He sees the face of right to appear as mani- 


Tell, vertue least preferreth ; 


fold 


And if they doe reply, 


As are the passions of uncertain man ; 


Spare not to give the lye. 


Who puts it in all colors, all attires. 




To serve his ends, and make his courses hold. 


So, when thou hast, as I 


Ho sees, that let deceit work what it can, 


Commanded thee, done blabbing — 


Plot and contrive base ways to high desires; 


Although to give the lye 


Tliat the all-guiding providence doth yet 


Deserves no less than stabbing — 


All disappoint, and mocks the smoke of wit. 


Yet stab at thee who will. 




No stab the soule can kill. 


Nor is he moved with all the thunder-cracks 


ANONTMOtrS. 


Of tyrants' threats, or with the surly brow . 




Of power, that proudly sits on others' crimes ; 
Charged with more crying sins than those he 






checks. 



668 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



The storms of sa(l confusion, that may grow 
Up in the present for the coming times, 
Appall not him, that hath no side at all, 
But of himself, and knows the worst caa ftdl. 

Although his heart (so near allied to earth) 
Cannot but pity the perplexed state 
Of troublous and distressed mortality. 
That thus make way unto the ugly birth 
Of their own sorrows, and do still beget 
AfHiction upon imbecility ; 
Yet seeing thus the course of things must run, 
lie looks thereon not strange, but as fore- 
done. 

And whilst distraught ambition compasses 
And is encompassed ; whilst as craft deceives, 
And is deceived; whilst man doth ransack 

man. 
And builds on blood, and rises by distress, 
And the inheritance of desolation leaves 
To great-expecting hopes ; he looks thereon. 
As from the shore of peace, with unwet eye, 
And bears no venture in impiety. 

Thus, madam, fares that man, that hath pre- 
pared 
A rest for his desires, and sees all things 
Beneath him ; and hath learned this book of 

man. 
Full of the notes of frailty ; and compared 
Tlie best of glory with her sutferings ; 
By whom, I see, you labor all you can 
To plant your heart ; and set your thoughts as 

neai- 
His glorious mansion as j-our powers can 
bear. 

Wliicli, madam, are so soundly fashioned 

By that clear judgment that hath carried you 

Beyond the feebler limits of your kind, 

As they can stand against the strongest head 

Passion can make ; inured to any hue 

The world can cast; that cannot cast that 

mind 
Out of lier form of goodness, that doth see 
Both wJiat the best and worst of earth can be. 

Which makes that whatsoever here befalls. 
You in the region of yourself remain, 
Where no vain breath of th' impudent molests, 
That hath secured within the brazen walls 



Of a clear conscience, that (without all stain) 

Rises in peace, in innocency rests ; 

Whilst all what malice from without pro- 
cures, 

Shows her own ugly heai-t, but hurts not 
yours. 

And whereas none rejoice more in revenge. 
Than women used to do ; yet you well know. 
That wrong is better checked by being con- 
temned, 
Than being pursued ; leaving to him to avenge 
To whom it appertains. Wherein you show 
How worthily your clearness hath condemned 
Base malediction, living in the dark, 
That at the rays of goodness still doth bark. 

Knowing the heart of man is set to be 
The centre of this world, about the which 
These revolutions of disturbances 
Still roll ; where all the aspects of miserj- 
Predominate ; whose strong effects are such 
As he must bear, being powerless to redress ; 
And that unless above himself he can 
Erect himself, how poor a thing is man ! 

And how turmoOed they are that level lie - 
With earth, and cannot lift themselves from 

thence ; 
That never .are at peace with their desires. 
But work beyond their years ; and even deny 
Dotage her rest, and hardly will dispense 
With death : that when abihty expires. 
Desire lives still — so much delight they have 
To carry toil and travel to the grave. 

Whose ends you see; and what can be the 

best 
They reach unto, when they have cast the 

sum 
And reckonings of their glory? And you know, 
This floating life hath but this port of rest, 
A heart prepared, that fears no ill to come ; 
And that man's greatness rests but in his 

show. 
The best of all whose days consumed are, 
Either in war, or peace conceiving war. 

This concord, madam, of a well-tuned mmJ, 
Hath been so set by that all-working hand 



II Y MINDE TO ME A KINGDOM IS. 



669 



Of lieaven, that though the world hath done 

his worst 
To put it out hy discords most unkind, 
Yet doth it still in perfect union stand 
Vrith God and man ; nor ever will be forced 
From that most sweet accord, but still agree, 
Equal in fortunes in equality. 

And this note, madam, of your worthiness 

Remains recorded in so many hearts, 

As time nor malice cannot wrong your right. 

In th' inheritance of fame you must possess : 

You that have built you by yoiu- great deserts 

(Out of small means) a far more exquisite 

And glorious dwelling for your honored 

name 

Than aU the gold that leaden minds can 

frame. 

Samitel Daniel. 



MY MINDE TO ME A KINGDOM IS. 

My minde to me a kingdom is ; 

Such perfect joy therein I finde 
As farre exceeds all earthly blisse 

That God or nature hath assignde ; 
Though much I want, that most would have, 
Y'^et still my minde forbids to crave. 

Content I live ; this is my stay — 
I seek no more than may suffice. 

I presse to beare no haughtie sway ; 
Look, what I lack my mind supplies. 

Loe, thus I triumph like a king. 

Content with that my mind doth bring. 

I see how plentie surfets oft. 
And hastie elymbers soonest-fall ; 

I see that such as sit aloft 
Mishap doth threaten most of all. 

These get with toUe, and'keepe with feare ; 

Such cares my mind could never beare. 

No princely pompe nor welthie store, 

No force to win the victorie. 
No wylie wit to salve a sore, 

No shape to winne a lover's eye — 
To none of these I yeeld as thrall ; 
For why, my mind despiseth all. 



Some have too much, yet still they crave; 

I little have, yet seek no more. 
They are but poorc, though much they have 

And I am rich with little store. 
They poor, I rich ; they beg, I give ; 
They lacke, I lend ; they pine, I live. 

I laugh not at another's losse, 
I grudge not at another's gaine ; 

No worldly wave my mind can tosse; 
I brooke that is another's bane. 

I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend ; 

I lothe not life, nor dread mine end. 

I joy not in no earthly blisse ; 

I weigh not Cresus' wealth a straw ; 
For care, I care not what it is ; 

I feare not fortune's fatal law ; 
My mind is such as may not move 
For beautie bright, or force of love. 

I wish but what I have at wiU; 

I wander not to seeke for more ; 
I like the plaine, I clime no hiU ; 

In greatest stormes I sitte on shore. 
And laugh at them that toile in vaine 
To get what must be lost againe. 

I kisse not where I wish to kiU ; 

I feigne not love where most I hate ; 
I breake no sleepe to winne my will ; 

I wayte not at the mightie's gate. 
I scorne no poore, I feare no rich ; 
I feele no want, nor have too much. 

The court ne cart I like ne loath — 
Extreanies are counted worst of aU ; 

The golden meane betwixt them both 
Doth surest sit, and feares no fall ; 

This is my choyce ; for why, I finde 

No wealth is like a quiet minde. 

My wealth is health and perfect ease ; 

My conscience clere my chiefe defence ; 
I never seeke by bribes to please. 

Nor by desert to give offence. 
Thus do I live, thus will I die; 
Would all did so as well as I ! 

"W'lLLTAM ByKD. 



070 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND KEFLECTION. 



THE WINTER BEING OVER. 

The winter being over, 
In order comes the spring, 
Wliicli doth green herbs discover, 
And cause the birds to sing. 
Tlie Tiiglit also expired, 
Then comes tlie morning bright, 
"Wliioli is so mucli desired 
By all that love tlio light. 

This may loarn 

Them that mourn, 
To put their grief to flight : 
The spring succecdcth winter. 
And day must follow night. 

He therefore that sustaineth 
Affliction or distress 
Which every member paineth. 
And findcth no release — 
Let such therefore despair not, 
But on firm liopo depend, 
WIioso griefs innnortal are not. 
And therefore must have end. 

They that taint 

With complaint 
Therefore are to blame ; 
They add to their afflictions. 
And amplify the same. 

For if they conld with patience 
Awhile possess the mind, 
r>y inward consolations 
'J'licy might refreshing find, 
To sweeten all their crosses 
That little time they 'dure; 
So might they gain by losses. 
And sharp would sweet procure. 

But if the mind 

Bo inclined 
To unquietness. 
That only may bo called 
The worst of all distress. 

He that is melancholy. 
Detesting nil delight, 
His wits by sottish folly 
Arc ruinated (juite. 



Sad discontent and murmurs 
To him are incident; 
Were he jjosscssed of honors, 
He could not bo content. 

Sparks of joy 

Fly away ; 
Floods of care arise ; 
And all delightful motion 
In the conception dies. 

But those that are contented 

However things do fall. 
Much anguish is prevented. 
And they soon freed from aU. 
They finish all their labors 
With much felicity ; 
Their joy in trouble savors 
Of perfect piety. 

Cheerfulness 

Doth express 
A settled pious mind. 
Which is not prone to grudging. 
From murmuring refined. 

Ann Collins 



SONNETS. 

TmuMriiiN'o chariots, statues, crowns of bays, 
Sky-throatcning arches, the rewards of worth ; 
Books heavenly-wise in sweet harmoniouu 

lays, 
Which men dinne mito the world set forth ; 
States which ambitious minds, in blood, do 

raise 
From frozen Tanais nnto sun-burnt Gange; 
Gigantic frames held wonders rarely strange. 
Like spiders' webs, are made the sport of days. 
Nothing is constant but in constant change. 
What 's done still is undone, and when undone 
Into some other fashion doth it range ; 
Thus goes the floating world beneath the 

moon ; 
Wherefore, my mind, above time, motion, 

place. 
Rise up, and steps unknown to nature trace. 



ODE TO BEAUTY. 



cn 



A GOOD that never satisfies the mind, 
A beauty fading like the April showers, 
A sweet with floods of gall that nins com- 
bined, 
A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours, 
A honor that more fickle is than wind, 
A glory at opinion's frown that lowers, 
A treasury whicli bankrupt time devoiu's, 
A knowledge than grave ignorance more 

blind, 
A vain delight our equals to command, 
A style of greatness in effect a dream, 
A sweUing thought of holding sea and land, 
A servile lot, decked with a pompous name : 
Are the strange ends we toil for here below 
Till wisest death makes us our errors know. 
"William Dritmmond. 



A SWEET PASTORAL. 

Good muse, rock me asleep 
With some sweet hannony ! 
The weary eye is not to keep 
Thy wary company. 

Sweet love, begone awhile! 
Thou know'st my heaviness ; 
Beauty is born but to beguile 
My heart of happiness. 

See how my little flock, 

That loved to feed on high, 

Do headlong tumble down the rock. 

And in the valley die. 

The bushes and the trees. 
That were so fresh and green, 
Do all their dainty color lease. 
And not a leaf is seen. 

Sweet Philomel, the bird 
That hath the heavenly throat, 
Doth now, alas ! not once afford 
Recording of a note. 

The flowers have had a frost ; 
Each herb hath lost her savor ; 
And Pliillida, the fair, hath lost 
The comfort of her favor. 



Now all these careful sights 
So kill me in conceit. 
That how to hope upon deliglits 
Is but a mere deceit. 

And, therefore, my sweet muse. 
Thou know'st what help is best ; 
Do now thy heavenly cunning use 
To set my heart at rest. 

And in a dream bewray 
What fate shall be my friend — 
Whether my life shall still decay. 
Or when my sorrow end. 

Nicholas Beetoh. 



ODE TO BEAUTY. 

Who gave tliee, O beauty, 
The keys of this breast. 
Too credulous lover 
Of blest and unblest ? 
Say, when in lapsed ages 
Thee knew I of old 2 
Or what was the service 
For which I was sold? 
When first my eyes saw thee 
I found me thy thrall. 
By magical drawings. 
Sweet tyrant of all ! 
I drank at thy fountain 
False waters of thirst ; 
Thou intimate stranger, 
Thou latest and first! 
Thy dangerous glances 
Make women of men ; 
New-born, we are melting 
Into nature again. 

Lavish, lavish promiser. 
Nigh persuading gods to err ! 
Guest of million painted forms, 
Which in turn thy glory warms ! 
The frailest leaf, the mossy bark, 
Tlie acorn's cup, the rain drop's arc. 
The swinging spider's silver line. 
The ruby of the drop of wine. 
The shining pebble of tlic pond. 
Thou inscribest with a bond, 







1 

672 POEMS OP SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 


la thy momentary play, 


Wilt not give the lips to taste 


Would bankrupt nature to repay. 


Of the nectar which thou hast. 


Ah, what avails it 




To hide or to shun 


All that 's good and great with thee 


Whom the Infinite One 


Works in close conspiracy ; 


Hath granted His throne ! 


Thou bast bribed the dark and lonely 


The heaven high over 


To report thy features only. 


Is the deep's lover ; 


And the cold and purple morning, 


The sun and sea. 


Itself with thoughts of thee adorning ; 


Informed by thee, 


The leafy dell, the city mart, 


Before me run. 


Equal trophies of thine art; 


And draw me on. 


E'en the flowing azure air 


Yet fly me still, 


Thou hast touched for my despair ; 


As fate refuses 


And, if I languish into dreams. 


To me the heart fate for me chooses. 


Again I meet the ardent beams. 


Is it that my opulent soul 


Queen of things! I dare not die 


Was mingled from the generous whole ; 


In being's deeps past ear and eye ; 


Sea-valleys and the deep of skies 


Lest there I find the same deceiver. 


Furnished several supplies ; 


And be the sport of fate forever. 


And the sands whereof I 'm made 


Dread power, but dear ! if God thou be. 


Draw mo to them, self-betrayed ? 


Unmake me quite, or give thyself to me ! 


I turn the proud portfolios 


Ralph Waldo Emeeson. 


Which hold the grand designs 
Of Salvator, of Guercino, 






And Piranesi's lines. 


SONG. 


I hear the lofty pteans 




Of the masters of the shell. 


Eakelt, rarely comest thou. 


Who heard the starry music 


Spirit of delight ! 


And recount the numbers well ; 


Wherefore hast thou left me now 


Olympian bards who sung 


Many a day and night ? 


Divine ideas below. 


Many a weary night and day 


Which always find us young. 


'T is since thou art fled away. 


And always keep us so. 




Oft, in streets or humblest places, 


How shall ever one like me 


I detect far-wandered graces. 


Win thee back again ? 


Which, from Eden wide astray, 


With the joyous and the free 


In lowly homes have lost their way. 


Tliou wilt scoff at pain. 




Spirit false ! thou hast forgot 




All but those who heed thee not. 


Thee gliding through the sea of form, 




Like the lightning through the storm, 


As a lizard with the shade 


Somewhat not to be possessed, 


Of a trembling leaf. 


Somewhat not to be caressed, 


Thou with sorrow art disiuayed ; 


No feet so fleet could ever find. 


Even the signs of grief 


No perfect form could over bind. 


Reproach thee, that thou art near. 


Thou eternal fugitive, 


And reproach thou wilt not hear. 


Hovering over all that live, 




Quick and skilful to inspire 


Let me set my mournfiU ditty 


Sweet, extravagant desire. 


To a merry measure : 


Starry space and lily-bell 


Thou wilt never come for pity 


Filling with thy roseate smell. 


Thou wilt come for pleasure. 







HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY. 



673 



Pity then will cut away 
Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay. 

I love all that thou lovest, 

Spirit of delight ! 
The fresh earth in new leaves drest, 

And the starry night ; 
Autumn evening, and the morn 
"When the golden mists are born. 

I love snow, and all the forms 

Of the radiant frost ; 
I love waves and winds and streams, 

Everything almost 
Which is nature's, and may be 
Untainted by man's misery. 

I love tranquil solitude, 

And such society 
As is quiet, wise, and good; 

Between thee and me 
What difference ? but thou dost possess 
The things I seek, not love them less. 

I love love, thougli lie has wings, 

And like light can flee. 
But, above all other things, 

Spirit, I love thee : 
Thou art love and life ! oh come, 
Make once more my heart thy home ! 

Percy Btsshe Suelley. 



HYMN" TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY. 

The awl\d shadow of some unseen power 
Floats, though unseen, among us— visiting 
This various world with as inconstant wing 
As summer winds that creep from flower to 

flower ; 
Like moonbeams, that behind some piny 
mountain shower. 
It visits with inconstant glance 
Eacli numan heart and countenance. 
Like hues and harmonies of evening, 

Like clouds in starlight widely spread, 
Like memory of music fled, 
Lilce aught that for its grace may be 
Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery. 
44 



Spirit of beauty, that dost consecrate 
With thine own hues all thou dost shine 

upon 
Of human thought or form, where art thou 
gone? 
Why dost thou pass away and leave our st.ite. 
This dim, vast vale of tears, vacant and deso- 
late? 
Ask why the sunlight not for ever 
Weaves rainbows o'er yon mountain 
river ; 
Why aught should fail and fade that once is 
shown ; 
Why fear, and dream, and death, and 

birth 
Cast on the daylight of this earth 
Such gloom ; why man has such a scope 
For love and hate, despondency and hope. 

No voice from some sublimer world hath ever 
To sage or poet these responses given ; 
Therefore the names of demon, ghost, and 
heaven, 
Remain the records of their vain endeavor — 
Frail spells, whose uttered charm might not 
avaU to sever 
From all we hear and aU we see 
Doubt, chance, and mutability. 
Thy light alone, like mist o'er mountains 
driven, 
Or music by the night wind sent 
Through strings of some still instrument 
Or moonlight on a midnight stream, 
Gives grace and truth to life's unquiet dream. 

Love, hope, and self-esteem, like clouds de- 
part 
And come, for some uncertain moments 

lent. 
Man were immortal and omnipotent 
Didst thou, unknown and awful as thou art, 
Keep with thy glorious train firm state with- 
in his heart. 
Thou messenger of sympathies 
That wax and wane in lover's eyes ! 
Thou that to human thought art noui-ishment, 
Like darkness to a dying flame ! 
Depart not as thy shadow came ! 
Depart not, lest the grave should be. 
Like life and fear, a dark reality. 



6M 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



While vet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped 
Through many a listening chamber, cave 

and ruin. 
And starlight wood, with fearful steps pur- 
suing 
Hopes of high talk vritli the departed dead. 
I called on poisonous names with which our 
youth Is fed ; 
I was not heard ; I saw them not. 
When musing deeply on the lot 
Of life, at that sweet time when winds are 
wooing 
AU vital things that wake to bring 
News of birds and blossoming, 
Sudden th_v shadow fell on nie — 
I shrieked, and clasped my hands in ecstasy ! 

I vowed that I vrould dedicate my powers 
To thee and thine; have I not kept the 

vow? 
With beating heai't and streaming eyes, 
even now 
I call the phantoms of a thousand hours 
Each from his voiceless grave. They have in 
visioned bowers 
Of studious zeal or love's delight 
Outwatched with me the envious night ; 
They know that never joy illumed my brow- 
Unlinked with hope that thou wouldst 

free 
This world from its dark slavery — 
That thou, O Qwfid loveliness, 
Wouldst give whate'er these words cannot 
express. 



The day becomes more solemn and serene 
When noon is past ; there is a harmony 
In autumn, and a lustre in its sky. 
Which through the summer is not lieard nor 

seen, 
As if it could not be, as if it had not been ! 
Thus let thy power, ■which hke the truth 
Of natiu-e on my passive youth 
Descended, to my onwai-d life supply 
Its calm — to one who worships thee. 
And every form containing thee — 
WTiom, spirit fair, thy spells did bind 
To fear himself, and love all human kind. 

Feecy Btsshe Shellet. 



SWEET IS THE PLEASURE. 

Sweet is the pleasure 

Itself cannot spoil ! 
Is not true leisure 

One with true toil ? 

Thou that wouldst taste it, 

Stm do thy best ; 
Use it, not waste it — 

Else 't is no rest. 

Wouldst behold beauty 
Near thee ? all romul ? 

Only hath duty 
Such a sight found. 

Kest is not quitting 

The busy career ; 
Rest is the fitting 

Of self to its sphere. 

'T is the brook's motion. 
Clear without strife. 

Fleeing to ocean 
After its life. 

Deeper devotion 

Nowhere hath knelt ; 

Fuller emotion 
Heart never felt. 

'Tis loving and serving 
The highest and best ; 

'T is onwards ! unswerving — 
And that is true rest. 

John Scluvax Dwight. 



STANZAS. 

THoronr is deeper than all speech, 
Feeling deeper than all thought ; 
Souls to souls can never teach 
What unto themselves was taught. 

We are spirits clad in veils ; 
Man by man was never seen ; 
All our deep communing fails 
To remove the shadowv screen. 



THE FOUNTAIN. 



G75 



Heart to lieart was never known ; 
Mind with mind did never meet ; 
We arc columns Jeft alone 
Of a temple once complete. 

Like the stars that gem the sky, 
Far apart though seeming near, 
In our liglit we scattered lie ; 
All is thus but starlight here. 

"What is social company 
But a babbling summer stream ? 
What our wise pliilosophy 
But the glancing of a dream? 

Only when the sun of love 

Melts the scattered stars of thought, 

Only when we live above 

What the dim-eyed world hath taught, 

Only when cm- souls are fed 

By the fount which gave them birth, 

And by inspiration led 

Which they never drew from earth, 

We, like parted drops of rain , 
Swelling till they meet and run, 
Shall be all absorbed again, 
Melting, flowing into one. 

CaRisTopitEB Peakse Ckanch. 



THE TABLES TURNED. 

Up ! up, my friend ! and quit your books, 
Or siu-ely you '11 grow double ; 

Up ! up, my friend ! and clear your looks ; 
Why all this toil and trouble ? 

The sun, above the mountain's head, 

A freshening lustre mellow 
Through aU the long green fields has spread, 

Uis first sweet evening yellow. 

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife; 

Come, hear the woodland linnet — 
Eow sweet his music ! on ray life. 

There 's more of wisdom in it ! 

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings! 
He, too, is no mean jireacher ; 

Come forth into the light of things- 
Let nature be your teacher. 



She has a world of ready wealth. 
Our minds and hearts to bless, — 

Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health. 
Truth breathed by olieerfulness. 

One impulse from a vernal wood 

May teach you more of man, 
Of moral evil and of good, 

Thau all the sages can. 

Sweet is the lore which nature brings ; 

Our meddling intellect 
Misshapes the beauteous forms of things — 

We murder to dissect. 

Enough of science and of art ; 

Close up those barren leaves ; 
Come forth, and bring with you a heart 

That watches and receives. 

William WoRDSwonin. 



THE FOUNTAIN. 

A CONVEESATION. 

We talked with open heart, and tongue 

Afiectionate and true — 
A pair of friends, though I was young 

And Matthew seventy-two. 

We lay beneath a spreading oak. 

Beside a mossy scat ; 
And from the turf a fountain broke. 

And gurgled at our feet. 

"Now, Matthew ! " said I, " let us match 

This water's pleasant tune 
With some old border-song or catch, 

That suits a summer's noon ; 

"Or of the cliurch clock and the chimes 
Sing here, beneath the shade, 

That half-mad thing of witty rhymes 
Which you last April made ! " 

In silence Matthew lay, and eyed 
The spring beneath the tree ; 

And thus the dear old man replied. 
The gray-haired man of glee : 

" No check, no stay, this streamlet fears ; 

How mcTrily it goes ! 
'T will murmur on a thousand years, 

And flow as now it flows. 



C76 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



" And here, on this delightful day, 

I cannot choose but think 
How oft, a vigorous man, I lay 

Beside this fountain's brink. 

" My eyes are dim with childish tears, 

My heart is idly stirred ; 
For the same sound is in ray ears 

Which in those days I heard. 

" Thus fares it still in our decay ; 

And yet the wiser mind 
Mourns less for what age takes away 

Than what it leaves behind. 

" The blackbird amid leafy trees, 

Tlie lark above the bUl, 
Let loose their carols when they please. 

Are quiet when they wdl. 

" With nature never do they wage 

A foolish strife ; they see 
A happy youth, and their old age 

Is beautiful and free. 

" But we are prest by heavy laws ; 

And often, glad no more, 
We wear- a face of joy, because 

We have been glad of yore. 

'■ If there be one who nepd bemoan 

His kindred laid in earth. 
The bousoliold hearts that were his own, 

It is the man of mirth. 

" My days, my friend, are almost gone ; 

My life has been approved. 
And many love me ; but by none 

Am I enough beloved ! " 

"Now both himself and me he wrongs. 

The man who thus complains ! 
I live and sing ray idle songs 

Upon these happy plains ; 

" And, Matthew, for thy children dead, 

I '11 be a son to thee ! " 
At this he grasped my hand, and said 

"Alas ! that cannot be." 



We rose up from the fountain side ; 

And down the smooth descent 
Of the green sheep-track did we glide, 

And through the wood we went ; 

And, ere we came to Leonard's rock. 

He sang those witty rhymes 
About the crazy old church clock. 

And the bewildered chimes. 

"William "Wordswobth. 



THE CROWDED STREET. 

Let me move slowly through the street, 
Filled with an ever-shifting train. 

Amid the sound of steps that beat 
The murmuring walks like autumn rain. 

How fast the flitting figures come ! 

The mUd, the fierce, the stony face — 
Some bright with tlioughtless smiles, and some 

Where secret tears have left their trace. 

They pass to toil, to strife, to rest — 
To halls in which the feast is spread — • 

To cliambers where the funeral guest 
In silence sits beside the dead. 

And some to happy homes repair. 

Where children pressing cheek to cheek, 

With mute caresses shall declare 
Tlie tenderness they cannot speak. 

And some, who walk in calmness here, 
Shall shudder as they reach the door 

Where one who made their dwelling dear, 
Its flower, its light, is seen no more. 

Youth, with pale cheek and slender frame, 
And dreams of greatness in thine eye ! 

Go'st thou to build an early name. 
Or eaidy in the task to die ? 

Keen son of trade, with eager brow ! 

Who is now fluttering in thy snare? 
Thy golden fortunes, tower they now, 

Or melt the gUttering spires in air ? 



THE SUNKEN CITY. 



611 



Who of this crowd to-night shall tread 
The dance till daylight gleam again? 

Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead ? 
Who Writhe in throes of mortal pain? 

Some, famine-struck, shall think how long 
The cold, dark hours, how slow the light ; 

And some, wlio tiaunt amid the throng, 
Shall hide in dens of shame to-night. 

Each where his tasks or pleasures call, 
They pass, and heed each other not. 

There is who heeds, who holds them all 
In His large love and boundless thought. 

These struggling tides of life, that seem 
In wayward, aimless course to tend, 

Are eddies of the miglity stream 
That rolls to its appointed end. 

William Cullen Bevant. 



GOOD-BYE. 

GooD-BTE, proud world ! I 'm going homo ; 
Thou art not my friend, and I 'm not thine. 
Long through thy weary crowds I roam ; 
A river-ark on the ocean brine. 
Long I Ve been tossed like the driven foam ; 
But now, proud world ! I 'm going home. 

Good-bye to flattery's fawning fiice ; 

To grandeur with his wise grimace ; 

To upstart wealtli's averted eye ; 

To supple office, low and high ; 

To crowded halls, to court and street ; 

To frozen hearts and basting feet ; 

To those who go and those who come — 

Good-bye, proud world ! I 'm going home. 

I am going to my own hearth-stone, 
Bosomed in yon green hills alone — 
A secret nook in a pleasant land. 
Whose groves the frolic fairies planned ; 
Where arches green, the livelong day, 
Echo the blackbird's roundelay, 
And vulger feet have never trod — 
A spot that is sacred to thought and God. 



Oh, when I am safe in my sylvan home, 
I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome ; 
And when I am stretched beneath the pines. 
Where the evening star so holy shines, 
I laugh at the lore and pride of man. 
At the sophist schools, and the learned clan; 
For what are they all, in their high conceit. 
When man in the bush with God may meet? 
Ealph Waldo Emeeson. 



THE SUNKEN CITY. 

IIaek ! the faint bells of the sunken city 
Peal once more their wonted evening 
chime ! 

From the deep abysses floats a ditty, 
Wild and wondrous, of the olden time. 

Temples, towers, and domes of many stories 
There lie buried in an ocean grave — 

Undescried, save when their golden glories 
Gleam, at sunset, through the lighted wave. 

And the mariner who had seen them glisten, 
In whose ears those magic bells do sound, 
Night by night bides there to watch and lis- 
ten, 
Though death larks behind each dark rock 
round. 

So the bells of memory's wonder-city 
Peal for me their old melodious cliime ; 

So my heart jiours forth a changeful ditty. 
Sad and pleasant, from the bygone time. 

Domes, and towers, and castles, i;incy-builded, 
There lie lost to daylight's garish beams — 

There lie hidden, till unveiled and gUded, 
Glory-gilded, by my nightly dreams ! 

And then hear I music sweet upknelliug 
From many a well-known phantom Ijand, 

And, through tears, can see my natural dwell- 
ing 
Far oiF in the spirit's luminous land ! 

■WilnELM MuELLEE. (German.) 
Translation of James Claeesce Mangan. 



6V8 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



GUT. 

Mortal mixed of middle clay, 
Attempered to the night and day, 
Interchangeable with things. 
Needs no amulets or rings. 
Guy possessed tlie talisman 
That all things from him began ; 
And as, of old, Polycrates 
Chained the sunshine and the lireeze. 
So did Guy betimes discover 
Fortune was his guard and lover — 
In strange junctures felt, with awe. 
His own symmetry with law ; 
So that no mixture could withstand 
The virtue of his lucky hand. 
He gold or jewel could not lose. 
Nor not receive his ample dues. 
In the street, if he turned round, 
His eye the eye 't was seeking found. 
It seemed his genius discreet 
Worked on the maker's own receipt, 
And made each tide and element 
Stewards of stipend and of rent ; 
So that the common waters fell 
As costly wine into his well. 

He had so sped his wise affairs 
That he caught nature in his snares ; 
Early or late, the fiilling ruin 
Arrived in time to swell his grain; 
Stream conld not so perversely wind 
But corn of Guy's was there to grind ; 
The siroc found it on its way 
To speed his sails, to dry his hay ; 
And the world's sun seemed to rise 
To drudge all day for Guy the wise. 
In his rich nurseries timely skill 
Strong crab with nobler blood did fill ; 
The zephyr in his garden rolled 
From plum trees vegetable gold ; 
And all the hours of the year 
With their own harvests honored were. 
There was no frost but welcome came. 
Nor freshet, nor midsummer flame. 
Belonged to wind and world the toil 
And venture, and to Guy the oil. 

Ealph "Waldo Emebsox. 



TEMPERANCE, OR THE CHEAP PHY- 
SICIAN. 

Go now ! and with some daring drug 

Bait thy disease ; and, whilst they tug. 

Thou, to maintain their precious strife. 

Spend the dear treasures of tliy life. 

Go ! take physic — dote upon 

Some big-named composition. 

The oraculous doctor's mystic bills — 

Certain hard words made into piUs; 

And what at last shalt gain by these ? 

Only a costlier disease. 

That which makes us have no need 

Of physic, that 's physic indeed. 

Hark, hither, reader ! wilt thou see 

Nature her old i)hysician be ? 

Wilt see a man all his own wealth, 

His own music, his own health — 

A man whose sober soul can tell 

How to wear her garments well — 

Her garments tliat upon her sit 

As gai'uients should do, close and fit— 

A well-clothed soul that 's not oppressed 

Nor choked with what she should lie dressed— 

A soul sheathed in a crystal shrine. 

Through which all her bright features shme : 

As when a piece of wanton lawn, 

A thin atrial veil is drawn 

O'er beauty's face, seeming to hide. 

More sweetly shows the blushing bride — 

A soul whose intellectual beams 

No mists do mask, no lazy streams — 

A happy soul, that all the way 

To heaven hath a summer's day? 

Wouldst see a man whose well-wai-med blood 

Bathes him in a genuine flood ? — 

A man whose tuned humors be 

A seat of rarest harmony ? 

Wouldst see blithe looks, fresh cheeks, be- 
guile 

Age ? Wouldst see December's smile ? 

Wouldst see nests of new roses grow 

In a bed of reverend snow ? 

Wai-m thouglits, free spirits flattering 

Winter's self into a spring? — 

In sum, wouldst see a man that can 

Live to be old, and still a man ? 

Whose latest and most leaden hours 

Fall with soft wings, stuck with soft flowers; 



SMOKING SPIRITUALIZED. 



679 



And when life's sweet fable ends, 
Soul and body part like friends — 
No quarrels, murmurs, no delay — 
A kiss, a sigh, and so away ? 
This rare one, reader, wouldat thou see ? 
Hark, hither ! and thyself be he. 

Richard Ceashaw. 



BACCHUS. 

Being me wine, but wine which never grew 

In the belly of the grape. 

Or grew on vines whose tap-roots, reaching 

through 
Under the Andes to the Cape, 
Suffered no savor of the earth to 'scape. 

Let its grapes the morn salute 

From a nocturnal root. 

Which feels the acrid juice 

Of Styx and Erebus ; 

And turns the woe of night. 

By its own craft, to a more rich delight. 

■\Ve buy ashes for bread, 

We buy diluted wine ; 

Give me of the tme, — 

Whose ample leaves and tendrils curled 

Among the silver hills of heaven. 

Draw everlasting dew ; 

Wine of wine. 

Blood of the world, 

Form of forms and mould of statures, 

That I intoxicated. 

And by the draught assimilated, 

May float at pleasure through all natures ; 

The bird-language rightly spell, 

And that which roses say so well. 

Wine that is shed 

Like the torrents of the sun 

Up the horizon walls. 

Or like the Atlantic streams, which run 

When the South Sea calls. 

Water and bread. 
Food which needs no transmuting. 
Rainbow-flowering, wisdom-ft-uiting 
Wine which is already man. 
Food which teach and reason can. 



Wine which music is, — 

Music and wine are one, — 

Tliat I, drinking this. 

Shall hear far chaos talk with me ; 

Kings unborn shall walk with me ; 

And the poor grass shall plot and plan 

Wbat it will do when it is man. 

Quickened so, will I unlock 

Every crypt of every rook. 

I thank the joyful juice 
For all I know : — 
Winds of remembering 
Of the ancient being blow. 
And seeming-solid walls of use 
Open and flow. 

Pour, Bacchus ! the remembering wine ; — 

Retrieve the loss of me and mine ! 

Vine for the vine be antidote. 

And the grapes requite the lote ! 

Haste to cure the old despair, — 

Reason in nature's lotus drenched, 

The memory of ages quenched. 

Give them again to shine ; 

Let wine repair what this undid ; 

And where the infection slid, 

A dazzling memory revive ; 

Refresh the faded tints, 

Recut the aged prints, 

And write my old adventures with the pen 

Which on the first day drew, 

Upon the tablets blue. 

The dancing Pleiads and eternal men. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson. 



SMOKING SPHIITUALIZED. 



This Indian weed, now withered quite, 
Though green at noon, cut down at night, 

Shows thy decay — 

AH flesh is hay : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

The pipe, so lUy-like and weak, 
Does thus thy mortal state bespeak ; 

Thou art e'en such — 

Gone with a touch : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 



680 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



And when the smoke ascends on high, 
Then thou behold'st the vanity 

Of worldly stuif — 

Gone with a puff: 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 



And when the pipe grows foul within. 
Think on thy soul defiled with sin ; 

For then the fire 

It does requu'e : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

And seest the ashes cast away, 
Then to thyself thou mayest say 

That to the dust 

Return thou must : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 



Was this small plant for thee cut down ? 
So was the plant of great renown, 
Which mercy sends 
For nobler ends : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

Doth juice medicinal proceed 
From such a naughty foreign weed ? 

Then what 's the power 

Of Jesse's flower ? 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

The promise, like the pipe, inlays, 
And by the mouth of faith conveys 

What virtue flows 

From Sharon's rose : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

In vain the unlighted pipe you blow — 
Your pains in outward means ai-o so, 

'Till heavenly fire 

Your heart inspire : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

The smoke like burning incense towers ; 
So should a praying heart of yours 
With ardent cries 
Surmount the skies : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

Anonymoua. 



THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. 

IN IMITATION OF THE TENTH SATIRE OF 
JUVENAL. 



Let observation, with extensive view. 
Survey manldnd from China to Peru ; 
Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife, 
And watch the busy scenes of crowded life ; 
Then say how hope and fear, desire and hate, 
O'erspread with snares the clouded maze of 

fate, 
Wliere wavering man, betrayed by venturous 

pride 
To chase the dreary paths without a guide, 
As treacherous phantoms in the mist delude. 
Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good ; 
How rai-ely reason guides the stubborn choice, 
Rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant 

voice ; 
How nations sink, by darling schemes op- 
pressed. 
When vengeance listens to the fool's request. 
Fate wings with every wish the afflictive dart. 
Each gift of nature and each grace of art ; 
With fatal heat impetuous courage glows. 
With fVital sweetness elocution flows. 
Impeachment stops the speaker's powerful 

breath. 
And restless fire precipitates on death. 

But, scarce observed, the knowing and the 
bold 

Fall in the general massacre of gold ; 

Wide wasting pest ! that rages unconfined 

And crowds with crimes the records of man- 
kind ; 

For gold his sword the hireling ruflian draws, 

For gold the hireling judge distorts the laws ; 

Wealth heaped on wealth, nor truth nor 
safety buys. 

The dangers gather as the treasures rise. 

Let history tell where rival kings conuuand, 
And (Tubious title shakes the madded land. 
When statutes glean the refuse of the sword. 
How much more safe the vassal than the lord ; 
Low skulks the hind below the rage of power, 
And le.aves the wealthy traitor in the Tower ; 



THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. 



681 



Untouched liis cottage, and his slumbers 

sound, 
Though, confiscation's vnltures hover round. 

The needy traveller, serene and gay. 
Walks tlie wild heath, and sings liis toil away. 
Does envy seize thee ? crush the upbraiding 

joy, 
Increase his riches, and his peace destroy : 
Now fears in dire vicissitude invade. 
The rustling brake alarms, and quivering 

shade. 
Nor light nor darkness brings his pain relief, 
One shows the plunder and one hides the 

thief. 

Yet still one general cry the skies assails, 

And gain and grandeur load the tainted gales ; 

Few know the toiling statesman's fear or 
care, 

The insidious rival and the gaping heir. 
Once more, Democritus, arise on earth, 

With cheerful wisdom and instructive mirth ; 

See motley life in modern trappings dressed. 

And feed with varied fools the eternal jest : 

Thou who couldst laugh, where want en- 
chained caprice. 

Toil crushed conceit, and man was of a piece ; 

Where wealth unloved without a mourner 
died, 

And scarce a sycophant was fed by pride ; 

Where ne'er was known the form of mock 
debate. 

Or seen a new-made mayor's unwieldy state ; 

Where change of favorites made no change 
of laws, 

And senates heard before they judged a 
cause ; 

How wouldst thou shake at Britain's modish 
tribe. 

Dart the quick taunt and edge the piercing 
gibe ? 

Attentive truth and nature to descry. 

And pierce each scene with philosophic eye. 

To thee were solemn toys, or empty show, 

The robes of pleasure, and the veils of woe : 

All aid the farce, and all thy mirtli main- 
tain, 

Whose joys are causeless, or whose griefs are 
vain. 



Such was the scorn that tilled the sage's 
mind, 
Renewed at every glance on human kind; 
How just that scorn ere yet thy voice declare. 
Search every state, and canvass every prayer. 

Unnumbered suppliants crowd preferment's 

gate, 
Athirst for wealth, and burning to be great ; 
Delusive fortune hears the incessant call. 
They mount, they shine, evaporate and fall. 
On every stage the foes of peace attend, 
Hate dogs their flight, and insult mocks theii 

end. 
Love ends with hope, the sinking statesman's 

door 
Pours in the mourning worshipper no more; 
For growing names the weekly scribbler lies, 
To growing wealth the dedicator flies ; 
From every room descends the painted face 
That hung the bright palladium of the place, 
And, smoked in kitchens, or in auctions sold. 
To better features yields the frame of gold ; 
For now no more we trace in every line 
Heroic worth, benevolence divine ; 
The form distorted justifies the fall. 
And detestation rids the indignant wall. 

But will not Britain hear the last appeal. 
Sign her foes' doom, or guard the favorite's 

zeal? 
Through freedom's sons no more remon- 
strance rings, 
Degrading nobles and controlling kings; 
Our supple tribes repress their patriot throats, 
And ask no questions but the price of votes ; 
With weekly libels and septennial ale, 
Their wish is full to riot and to rail. 

In full-flown dignity see Wolsey stand, 
Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand ; 
To him the church, the realm, their powers 

consign. 
Through him the rays of regal bounty sliine. 
Turned by his nod the stream of Ijonor flows, 
His smile alone security bestows ; 
Still to new heights his restless wishes tower, 
Claim leads to claim, and power advances 

power ; 



GS2 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



TUl conquest unresisted ceased to please, 
And rights submitted left him none to seize ; 
At length his sovereign frowns — the train of 

state 
Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to 

hate; 
Where'er he turns, ho meets a stranger's eye, 
His suppliants scorn him, and his followers 

fly; 

Now drops at once the pride of awful state. 
The golden canopy, the glittering plate. 
The regal palace, the luxurious board. 
The liveried army, and the menial lord ; 
With age, with cares, with maladies oppressed. 
He seeks the refuge of monastic rest ; 
Grief aids disease, remembered folly stings, 
And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings. 

Speak, thou whose thoughts at humble 

peace repine. 
Shall Wolscy's wealth with Wolsey's end be 

thine ? 
Or liv'st thou now, with safer pride content. 
The wisest justice on the banks of Trent? 
For why did Wolsey, near the steeps of ft\te, 
On weak foundations raise the enormous 

weight ? 
Why but to sink beneath misfortune's blow. 
With louder ruin to the gulfs below ? 

What gave great Villiers to the assassin's 

kuife, 
And fixed disease on ITarlcy's closing life ? 
What murdered Wentwortli, and what exiled 

Hyde, 
By kings protected, and to kings allied ? 
What but then- wish indulged iu courts to 

shine. 
And power too great to keep or to resign ? 

When first the college rolls receive his 

name. 
The young enthusiast quits his ease for fame ; 
Resistless burns the fever of renown, 
Caught from the strong contagion of the 

gown; 
O'er Bodley's dome his future Labors spread. 
And Bacon's mansion trembles o'er his head. 
Are these thy views? Proceed, illustrious 

youth, 
And virtue guard thee to the throne of tnitU ! 



Yet should thy soul indulge the generous heat 
Till captive science yields her last retreat ; 
Should reason guide thee with her brightest 

i-ay, 

And pour on misty doubt resistless day ; 
Should no false kindness lure to loose delight. 
Nor praise relax, nor difficulty fright ; 
Should tempting novelty thy cell refrain, 
And sloth effuse her opiate fumes in vain ; 
Should beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart. 
Nor claim the triumph of a lettered heart ; 
Should no disease the torpid veins invade, 
Xor melancholy's phantoms haunt thy shade ; 
Yet hope not hfe from grief or danger free. 
Nor think the doom of man reversed for thee. 
Deign on the passing world to turn thine 

eyes. 
And pause awhile from letters to be wise ; 
There mark what ills the scholar's life assail, 
Toil, envy, want, tlie patron, and the jail. 
See nations, slowly wise and meanly just, 
To buried merit raise the tardy bust. 
If dreams yet flattei-, yet again attend, 
Hear Lydiat's life, and Galileo's end. 

Nor deem, when learning her last prize 

bestows. 
The glittering eminence exempt from foes ; 
See, when the vulgar 'scapes, despised or 

awed. 
Rebellion's vengeful talons seize on Laud. 
From meaner minds though smaller fines 

content, 
The plundered palace or sequestered rent, 
Marked out by dangerous parts, he meets the 

shock. 
And fatal learning leads him to the block ; 
Around his tomb let art and genius weep. 
But hear his death, ye blockheads, heiu- and 

sleep. 

The festal blazes, the triumphant show, 
The ravished standard, and the captive foe, 
The senate's thanks, the gazette's pompous 

tale, 
With force resistless o'er the brave prevail. 
Such bribes the rapid Greek o'er Asia whirled. 
For such the steady Roman shook the world ; 
For such in distant lands the Britons shine. 
And stain with blood the Danube or the 
Rhine ; 



THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. 



This power has jji-aise, tliat virtue scarce can 

warm • 
Till fame supplies the universal charm. 
Yet reason frowns on war's unequal game, 
"Where wasted nations raise a single name ; 
Anil mortgaged states theirgrandsire's wreaths 

regret, 
From age to age in everlasting debt ; 
Wreaths which at last the dear-bought right 

convey 
To rust on medals, or on stones decay. 

On what foundation stands the warrior's 
pride, 
How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles 

decide : 
A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, 
Xo dangers fright bun, and no labors tire; 
O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, 
Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain ; 
Xo joys to him pacific sceptres yield, 
War sounds tlie trump, he rushes to the field ; 
Behold surrounding kings their powers com- 
bine. 
And one capitulate, and one resign ; 
Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms 

in vain ; 
" Think nothing gained," he cries, " till naught 

remain. 
On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly. 
And all be mine beneath the polar sky !" 
Tlie march begins in military state, 
And nations on his eye suspended wait; 
Stern famine guards the solitary coast, 
iVnd winter barricades the realms of frost ; 
lie comes, nor want nor cold his course de- 

I'ly ;— 
Hide, blushing glory, hide Pultowa's day: 
Tlie vanquished hero leaves his broken bands. 
And shows his miseries in distant lands ; 
Condemned a needy suppliant to wait, 
While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. 
Ihit did not chance at length her error mend? 
Did no subverted empire mark his end 2 
Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound ? 
Or hostile millions press him to the ground? 
His fall was destined to a barren strand, 
A petty fortress, and a dubious hand ; 
He left the name, at which the world grew 

pale, 
To point a moral, or adorn a tale. 



683 



All times their scenes of pompous woes 

afford. 
From Persia's tyrant to Bavaria's lord. 
In gay liostility and barbarous pride. 
With half mankind embattled at his side. 
Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain 

prey. 
And starves exhausted regions in his way ; 
Attendant flattery counts his myriads o'er, 
Till counted myriads soothe his pride no 

more ; 
Fresh praise is tried till madness fires his 

mind. 
The waves he lashes, and enchains the 

wind. 
New powers he claims, new powers arc still 

bestowed, 
TUl rude resistance lops the spreading god. 
The daring Greeks deride the martial show, 
And heap their valleys with the gaudy foe; 
The insulted sea with humbler thought he 

gains, 
A single skiff to speed his flight remains ; 
The encumbered oar scarce leaves the dreaded 

coast 
Through purple biUows and a floating host. 

The bold Bavarian, in a luckless hour. 
Tries the dread summits of Ciesarean power, 
With unexpected legions bursts aw.ay, 
And sees defenceless realms receive his sway ; 
Short sway ! fair Austria spreads her mourn- 
ful charms. 
The queen, the beauty, sets the world in arms ; 
From hill to hill the beacon's rousing blaze 
Spreads wide the hope of plunder and of 

praise ; 
The fierce Croatian and the wild Hussar, 
With all the sous of ravage crowd the war; 
The baflSed prince, in honor's flattering bloom 
Of hasty greatness, finds the fatal doom. 
His foes' derision, and his subjects' blame, 
And steals to death from anguish and from 
shame. 

"Enlarge my life with multitude of days ! " 
In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant 

prays ; 
Hides from himself its state, and shuns to 

know 
That life jn-otracted is protracted woe. 



681 



POEMS OF SEXTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy, 
And shuts up all the passages of joy. 
In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour, 
The fruit autumnal and the vernal flower ; 
With listless eyes the dotard views the store, 
He views, and wonders that they please 

no more ; 
Now pall the tasteless meats, and joyless 

wines, 
And luxury with sighs her slave resigns. 
Approach, ye minstrels, try the soothing 

strain, 
Diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain : 
No sounds, alas ! would touch the impervious 

ear. 
Though dancing mountains witnessed Orpheus 

near; 
Nor lute nor lyre his feebler powers attend. 
Nor sweeter music of a virtuous friend ; 
But everlasting dictates crowd his tongue, 
Perversely grave, or positively wrong. 
The still returning tale, and lingering jest 
Perplex the fawning niece and pampered 

guest, 
While growing hopes scarce awe the gather- 
ing sneer, 
And scai'ce a legacy can bribe to hear ; 
The watchful guests still hint the last offence ; 
The daughter's petulance, the son's expense ; 
Improve his heady rage with treacherous skill, 
And mould his passions tiU they make his 

will. 

Unnumbered maladies his joints invade. 
Lay siege to life, and press the dire blockade ; 
But nnextinguished avarice still remains, 
And di-eaded losses aggravate his pains ; 
He turns, with anxious heart and crippled 

liands. 
His bonds of debt, and mortgages of lands ; 
Or views his coffers with suspicious eyes, 
Unlocks his gold, and counts it till he dies. 

But grant, the virtues of a temperate prime 
Bless with an age exempt from scorn or 

crime ; 
An age that melts with unperceived decay. 
And ghdes in modest innocence away ; 
Whose peaceful day benevolence endears, 
Whose night congratulating conscience 

cheers ; 



The general favorite as the general friend ; 
Such age there is, and who shall wish its end ? 

Yet even on this her load misfortune flings, 
To press the weary minutes' flagging wings; 
New sorrow rises as the day returns, 
A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns ; 
Now kindred merit fills the sable bier, 
Now lacerated friendship claims a tear ; 
Tear chases year, decay pursues decay, 
Still drops some joy from withering life 

away ; 
New forms arise, and different views en- 
gage, 
Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage, 
Till pitying nature signs the last release. 
And bids afflicted worth retire to peace. 

But few there are whom hoifrs like these 
await. 
Who set unclouded in the gulfs of fate. 
From Lydia's monarch should the search de- 
scend, 
By Solon cautioned to regard his end. 
In life's last scene what prodigies surprise. 
Fears of the brave, and follies of tlie wise : 
From Marlborough's eyes the streams of dotage 

flow, 
And Swift expires a driveler and a show I 

The teeming mother, anxious for her race, 

Begs for each birth the fortune of a face ; 

Yet Vane could tell what ills from beauty 
spring; 

And Sedley cursed the form that pleased a 
king. 

Ye nymphs of rosy lips and radiant eyes, 

Whom pleasure keeps too busy to be wise ; 

Whom joys with soft varieties invite. 

By day the frolic, and the dance by night ; 

Who frown with vanity, who smile with 
art, 

And ask the latest fashion of the heart ; 

What care, what rules, your heedless charms 
shall save, 

Each nymph your rival, and each youth your 
slave ? 

Against your fame with fondness hate com- 
bines. 

The rival batters, and the lover mines : 



DOWN LAY IN A NOOK. 



085 



With distant voice neglected virtue calls, 
Less heard and less, the faint remonstrance 

faUs; 
Tired with contempt, she quits the slippery 



And pride and prudence take her seat in 
vain. 

In crowd at once, where none the pass de- 
fend, 

The harmless freedom, and the private fi-iend ; 

The guardians yield, by force superior plied : 

To interest, prudence ; and to flattery, pride. 

Here beauty falls betrayed, despised, dis- 
tressed. 

And hissing infamy proclaims the rest. 



Where then shall hope and fear their objects 

find? 
Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant 

mind ? 
Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, 
Koll darkling down the torrent of his fate ? 
Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise. 
No cries invoke the mercies of the skies? 
Inquirer, cease ; petitions yet remain 
Which heaven may hear, nor deem religion 

vain. 
Still raise for good the supplicating voice. 
But leave to heaven the measure and the 

choice. 
Safe in His power whose eyes discern afar 
The secret ambush of a specious prayer. 
Implore His aid, in His decisions rest. 
Secure, whate'er He gives, He gives the best. 
Yet, when the sense of secret presence fires, 
And strong devotion to the skies aspires. 
Pour forth thy fervors for a healthful mind. 
Obedient passions, and a will resigned ; 
For love, which scarce collective man can 

fill; 
For patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill ; 
For faith, that, panting for a happier seat, 
Counts death kind nature's signal of retreat. 
These goods for man the laws of heaven or- 
dain; 
These goods he grants, who grants the power 

to gain ; 
• With these celestial wisdom calms the mind, 
And makes the happiness she does not find. 
Samuel Johnson. 



HENCE ALL YOU VAIN DELIGHTS. 

Hence all you vam delights. 
As short as are the nights 

Wherein you spend your folly ! 
There's naught in this life sweet, 
If man were wise to see 't, 

But only melancholy ; 

Oh sweetest melancholy ! 
Welcome folded arms and fixed eyes, 
A sigh that, piercing, mortifies, 
A look that 's fastened to the ground, 
A tongue chained np without a sound ! 
Fountain lieads and pathless groves ; 
Places which pale passion loves ; 
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls 
Are warmly housed, save bats and owls ; 

A midnight bell, a parting groan — 

These are the sounds we feed upon ; 
Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy 

valley. 
Notbmg 's so dainty sweet as lovely mel- 
ancholy. 

Beatjjio't and Fletoiiek. 



SONG. 



Down lay in a nook my lady's brach 
And said, my feet are sore ; 
I cannot follow with the pack 
A-hunting of the boar. 



And though the horn sounds never so clear, 
With the hounds in loud uproar. 
Yet I must stop and lie down here, 
Because my feet are sore. 



The huntsman, when he heard the same, 

AVhat answer did he give ? 

The dog that's lame is much to blame, 

He is not fit to live. 

Henky Taylok. 



6St; 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



DEJECTION: AN ODE, 

late, late yestreen I saw tlie new movn, 
With the old moon in her arm ; 
And I fear, I fear, my master dear I 
We shall bare a deadly storm. 

Ballad of Sir Pateick Spexce. 



■Well! if tho bard was weather-wise, who 
made 
The grand old ballad of SirPatiickSpence, 
This night, so tranquil now, will not go 
hence 
Unroused by winds that ply a busier trade 
Than those which monlJ yon cloud in lazv 

fljikes, 
Or the dull sobbing draft that moans and 
rakes 
Upon tho strings of the Eolian lute, 
"Wliich better far were mute. 
For lo I the new-moon, winter-bright, 
And overspread with phantom light — 
■\Vith swimming phantom light o'erspread, 
But rimmed and circled by a silver thread! 
I see the old moon in her lap, foretelling 

Tlie coming on of rain and sipially blast. 
And oh I that even now the gust were swell- 
ing. 
And the slant night-shower driving loud 
and fiist ! 
Those sounds, which oft have raised me whilst 
they awed, 
And sent my soul abroad. 
Might now perhaps their wonted impulse 

give — 
Might startle this dull pain, and make it move 
.•md live, 

n. 

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear — 
A stifled, drowsy, unimp.issioned grief, 
■Which finds no natural outlet, no relief 
In word, or sigh, or tear — 

O lady I in this wan and heartless mood. 

To other thoughts by yonder throstle wooed, 
All this long eve, so balmy .and serene, 

Ilave I been gazing ou the western sky. 
And its peculiar tint of yellow green ; 

And still I gaze — and with how blank an eve ! 



And tliose thin clouds above, in flakes and 
bars. 

That give away their motion to the stars 

Those stars, that glide behind them or be- 
tween, 
Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but tdways 

seen — 
Ton crescent moon, as fixed as if it grew 
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue : 
I see them all so excellently fair — 
I see, not feel, how beautifid they are ! 

HI. 

ify geniiil spirits fail; 

And what can these avail 
To lift the smothering weight from off my 
breast ? 

It were a vain endeavor. 

Though I should gaze forever 
Ou that green hglit that lingers in the west ; 
I may not hope from outward forms to win 
The passion and the life whose fountains are 
within. 



O lady! we receive but what we give. 
And in our life alone docs nature live : 
Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her 
shrond I 
And would we aught behold of higher 
worth 
Tlum that iu.animate cold world allowed 
To tho poor, loveless, ever-ansious crowd — 
Ah ! from the soul itself must issue forth 
A light, a glory, a fair Inrainons cloud 

Enveloping the earth ; 
And from tlie soul itself must there be sent 

A sweet and potent voice of its own birth, 
Of all sweet sounds the life and element I 



pure of heart ! thon need'st not ask of me 
Wliat tliis strong music in the soul may be — 
What, and wherein it doth exist — 
This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist, 
This beautiful and beauty-making power. 
Joy, wrtuous lady! Joy that ne'er was 

given 
Save to the pure, and in their purest hour — 
Life, and life's effluence, cloud at once and 

shower 



DEJECTION — AN ODE. 



687 



Joy, lady, is the spirit and the power 
Which, wedding nature to us, gives in dower 

A now earth and new heaven. 
Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud — 
Joy is the sweet voice, joy the luminous 
cloud — 
We in ourselves rejoice ! 
And thence flows all that charms our ear or 
sight — 
All melodies the echoes of that voice. 
All colors a suffusion from that light. 



There was a time when, though my path was 
rough. 
This joy within me dallied with distress ; 
And all misfortunes were but as the stuff 
Whence fancy made me dreams of happi- 
ness. 
For hope grew round me like the twining 

vine; 
And fruits and foliage, not my own, seemed 

mine. 
But now afflictions bow me down to earth. 
Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth ; 

But oh ! each visitation 
Suspends what nature gave me at my birth, 

My shaping spirit of imagination. 
For not to think of what I needs must feel. 

But to be still and patient, all I can ; 
And haply by abstruse research to steal 
From my own nature all the natural man— 
This was my sole resource, my only plan ; 
Till that which suits a part infects the whole, 
And now is almost grown the habit of my 
soul. 



Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around ray 
mind — 
Reality's dark dream ! 
I turn from you, and listen to tli'e wind, 
Which long has raved unnoticed. What a 
scream 
Of agony, by torture lengthened out. 
That lute sent forth ! Thou wind, that ravest 
without ! 
Bare crag, or raountain-taim, or blasted 
tree, 
Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomh. 
Or lonely house, long held the witches' home, 



Methinks were fitter instruments for thee. 
Mad lutanist I who, in this month of showers, 
Of dark brown gardens, and of peeping 

flowers, 
Mak'.st devils' yule, with worse than wintry 

song. 
The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves 
among ! 
Thou actor, perfect in all tragic sounds ! 
Thou mighty poet, e'en to frenzy bold ! 
What tell'stthou now about? 
'T is of the rushing of a host in rout, 
Witli groans of trampled men, with smart- 
ing wounds — 
At once they groan with pain, and shudder 

with the cold. 
But hark 1 there is a pause of deepest silence 1 
And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd. 
With groans, and tremulous shudderings — all 
is over — 
It tells another tale, with sounds less deep 
and loud ; 
A tale of less affright, 
And tempered with dehght, 
As Otway's self had framed the tender 
lay: 
'T is of a little child 
Ui)on a lonesome wild — 
Not far from home, but slie hath lost her 

way ; 
And now moans low in bitter grief and 

fear — 
And now screams loud, and hopes to make 
her mother hear. 



'Tis midnight, but small thoughts liave I of 

sleep ; 
Full seldom may my friend such vigils 

keep! 
Visit her, gentle sleep, with wmgs of heal- 
ing! 
And may this storm be but a mountain- 
birth ; 
May all the stars bang bright above her 
dwelling, 
Silent as though they watched the sleeping 
earth ! 
With light heart may she rise, 
Gay fancy, cheerful eyes — 



68S 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Joy lift lier spirit, joy attune lier voice ! 
To her may all things live, from pole to pole— 
Their life the eddying of her living sonl ! 

O simple spirit, guided from above ! 
Dear lady ! friend devoutest of ray choice! 
Thns mayest thou ever, evermore rejoice. 
Samtjxl Taylor Coleeidge. 



SIR MAKMADUEE. 

Sib Maeiiaduke ivas a hearty knight — 

Good man ! old man ! 
He 's painted standing bolt upright, 

"With his hose rolled over his knee ; 
His periwig 's as white as chalk. 
And on his fist he holds a hawk ; 

And he looks like the head 
Of an ancient family. 

His dining-room was long and wide — 

Good man ! old man ! 
His spaniels lay by the fireside ; 

And in other pai'ts, d' ye see, 
Cross-bows, tobacco pipes, old hats, 
A saddle, his wife, and a litter of cats ; 

And he looked like the head 
Of an ancient family. 

He never turned the poor from the gate — 

Good man ! old man ! 
But was always ready to break the pate 

Of his coantry's enemy. 
"What knight could do a better thing 
Than serve the poor, and fight for his king? 
And so may every head 
Of an ancient famUy. 

Geoboe Colmas, " the younger." 



I AM A FEL^. OF ORDERS GRAY. 

I AM a friar of orders gray, 
And down in the valleys I take my way ; 
I puU not blackberry, haw, or hip — 
Good store of venison fills my scrip ; 
My long bead-roU I merrily chant ; 
"Where'er I walk no money I want ; 



And why Fm so plump the reason I tell — 
"Who leads a good life is sure to live well. 

"What baron or squire, 

Or knight of the shire, 

Lives half so well as a holy friar ? 

After supper of heaven I dream. 
But that is a pullet and clouted cream ; 
Myself, by denial, I mortify — 
"With a dainty bit of a warden pie ; 
I 'm clothed in sackcloth for my sin — 
"With old sack wine I 'm lined within ; 
A chirping cup is my matin song. 
And the vesper's beU is my bowl, ding dong. 
What baron or squire, 
Or knight of the shire, 
Lives half so well as a hol.v friar ? 

JOHS O'Kketb. 



THE AGE OF "WISDOM. 

Ho ! pretty page, with the dimpled chin. 
That never has known the bai'bers shear, 

All your wish is woman to win ; 

This is the way that boys begin — 
Wait till you come to forty year. 

Carly gold locks cover foolish brains ; 

Billing and cooing is all your cheer — 
Sighing, and singing of midnight strains, 
Under Bonnj'bell's window panes — 

"Wait fdl you come to forty year. 

Forty times over let Michaelmas pass ; 

Grizzling hair the brain doth clear ; 
Then you know a boy is an ass. 
Then you know the worth of a lass — 

Once you have come to forty year. 

Pledge me round ; I bid ye declare, 

All good fellows whose beards are gray — 
Did not the fairest of the fair 
Common grow and wearisome ere 
Ever a month was past away ? 

The reddest lips that ever have kissed. 

The brightest eyes that ever have shone, 
May pray and whisper and we not list. 
Or look away and never be missed — 
Ere yet ever a month is gone. 



THE LAST LEAF. 689 


Gilliaa's dead! God rest her bier— 


Alas ! and I have not 


How I loved her twenty years syne ! 


The jdeasant hour forgot, 


Marian 's married ; but I sit here, 


When one pert lady said — 


Alone and merry at forty year, 


" 0, Landor ! I am quite 


Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine. 


Bewildered with affright ; 


"William Makepeace TnACKEitAY. 


I see (sit quiet now !) a white hair on your 




head 1 " 

Another, more benign, 


TO PERILLA. 




Drew out that hair of mine. 


Ah, my Perilla 1 dost thou grieve to see 


And in her own dark hair 


Me, day by day, to steal away from thee ? 


Pretended she had found 


Age calls me hence, and my gray hairs bid 


That one, and twirled it roimd.— 


come, 


Fair as she was, she never was so fair. 


And hasto away to mine eternal liome ; 


■Walter Savage Lamdoh. 


'T will not be long, Perilla, after this 




That I must give thee the supremest kiss. 
Dead when I am, first cast in salt, and bring 






Part of the cream from that religious spring, 


THE LAST LEAF. 


With which, PeriUa, wash my hands and feet ; 




That done, then wind me in that very sheet 


I SAW him once before, 


Which wrapped thy smooth limbs when thou 


As he passed by the door; 


didst implore 


And again 


The gods' protection, but the night before ; 


The pavement-stones resound 


Follow me weeping to my turf, and there 


As he totters o'er the ground 


Let fall a primrose, and with it a tear. 


With his cane. 


Then lastly, let some weekly strewings be 




Devoted to the memory of me ; 


They say that in his prime. 


Then shall my ghost not walk about, but 


Ere the primLng-knife of time 


keep 


Cut him down, 


Still in the cool and silent shades of sleep. 


Not a better man was found 


Robert Hekbioe, 


By the crier on his round 




Through the town. 
But now he walks the streets, 


THE ONE GPvAY HAIR. 


The wisest of the wise 
Listen to pretty lies. 

And love to hear them told ; 
Doubt not that Solomon 
Listened to many a one — 


And he looks at all he meets 

So forlorn; 
And he shakes his feeble head, 
That it seems as if he said, 

" They are gone." 


Some in his youth, and more when he grew 
old. 


The mossy marbles rest 




On the lips that he has pressed 


1 never sat among 


In their bloom; 


The choir of wisdom's song, 


And the names he loved to hear 


But pretty lies loved I 


Have been carved for many a year 


As much as any Icing — 


On the tomb. 


When youth was on the wing, 




And (must it then be told?) when youth had 


My grandmamma has said — 


quite gone by. 


Poor old lady! she is dead 


45 





690 POEMS OF SENTIMExN'T AND KEFLECTION. 


Long ago — ' 


If thy stream carried only weeds away. 


That he had a Roman nose, 


But vernal and autumnal flowers alike 


And his cheek Tras like a rose 


It hurries down to wither on the strand. 


In tlie snow. 


Waltee Savage Landoe. 


But DOW his nose is thin, 




And it rests upon his chin 


WAITING BY THE GATE. 


Like a staff; 




And a crook is in his hack. 


Beside a massive gateway built up in years 


And a melancholy crack 


gone by. 


In hia laugh. 


Upon whose top the clouds in eternal shadow 

lie, 
While streams the evening sunshine on quiet 


I know it is a sin 


For me to sit and grin 


wood and lea. 


At him here. 


I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn 


But the old three-cornered hat, 


for me. 


And the breeches — and aU that, 




Are so queer ! 


The tree tops faintly rustle beneath the 
breeze's flight. 


And if I should live to be 


A soft and soothing sound, yet it whispers of 
the night; 


The last leaf upon the tree 


In the spring. 


I hear the woodthrush piping one mellow 


Let them smile, as I do now. 


descant more, 


At the old forsaken bough 


And scent the flowers that blow when the 


Where I cling. 


heat of day is o'er. 


Oliver "Wendell Holmes. 


Behold the portals open, and o'er the thresh- 


~* 


old, now, 




There steps a weary one with a pale and tur- 




rowed brow ; 


MEMORY. 


His count of years is full, his allotted task is 


The mother of the muses, we are taught, ' 
Is memory ; she has left me ; they remain, 


wrought ; 


He passes to his rest from a place that needs 


And shake my shoulder, urging me to sing 


him not. 


About the summer days, my loves of old. 


In sadness then I ponder how quickly fleets 


"Alas! alas! " is all I can reply. 


the horn- . 


Memory has left with me that name alone. 


Of human strength and action, m.an's courage 


Harmonious name, which other bards may 


and his power. 


sing. 


I muse while still the woodthrush sings down 


But her bright image in my darkest hour 


the golden day. 


Comes back, in vain comes back, called or 


And as I look down and listen the sadness 


uncalled. 


wears away. 


Forgotten are the names of visitors 




Ready to press my hand but yesterday ; 


Again the hinges turn, and a youth, depart- 


Forgotten are the names of earlier friends 


ing, throws 


Whose genial converse and glad countenance 


A look of longing backward, and sorrowful- 


Are fresh as ever to mine ear and eye ; 


ly goes ; 


To these, when I haye written, and besought 


A blooming maid, unbinding the roses from 


Remembrance of me, the word " Dear " alone 


her hair, 


Hangs on the upper verge, and waits in vain. 


Moves mournfully away from amidst the 


A blessing wert thou, oblivion. 


young and fan-. 



THE END OF THE PLAY. 



691 



Oh glory of our race that so suddenly decays ! 
Oh crimson flash of morning that darkens as 

V.-6 gaze ! 
Oh breath of summer blossoms that on the 

restless air 
Scatters a moment's sweetness and flies, we 

know not where ! 

I grieve for life's brigbt promise, just shown 
and then withdrawn ; 

But still the sun shines round me; the even- 
ing bird sings on, 

And I again am soothed, and, beside the an- 
cient gate. 

In this soft evening sunlight, I calmly stand 
and wait. 

Once more the gates are opened ; an infant 
group go out. 

The sweet smile quenched forever, and stilled 
the sprightly shout. 

Oh frail, frail tree of life, that upon the green- 
sward strows 

Its fair young buds unopened, with every 
wind that blows ! 

So come from every region, so enter, side by 

side. 
The strong and faint of spirit, the meek and 

men of pride. 
Steps of earth's great and mighty, between 

those pillars gray. 
And prints of little feet, mark the dust along 

the way. 

And some approach the threshold whose looks 

are blank with fear. 
And some whose temples brighten with joy 

in drawing near, 
As if they saw dear faces, and caught the 

gracious eye 
Of him, the sinless teacher, who came for us 

to die. 

I mark the joy, the terror; yet these, within 

my heart. 
Can neither wake the dread nor the longing 

to depart ; 
And, in the sunshine streaming on quiet 

wood and lea, 
I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn 

for me. 

WiLUAM CULLtN BrYANT. 



THE END OF THE PLAY. 

The play is done — the curtain drops, 

Slow falling to the prompter's bell ; 
A moment yet the actor stops, 

And looks around, to say farewell. 
It is an irksome word and task ; 

And, when be 's laughed and said his say. 
He shows, as be removes the mask, 

A face that 's any thing but gay. 

One word, ere yet the evening ends — 

Let 's close it with a parting rhyme ; 
And pledge a hand to all young friends. 

As fits the merry Christmas time ; 
On life's wide scene you, too, have parts, 

That fate ere long shall bid you play ; 
Good-night ! — with honest gentle hearts 

A kindly greeting go alway ! 

Good-night! — I'd say the griefs, the joys. 

Just hinted in this mimic page, 
The triumphs and defeats of boys, 

Are but repeated in our age ; 
I 'd say your woes were not less keen, 

Your hopes more vain, than those of men — 
Your pangs or pleasures of fifteen 

At forty-five played o'er agam. 

I 'd say we sufier and we strive 

Not less nor more as men than boys — 
With grizzled beards at forty-five. 

As erst at twelve in corduroys ; 
And if, in time of sacred youth, 

"We learned at home to love and pray, 
Pray heaven that earlj' love and truth 

May never wholly pass away. 

And in the world, as in the school, 

I 'd say how ftite may change and shift — 
The prize be somethues with the fool, 

The race not always to the swift ; 
The strong may yield, the good may fall. 

The great man be a vulgar clown, 
The knave be lifted over all. 

The kind cast pitilessly down. 

Who knows the inscrutable design ? 

Blessed be He who took and gave ! 
Why should your mother, Charles, not mine. 

Be weeping at her darling's grave? 



692 POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 


"We bow to heaven tl)at willed it so, 




That darkly rules the fate of all, 


TIME'S CURE. 


That sends the respite or the blow, 




Tliat 's free to give or to recall. 


Mourn, rejoicing heai't ! 




The hours are flying; 


This crowns his feast with wine and wit — 


Each one some treasure takes. 


Who brouglit him to that mirth and state? 


Each one some blossom breaks. 


His betters, see, below him sit, 


And leaves it dying; 


Or hunger hopeless at the gate. 


The chiU, dark night draws near — 


Who bade the mud fl'om Dives' wheel 


The sun will soon depart, 


To spurn the rags of Lazarus? 


And leave thee sighing; 


Come, brother, in that dust we '11 kneel. 


Then mourn, rejoicing heart 1 


Confessing heaven that ruled it thus. 


The hour s are flying ! 


So each shall mourn, in life's advance. 




Dear hopes, dear friends, untimely killed — 


Rejoice, grieving heart ! 


Shall grieve for many a forfeit chance. 


The hours fly fast— 


And longing passion unfulfilled. 


With each some sorrow dies, . 


Amen! — whatever fate be sent. 


With each some shadow flies ; 


Pray God the heart may kindly glow, 


Until at last 


Although the head with cares be bent. 


The red dawn in the east 


And whitened with the winter snow. 


Bids weary night depart. 




And pain is past ; 


Come wealth or wtmt, come good or ill, 


Rejoice then grieving heart! 


Let young and old accept their part. 


The hours fly fast ! 


And bow before the awful will, 


Anonymocs. 


And bear it with an honest heart. 
Who misses, or who wins the prize- 




' 


Go, lose or conquer as you can; 




But if you fail, or if you rise, 


A PETITION TO TIME. 


Bo each, pray God, a gentleman. 






Touch us gently, time! 


A gentleman, or old or young ! 


Let us glide adown thy stream 


(Bear kindly with my humble lays ;) 


Gently — as we sometimes glide 


The sacred chorus first was sung 


Through a quiet dream. 


Upon the first of Christmas days ; 


Humble voyagers are we. 


The shepherds heard it overhead — 


Husband, wife, and children three — 


The joyful angels raised it then: 


(One is lost — an angel, fled 


Glory to heaven on high, it said. 


To the azure overhead !) 


And peace on earth to gentle men ! 




My song, save this, is little worth ; 


Touch us gently, time ! 


I lay the weary pen aside, 


We've not proud nor soaring wings; 


And wish you health, and love, and mirth, 


Our ambition, our content, 


As fits the solemn Christmas-tide. 


Lies in simple things. 


As fits the holy Christmas birth. 


Humble voyagers are we. 


Be this, good friends, our carol still — 


O'er life's dim, unsounded .sea. 


Be peace on earth, be peace on earth, 


Seeking only some calm clime ; — 


To men of gentle will. 


Touch us gently, gentle time ! 


William Makepeace Thaokeeat. 


Barry Cornwall. 



THE SOUL'S DEFIANCE. 



SONG. 

Time is a feathered thing, 

And whilst I praise 

The sparklings of thy looks, and call them 

rays, 
Takes wing — 

Leaving behind hira, as he flies. 
An unperceived dimness in thine eyes. 

His minutes, whilst they are told, 
Do make as old ; 
And every sand of his fleet glass. 
Increasing age as it doth pass. 
Insensibly sows wrinkles here, 
Where flowers and roses did appear. 

Wliilst we do speak, our fire 
Doth into ice expire ; 
Flames turn to frost ; 
And ere we can 

Know how our crow turns swan, 
Or how a silver snow 
Springs there where jet did grow. 
Our fading spring is in dull winter lost. 
Anonymoits. 



THERE ARE GAINS FOR ALL OUR 
LOSSES. 

There are gains for all our losses — 
There are balms for all our pain ; 
But when youth, the dream, departs. 
It takes something from our hearts. 
And it never comes again. 

We are stronger and are better. 

Under manhood's sterner reign ; 
Still we feel that something sweet 
Followed youth, with flying feet, 
And will never come again. 

Something beautiful has vanished. 
And we sigh for it in vain ; 

We behold it everywhere. 

On the earth, and in the air, 
But it never comes again. 

Richard IIeney Stoddaed. 



SONNET. 

Sad is our youth, for it is ever going. 
Crumbling away bcneatli our very feet ; 
Sad is our life, for onward it is flowing 
In current unperceived, because so fleet; 
Sad are our liopes, for they were sweet in 

sowing — 
But tares, self-sown, have overtopped tlio 

wheat ; 
Sad are our joys, for they were sweet in 

blowings 
And still, oh still, their dying breath is sweet ; 
And sweet is youth, although it hath bereft 

us 
Of that which made our childhood sweeter 

stiU; 
And sweet is middle life, for it hath left us 
A nearer good to cure an older ill ; 
And sweet are all things, when wo learn to 

prize them 
Not for their sake, but Ilis who grants them 

or denies them ! 

AtTBREY DE Vebe, 



THE SOUL'S DEFIANCE. 

I SAID to sorrow's awful storm, 

Tliat beat against my breast. 
Rage on ! — thou may'st destroy this form, 

And hiy it low at rest ; 
But still the spirit that now brooks 

Thy tempest, raging high. 
Undaunted on its fury looks. 

With steadfast eye. 

I said to penury's meagre train. 

Come on ! your threats I brave ; 
My last poor life-drop you may drain. 

And crush me to the grave ; 
Yet still the spirit that endures 

Shall mock your force the while. 
And meet each cold, cold grasp of yours 

With bitter smile. 

I said to cold neglect and scorn, 

Pass on ! I heed you not ; 
Te may pursue mo till my form 

And being are forgot ; 



694 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Yet still the spii-it which you see 
Undaunted by your wiles, 

Draws from its own nobility 
Its high-born smiles. 

I said to friendship's menaced blow, 

Strike .deep ! ray heart shall bear ; 
Thou canst but add one hitter woe 

To those already there ; 
Yet still the spirit that sustains 

This last severe distress. 
Shall smile upon its keenest pains. 

And scorn redress. 

I said to death's uplifted dart. 

Aim sure! oh, why delay? 
Thou wilt not find a fearful heart— 

A weak, reluctant prey ; 
For still the sjjirit, firm and free, 

Unruffled by this last dismay. 
Wrapt in its own eternity. 

Shall pass away. 

Lavinia Stoddahd. 



MUTABILITY. 

The flower that smiles to-day 

To-morrow dies ; 
All that we wish to stay 

Tempts, and then flies ; 
What is this world's delight? 
Lightning that mocks the night, 
Brief even as bright. 

Virtue, how frail it is! 

Friendship too rare! 
Love, how it sells poor bliss 

For proud despair! 
But we, thougli soon they fall, 
Sur\-ive their joy, and all 
Which ours we call. 

Whilst skies are blue and bright. 
Whilst flowers are gay, 

Whilst eyes that change ere night 
Make glad the day. 

Whilst yet the calm hours creep, 

Dream thou ! and from thy sleep 

Then wake to weep. 

Perot Bvssbe SnELLET. 



STANZAS. 

My life is like the summer rose 

That opens to the moi-ning sky, 
But, ere the shades of evening close. 

Is scattered on the ground— to die ! 
Yet on the rose's humble bed 
The sweetest dews of night are shed. 
As if she wept the waste tosee— 
But none shall weep a tear for me ! 

My life is like the autumn leaf 

TJiat trembles in the moon's pale ray ; 
Its hold is frail— its date is brief. 

Restless — and soon to pass away! 
Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade. 
The parent tree will moui-n its shade. 
The winds bewail the leafless tree — 
But none sliall breathe a sigh for me ! 

My life is like the prints which feet 

Have left on Tampa's desert strand ; 
Soon as the rising tide shall beat. 

All trace will vanish from the sand ; 
Yet, as if grieving to eft'ace 
All vestige of the human race. 

On that lone shore loud moans the sea 

But none, alas! shall mourn for me! 

ElOHAKD HeNEY WrLDE. 



NO MORE. 

My wind has turned to bitter north, 

Tliat was so soft a south before ; 
My sky, th.at shone so sunny bright. 

With foggy gloom is clouded o'er ; 
My gay green leaves are yellow-black 

Upon the dank autumnal floor ; 
For love, departed once, comes back 

No more again, no more. 

A roofless ruin lies my home. 

For winds to blow and rains to pour; 
One frosty night befell— and lo! 

I find my summer days are o'er. 
The heart bereaved, of why and how 

Unknowing, knows that yet before 
It had what e'en to memory now 

Returns no more, no more. 

ARTmjR HUGU Clough. 



ODE TO DUTY. 



695 



SONG. 

Oh say not that my heart is cold 

To aught that once could warm it — 
That nature's form, so dear of old, 

No more has power to charm it ; 
Or that the ungenerous world can chill 

One glow of fond emotion 
For those who made it dearer stdl, 

And shared my wild devotion. 

StiU oft those solemn scenes I view 

In rapt and dreamy sadness — 
Oft look on those who loved them too, 

With fancy's idle gladness ; 
Again I longed to view the light 

In nature's features glowing. 
Again to tread the mountain's height, 

And taste the soul's o'erflowing. 

Stern duty rose, anil, frowning, flung 

His leaden chain around me ; 
With iron look and sullen tongue 

He muttered as he hound me : 
" The mountain breeze, the boundless 
heaven. 

Unfit for toil the creature ; 
These for the free alone are given — 

But what have slaves with nature ? " 
CIIAELE3 "Wolfe. 



ODE TO DUTY. 

Steex daughter of the voice of God ! 
duty ! if that name thou love 
Who art a light to guide, a rod 
To check the erring, and reprove— 
Thou, who art victory and law 
When empty terrors overawe ; 
From vain temptations dost set free. 
And calm'st the weary strife of frail hu- 
manity ! 

There are who ask not if thine eye 
Be on them ; who, in love and truth. 
Where no misgiving is, rely 
Upon the genial sense of youth : 
Glad hearts 1 without reproach or blot, 
AVho do thy work, and know it not; 



Long may the kindly impulse last! 
But thou, if they should totter, teach them 
to stand fast ! 

Serene will be our days and bright, 
And happy will our nature be. 
When love is an unerring light. 
And joy its own security. 
And they a blissful course may hold 
Even now, who, not unwisely bold. 
Live in the spirit of this creed ; 
Yet find that other strength, according to 
their need. 

I, loving freedom, and untried. 
No sport of every random gust. 
Yet being to myself a guide. 
Too blindly have reposed my trust ; 
And oft, wlien in my heart was heard 
Thy timely mandate, I deferred 
The task, in smoother walks to stray ; 
But thee I now would serve more strictly, 
if I may. 

Through no disturbance of my soul. 

Or strong compunction in me wrought, 

I supplicate for thy control. 

But in the quietness of thought ; 

Me this unchartered freedom tires ; 

I feel the weight of chance desires. 

My hopes no more must change their name, 

I long for a repose that ever is the same. 

Stern lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear 
The Godhead's most benignant grace ; 
Nor know we any thing so fair 
As is the smile upon thy face ; 
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds. 
And fragrance in thy footing treads ; 
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong ; 
And the most ancient heavens, through 
thee, are fresh and strong. 

To humbler functions, awful power ! 
I C!iU thee : I myself commend 
Unto thy guidance from this hour; 
Oh, let my weakness have an end! 
Give unto me, made lowly wise. 
The spirit of self-sacrifice ; 
The confidence of reason give ; 
And in the light of truth thy bondman let 
me live ! 

William ■Wordsworth. 



696 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Wny THUS LONGING. 

Why thus longing, thus for ever sighing, 
For the far-off, imattained and dim, 

While tlic beautiful, all round thee lying. 
Oilers up its low, perpetual hymn ? 

Wonldst thou listen to its gentle teaching. 
All thy restless yearnings it would still; 

Leaf and flower and laden lieo are preaching 
Thine own sphere, though humble, firet to 
fill. 

Poor indeed thou must be, if ni-ound thee 
Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw — 

If no silken cord of love hath bound thee 
To some little world through weal and woe ; 

If no dear eyes thy fond love can brighten — 
No fond voices answer to thine own ; 

If no brother's sorrow thou canst lighten. 
By daily sympathy and gentle tone. 

Not by deeds that win the crowd's applauses, 
Not by works that give tliee world-renown. 

Not by martyrdom or vaunted crosses. 
Canst thou win and wear the immortal 



Daily struggling, though unloved and lonely. 
Every day a rich reward will give; 

Thou wilt find, by hearty striving only. 
And truly loving, thou canst truly live. 

Dost thou revel in tlic rosy morning. 
When all nature hails the lord of light. 

And his smile, the mountain-tops adorning, 
Robes yon fragrant fields in radiance 
bright ? 

Other hands may grasp the field and forest. 
Proud jiroprietors in pomp may shine ; 

But with furvent love if thou adorcst, 
Thou art wealthier — all the world is thine. 

Yet if through earth's wide domains thou 
rovest, 

Sighing that they art not thine alone, 
Not those fair fields, but thyself thon lovost. 

And then- beauty, and thy wealth arc gone. 



Nature wears the color of the spirit; 

Sweetly to her worshipper she sings; 
All the glow, the grace she doth inherit, 

Round her trusting child she fondly flings. 



IIauriet Winslow. 



LOSSES. 

Upon the white sea-sand 

There sat a pilgrim band, 
Telling the losses that their lives had known ; 

While evening waned away 

From breezy cliff and bay. 
And the strong tides went out with weary 
moan. 

One spake, with quivering lip, 

Of a fair freighted ship. 
With all his household to the deep gone down ; 

But one had wilder woe — 

For a fiiir face, long ago 
Lost in the darker depths of a great town. 

There were who mourned their youth 

With a most loving ruth. 
For its brave hopes and memories ever green ; 

And one upon the west 

Turned an eye that would not rest. 
For far-olf hills whereon its joy had been. 

Some talked of vanished gold, 

Some of proud honors told, 
Some spake of friends that were their trust 
no more ; 

And one of a green grave 

Beside a foreign wave, 
That made him sit so lonely on the shore. 

Bnt when their tales were done. 

There spake among them one, 
A stranger, seeming from all sorrow free : 

" Sad losses have ye met^ 

But mine is heavier yet; 
For a believing heart hath gone from me." 

"Alas! " these pilgrims said, 

"For the living and the dead — 
For fortune's cruelty, for love's sure cross. 

For the wrecks of land and sea ! 

But, however it came to thee. 
Thine, stranger, is life's last and heaviest loss." 
Fbakoes Bkown. 



SONNETS. 



697 



HUMAN FRAILTY. 

Weak and irresolute is man ; 

The purpose of to-day, 
'Woven with pains into liis plan, 

To-morrow rends away. 

The bow well bent, and smart the spring. 

Vice seems already slain ; 
But passion rudely snaps the string, 

And it revives again. 

Some foe to his upright intent 

Finds out his weaker part ; 
Virtue engages liis assent, 

But pleasure wins his heart. 

'T is hero the folly of the wise 
Through all his art we view ; 

And while his tongue the charge denies, 
His conscience owns it true. 

Bound on a voyage of awful length 

And dangers little known, 
A stranger to superior strength, 

Man vainly trusts his own. 

But oars .alone can ne'er prevail 

To reach the distant coast ; 
The breath of heaven must swell the sail, 

Or all the toil is lost. 

WrLLIAM COWTEB. 



THE GOOD GREAT MAN. 

How seldom, friend, a good great man in- 
herits 
Honor and wealth, with all his worth and 
pains ! 
It seems a story from the world of spirits 
When any man obtains that which ho 
merits. 
Or any merits that which he obtains. 

For shame, my friend ! renounce this idle 

strain ! 
What wouldst thou have a good great man 

obtain ? 



Wealth, title, dignity, a golden chain. 
Or heap of corses which his sword hath slain ? 
Goodness and greatness are not means, but 
ends. 

Hath he not always treasures, always friends, 
The great good man ? Three treasures — love, 
and light. 
And calm thoughts, equable as infant's 
breath ; 
And three fast friends, more sure than day or 
night — 
Himself, his maker, and the angel death. 

SaMUKL TaVLOB COLEIttDOE. 



SONNETS. 

ON HIS BEING AltlilVF.D TO THE AGE OF 
TWENTY-THREE. 

How soon liath time, the subtle tliief of 
youtli. 
Stolon on his wing my thrco-and-tvvcntieth 

year! 
My hasting days fly on with full career. 
But my late spring no bud or blossom 
showoth. 
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the 
truth. 
That I to manhood am arrived so near; 
And inward ripeness doth much less appear 
That some more timely-happy spirits In- 
du'th. 
Yet bo it less or more, or soon or slow. 
It shall be still in strictest measure even 
To that same lot, however mean or liigli. 
Toward which time leads mo, and the will 
of heaven : 
AU is, if I have grace to use it so. 
As ever in my great task-master's eye. 



ON THE LATE MAS8A0BE IN PIEDMONT. 

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, 

whoso bones 
Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains 

cold ! 
Even them who kept thy truth so pure of 

old, 



fi08 POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 


When all oni- fathers worshipped stocks 




iiiul stones, 


ROBIX HOOD. 


Forpot notl in thy hook record their groans 
Who wore thy sheep, niul in their ancient 
fold 


No I those days arc gone away, 
And their hours aro old and gray, 


Slain by the bloody Piemonteso, that 
rolled 


And their minutes buried all 
Under the down-trodden ])all 


Mother with iaiimt down the rocks. Their 
moans 


Of the leaves of many years ; 
Many times have winter's shears. 


The vales redoidiled to the liills, and they 
To heaven. Their inartyi'od blood and 
ashoH SDW 


Frozen north, and chilling east 
Sounded tempests to tho feast 
Of tho forest's whispering floecos, 


O'or all th' Kalian lields, where still doth 


iSince men knew nor rent nor leases. 


sway 




'J'he 1 riplo tyrant ; that from tlieso may 


No! the buglo sounds no more, 


urow 


And tho twanging how no moro ; 


A hundred fold, who, having learned thy 


Silent is tho ivory shrill, 


way, 


Past the heath and up the hill; 


Early may fly the Babylonian woo. 


There is no nnd-forest laugh. 




Whore lone JCcho gives the half 




To some wight amazed to hoar, 




Jesting, deep in forest drear. 


ON niS BLINDNKSS. 




WrrnN I consider how my light is spent 


On the fairest time of .Juno 


Ere half my days, in this dark world and 


Yon may go, with sun or moon, 


wide. 


Or tho seven stars, to light you, 


And that one talent which is death (o 


Or the polar ray to right you; 


hido 


Hut you never may behold 


Lodged with me useless, thou{;h my soul 


Little .John, or Kobin btdd — 


more bent 


Never ono, of all tho clan. 


To servo therewith my maker, and present 


Thrnmming on an empty can 


My true account, lest he returning chide — 


Some old hunting ditty, while 


"l>oth (iod exact day -labor, light de- 


lie dolh his green way beguile 


nied ? " 


To fair hostess merriment. 


I fondly ask ; but patience, to prevent 


Down beside the i)astin'o Trent; 


That nuu'mur, soon replies: "God doth not 


For he left the merry tale. 


need 


Messenger for s])icy ale. 


iMtlier man's work, or his own gifts ; who 




best 


(ione tho merry morris din ; 


Bear his mild yoke, they servo him host ; 


Gone the song of (iamelyn ; 


his state 


Gone the tough-belted outlaw, 


Is kinij:ly ; thousands at his bidding speed, 


Idling in the "green6 shawo"— 


And post o'er land and ocean without 


All are gone away and past ! 


rest ; 


And if Robin should be cast 


Thoy also servo who only stand and 


Sudden from his tufted grave, 


wait." 


And if Marian should have 


John Mm-ton. 


Once again her forest days. 




She would wee|), and he would craze; 
Ho would swear — for all his oaks. 


« 




Fallen beueatli tho dock-yard strokes, 



THE WHITE ISLAND. 



G99 



Have rotted on the briny seaa ; 
She would weep that her wild bees 
Sang not to her — strange! that lioney 
Can 't bo got without hard money ! 

So it is 1 yet let us sing 
Honor to the old bow-string ! 
Honor to the bugle horn ! 
Honor to the woods unshorn ! 
Honor to the Lincoln green ! 
Honor to the archer keen I 
Honor to tight little John, 
And the horse he rodo upon I 
Honor to bold Robin Hood, 
Sleeping iu the underwood 1 
Honor to maid Marian, 
And to all the Sherwood elan 1 
Though their days have hurried by, 
Let us two a burden try. 

JouN Keats. 



Oil ! THE PLEASANT DAYS OF OLD ! 

On ! the pleasant days of old, which so often 

I)eo[)le praise ! 
True, they wanted all the luxuries that grace 

our modern days : 
Bare floors were strewed with rushes — the 

walls let in the cold ; 
Oh ! how they must have shivered in those 

[deasant days of old ! 

Oh ! those ancient lords of old, how magnifi- 
cent they were ! 

They threw down and imprisoned kings — to 
thwart them who might dare? 

They ruled their serfs right sternly ; they 
took from Jews their gold — 

Above both law and equity were those great 
lords of old I 

Oh ! tlie gallant knights of old, for their 

valor so renowned! 
With sword and lance, and armor strong, 

they scoured the country round ; 
And whenever aught to tempt them they 

met by wood or wold. 
By right of sword they seized the prize — 

those gallant knights of old! 



Ohl the gentle dames of old! who, quite 

free from fear or ])ain. 
Could gaze on joust and tournament, and see 

their champions slain ; 
They lived on good beefsteaks and ale, which 

made them strong and hold — 
Oh 1 more like men than women were those 

gentle dames of old ! 

Oh! those mighty towers of old! witli their 
turrets, moat and keep, 

Their battlements and bastions, their dun- 
geons dark and deep. 

Full many a baron held his court within the 
castle hold ; 

And many a captive languished there, in 
those strong towers of old. 

Ohl the troubadours of old ! with their gen- 
tle minstrelsie 

Of hope and joy, or deep despair, whicho'er 
their lot might be — 

For years they served their ladye-love ere 
they their passions told— 

Oh! wondrous patience must have had those 
troubadours of old ! 

Oh! those blessed times of old 1 witli their 

chivalry and state ; 
I love to rea<l their chronicles, which such 

brave deeds relate ; 
I love to sing tlieir ancient rhymes, to hear 

their legends told — 
But, heaven bo thanked ! I live not in those 

blessed times of old ! 

Fbanckh liUOWN. 



THE WHITE ISLAND; 

OR, I'LAOE op THE BLEST. 

In this world, the isle of dreams. 
While we sit by sorrow's streams, 
Tears and terrors are our tliomes, 

Reciting; 
But when once from lienco we flie, 
More and more ajjproaching nigh 
Unto young eternitie. 

Uniting 



'?00 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



In tliat Tvliiter island, where 
Things are evermore sincere — 
Candor here and histre there 

Delighting. 
There no monstrous fancies shall 
Out of hell an horror call, 
To create, or cause at all, 

Affrighting ; 
There in calm and cooling sleep 
We our eyes shall never steep. 
But eternal watch shall keep, 

Attending 
Pleasures, such as shall pursue 
Me immortalized, and you — 
And fresh joys, as never to 
Have ending. 

BOBBRT HeEEICK. 



THE HAPPY VALLEY. 



It was a valley filled with sweetest sounds ; 

A languid music haunted everywhere — 
Like that with which a summer eve abounds, 
From rustUng corn, and song-birds calling 
clear 
Dovm sloping uplands, which some wood sur- 
rounds, 
With tinkling rills just heard, but not too 
near ; 
And low of cattle on tlie distant plain, 
And peal of far-off bells— now caught, then 
lost again. 



II. 

It seemed like Eden's angel-peopled vale. 
So bright the sky, so soft the streams did 
flow; 
Such tones came riding on the musk-winged 
gale 
The very air seemed sleepily to blow ; 
And choicest flowers enamelled every dale 
Flushed with the richest sunlight's rosy 
glow : 
It was a valley drowsy With dehght — 
Such fragrance floated round, such beauty 
dimmed the sight. 



The golden-belted bees hummed in the air ■ 
The tall silk grasses bent and waved 
along; 
The trees slept in the steeping sunbeam's 
glare ; 
The dreamy river chimed its undersong. 
And took its own free course without a 
care ; 
Amid the boughs did lute-tonged song- 
sters throng, 
And the green valley throbbed beneath their 

lays. 
Which echo echo chased through many a 
leafy maze. 



And shapes were there, like spirits of the 

flowers, 
Sent down to see the summer beauties 

dress. 
And feed their fragrant mouths with silver 

showers ; 
Their eyes peeped out from many a green 

recess, 
And their fan- forms made light the thick-set 

bowers ; 
The very flowers seemed eager to caress 
Such living sisters; and the boughs, long- 
leaved, 
Clustered to catch the sighs theli- pearl-flushed 

bosoms heaved. 



One through her long loose hair was back- 
ward peeping. 
Or throwing, with raised arm, the locks 
aside ; 

Another high a pile of flowers was heaping, 
Or lookmg love-askance, and, when de- 
scried, 

Her coy glance on the bedded greensward 
keeping ; 
She pulled the flowers to pieces, as she 
sighed — 

Then blushed, like timid daybreak, when the 
dawn 

Looks crimson on the night, and then again 's 
■\rithdrawn. 



ARRANMORE. 



701 



One, with her warm and luilk-wbite arms 
outspread, 
On tip-toe tripped along a smi-lit glade — 
Half turned the matchless sculpture of her 
head. 
And half shook down her silken circling 
braid. 
She seemed to float on air, so light she sped ; 
Her back-blown scarf an arched rainbow 
made ; 
She skimmed the wavy flowers, as she passed 

by, 

With fair and printless feet, like clouds along 
the sky. 

VII. 

One sat alone within a shady nook, 
With wild-wood songs the lazy hours be- 
guiling; 
Or looking at her shadow in the brook. 
Trying to frown — then at the efibrt smil- 
ing; 
Her laughing eyes mocked every serious 
look ; 
'T was as if Love stood at himself reviling. 
She threw in flowers, and watched them 

float away ; 
Then at her beauty looked, then sang a 
sweeter lay. 



Others on beds of roses lay reclined. 

The regal flowers athwart their fuU lips 
thrown, 
And in one fragrance both their sweets com- 
bined, 
As if they on the self-same stem had 
grown — 
So close were rose and lip together twined, 
A double flower that from one bud had 
blown ; 
Till none could tell, so sweetly were they 

blended. 
Where swelled the curving lip, or where the 
rose-bloom ended. 



One, half asleep, crushing the twined flowers. 
Upon a velvet slope like Dian lay — 

Still as a lark that 'mid the daisies cowers ; 
Her looped-up tunic, tossed in disarray. 



Showed rounded limbs too fair for earthly 

bowers ; 
They looked like roses on a cloudy day. 
The warm white didled amid the colder 

green — 
The flowers too rough a couch that lovely 

shape to screen. 



Some lay like Thetis' nymphs along tlie 
shore, 
With ocean-pearl combing their golden 
locks. 
And singing to the waves for evermore — 
Sinking, like flowers at eve, beside the 
rocks, 
If but a sound above the muflled roar 

Of the low waves was heard. In little 
flocks 
Others went trooping through the wooded 

alleys. 
Their kirtles glancing white, like streams in 
sunny valleys. 



They were such forms as, imaged in the 
night, 
Sail in our dreams across the heaven's 
steep blue. 
When the closed lid sees visions streaming 
bright. 
Too beautiful to meet the naked view — 
Like faces formed in clouds of silver light. 
Women they were! such as the angels 
knew — 
Such as the mammoth looked on ere he fled, 
Scared by the lovers' wings that streamed in 
sunset red. 

Thomas Miller. 



ARRANMORE. 

O AiiRANMOEE, loved Arranmore, 

How oft I di-eam of thee ! 
And of those days when by thy shore 

I wandered young and free. 
Full many a path I 've tried since then, 

Through pleasure's flowery maze, 
But ne'er could find the bliss again 

I felt in those sweet days. 



702 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



How blitbo upon the breezy cliffs 

At sunny morn I've stood, 
With heart as bounding as the skiffs 

That danced along the flood! 
Or ■u'lien the western wave grew bright 

With daylight's parting wing, 
Have sought that Eden in its light 

Which dreaming poets sing — 

That Eden where th' immortal brave 

Dwell in a land serene — 
Whoso bowers beyond the shining wave, 

At sunset, oft are seen ; 
Ah dream, too full of saddening truth ! 

Those mansions o'er tlie main 
Are like the hopes I buUt in youth — 

As sunny and as vain ! 

TnOMAS MOOBE. 



HONEST POVERTY. 

Is there for honest poverty 

Wha hangs his head, and a' that ? 
The coward-slave, we pass him by ; 
We dare be poor for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Our toils obscure, and a' that ; 
The rank is but the guinea's stamp — 
The man's the gowd for a' that. 

What tho' on hamely fare we dine, 
AVear hodden grey, and a' that ; 
Gio fools tbeu- silks, and knaves their wine — 
A man'.s a man for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their tinSel sliow, and a' that ; 
The honest man, though e'er sae poor. 
Is king o' men for a' that. 

You see yon birkie ca'd a lord, 

Wlia struts, and stares, and a' that — 
Tho' hundreds worship at his word, 
He 's but a coof for a' tliat; 
For a' that, and a' that. 

His riband, star, and a' that ; 
The man of independent mind, 
He looks and laughs at a' that. 

A prince can mak a belted knight, 
A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 

But an liouest man's aboon liis might — 
Guid faitli, he mauna fa' that ! 



For a' that, and a' that, 

Their dignities, and a' that ; 

The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, 
Are liigher ranks than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may. 

As come it wiU for a' that, 
Tliat sense and worth, o'er a' the earth. 
May bear the gree, and a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

It 's coming yet, for a' that — 

When man to man, the warld o'er, 

Shall brothers be for a' that. 

Robert Bttens. 



" CONTEMPLATE ALL THIS WORK." 

Contemplate all this work of time, 
The giant laboring in his youth ; 
Nor dream of human love and truth 

As dying nature's earth and lime ; 

But trust that those we call the dead 
Are breathers of an ampler day 
For ever noliler ends. They say 

The solid earth whereon we tread 

In tracts of fluent heat began, 

And grew to seeming random forms, 
The Seeming prey of cyclic storms. 

Till at the last arose the man — 

Wlio throve and branched ft'oni clime to clime, 
The herald of a higher race, 
And of himself in higher place, 

If so he types this work of time 

Within himself, from more to more ; 

And crowned with attributes of woe 
Like glories, move his course, and show 

That life is not an idle ore. 

But iron dug from central gloom. 

And heated hot with burning fears. 
And dipped in baths of hissing tears, 

And battered with tho shocks of doom 

To shape and use. Arise and fly 

The reeling faun, the sensual feast ! 
Move upward, working out the beast, 

And let the ape and tiger die ! 

Alfred Tennyson. 



IF THAT WERE TRUE. 



T03 



IS IT COME? 

Is it come ? they said, on the banks of the 
Nile, 
Who looked for the world's long-promised 
day, 
And saw but the strife of Egypt's toil. 

With the desert's sand and the granite gray. 
From the pyi'amid, temple, and treasured 
dead, 
We vainly ask for her wisdom's plan ; 
They tell us of the tyrant's dread — 

Yet there was hope when that day began. 

The Chaldee came, with his starry lore. 

And built up Babylon's crown and creed ; 
And bricks were stamped on the Tigris shore 

With signs which our sages scarce can read. 
From Ninus' temple, and Nimrod's tower, 

The rule of the old east's empire spread 
Unreasoning faith and unquestioned power — 

But still, Is it come ? the watcher said. 

The light of the Persian's worshipped flame, 

The ancient bondage its splendor threw ; 
And once, on the west a sunrise came. 

When Greece to her freedom's trust was 
true ; 
With dreams to the utmost ages dear, 

With human gods, and with god-like men. 
No marvel the far-oft' day seemed neai". 

To eyes that looked through her lam-els then. 

The Romans conquered, and revelled too. 

Till lienor, and faith, and power, were gone ; 
And deeper old Europe's darkness grew. 

As, wave after wave, the Goth came on. 
The gown was learning, the sword was law ; 

The people served in the oxen's stead ; 
But ever some gleam the watcher saw, 

And evermore. Is it come ? they said. 

Poet and seer that question caught. 

Above the din of life's fears and frets ; 
It marched with letters, it toiled with thought, 

Through schools and creeds which the 
earth forgets. 
And statesmen trifle, and priests deceive. 

And traders barter our world away — 
Yet hearts to that golden promise cleave. 

And still, at times, Is it come? they say. 



The days of the nations bear no trace 

Of all the sunshine so far foretold ; 
The cannon speaks in the teacher's place — 

The age is weary with work and gold ; 
And high hopes wither, and memories wane ; 

On hearths and altars the fires are dead ; 
But that brave faith hath not lived in vain— 

And this is all that our watcher said. 

Feances Bkown. 



IF THAT WERE TRUE ! 

'T IS long ago, — we have toiled and traded. 
Have lost and fretted, have gained and grieved, 
Since Inst the light of that fond faith faded ; 
But, friends — in its day — what we believed ! 
The poets' dreams and the peasants' stories — 
Oh, never will time that trust renew ! 
Yet they were old on the earth before us. 
And lovely tales, — had they been true ! 

Some spake of homes in the greenwood hid 

den, 
Where age was fearless and youth was free- 
Where none at life's board seemed guestf 

unbidden. 
But men had years like the forest tree : 
Goodly and fair and full of summer. 
As lives went by when the world was new, 
Ere ever the angel steps passed from her, — 
Oh, dreamers and bards, if that were true ! 

Some told us of a stainless standard — 
Of hearts that only in death grew cold. 
Whose march was ever in freedom's van 

guard, 
And not to be stayed by steel or gold. 
The world to their very graves w.as debtor— 
The tears of her love fell there like dew ; 
But there had been neither slave nor fetter 
This day in her rcilms, had that been true ! 

Our hope grew strong as the giant-slayer. 
They told that life was an honest game, 
Where fortune favored the fairest player. 
And only the false found loss and blame — 
That men were honored for gifts and graces. 
And not for the prizes folly drew ; 
But there would be many a change of places. 
In hovel and hall, if that were true ! 



704 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Some said to our silent souls, What fear ye ? 
Ami talked of a love not based on clay — 
Of faitli that would neither wane nor weary, 
With all the dust of the pilgrim's day; 
Tliey said that fortune and time were changers, 
But not by their tides such friendship grew ; 
Oh, we had never been trustless strangers 
Among our people, if that were true ! 

And yet since the fairy time hath perished, 
"With all its freshness, from hills and hearts, 
The last of its love, so vainly cherished. 
Is not for these days of schools and marts. 
Up, up ! for the heavens still circle o'er us ; 
There 's wealth to win and there 's work to do. 
There 's a sky above, and a grave before us — 
And, brothers, beyond them all is true ! 

Fbakoes Bbown. 



THE WORLD. 

'T IS all a great show, 

The world that we 're in — 
None can tell when 't was finished, 

None saw it begin ; 
Men wander and gaze through 

Its courts and its halls, 
Like children whose love is 

The picture-hung walls. 

There arc flowers in the meadow, 

There are clouds in the sky — 
Songs pour from the woodland. 

The waters glide by ; 
Too many, too many 

For eye or for ear. 
The sights that we see. 

And the sounds that we hear. 

A weight as of slumber 

Comes down on the mind ; 
So swift is life's train 

To its objects we 're blind ; 
I myself am but one 

In the fleet-gliding show — 
Like others I walk. 

But know not where I go. 

One saint to another 
I heai-d say " IIow long ? " 

I listened, but naught more 
I heard of his song ; 



The shadows are walking 

Through city and plain — 
How long shall the night 

And its shadow remain ? 

How long ere shall shine. 
In this glimmer of things. 

The light of which prophet 
In prophecy sings ? 

And the gates of that city 
Be open, whose sun 

No more to the west 

Its circuit shall run ! 

Jones Very. 



BE PATIENT. 

Be patient! oh, be patient! Put your ear 

against the earth; 
Listen there how noiselessly the germ o' the 

seed has birth — 
How noiselessly and gently it upheaves its 

little way, 
Till it parts the scarcely broken ground, and 

the blade stands up in the day. 

Be patient! oh, be patient! The germs of 

mighty thought 
Must have their silent imdergrowth, must 

underground bo wrought ; 
But as sure as there 's a power that makes 

the grass appear, 
Our land shall be green with liberty, the 

blade-time shall be here. 

Bo patient ! oh, be patient ! — go and watch 

the wheat ears grow — 
So imperceptibly that ye can mark nor change 

nor throe — 
Day after day, day after day, till the ear is 

fully grown. 
And then again day after day, till the ripened 

field is brown. 

Be patient ! oh, be patient ! — though yet our 
hopes are green. 

The harvest fields of freedom shall be crown- 
ed with sunny sheen. 

Be ripening! be ripening! — mature your si- 
lent way, 

Till the whole broad land is tongued with 
fire on freedom's harvest day ! 

RlCnASD CnENETIX Tbbnch. 



EACH AND ALL. 



705 



THERE BE TUOSE. 

There be those wbo sow beside 
The waters that in silence glide, 
Trusting no echo will declare 
AVhose footsteps ever wandered there. 

The noiseless footsteps pass away, 
The stream flows on as yesterday ; 
Nor can it for a time be seen 
A benefactor there had been. 



Yet think not that the seed is dead 
Which in the lonely place is spread ; 
It lives, it lives — the spring is nigh, 
And soon its life sliall testify. 

That silent stream, that desert ground, 
No more unlovely shall be found ; 
But scattered flowers of simplest grace 
Shall spread their beauty round the place. 

And soon or late a time will come 
When witnesses,*that now are dumb. 
With gi'atefal eloquence shall tell 
From whom the seed, there scattered, fell. 
Bernakd Baeton. 



EACH AND ALL. 

Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked 

clown 
Of thee from the hill-top looking down ; 
The heifer that lows in the upland farm, 
Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm ; 
The sexton, tolling his bell at noon. 
Deems not that great Napoleon 
Stops his horse, and lists with delight. 
Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine 

height ; 
Nor knowest thou what argument 
Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent. 
All are needed by each one — 
Nothing is fair or good alone. 
46 



I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, 
Singing at dawn on the alder bough ; 
I brought him home, in his nest, at even. 
He sings the song, but it pleases not now ; 
For I did not bring home the river and 

sky: 
He sang to my ear — they sang to my eye. 

The delicate shells lay on the shore ; 
The bubbles of the latest wave 
Fresh pearls to their enamel gave, 
And the bellowing of the savage sea 
Greeted tlieir safe escape to me. 
I wiped away the weeds and foam — 
I fetched my sea-born treasures home ; 
But the poor, unsightly, noisome things 
Had left their beauty on the shore. 
With the sun, and the sand, and the wild up- 
roar. 

The lover watched his graceful maid. 

As 'mid the virgin train she strayed; 

Nor knew her beauty's best attiro 

Was woven still by the snow-white clioir. 

At last she came to his hermitage. 

Like the bird from the woodlands to the 

cage ; 
The gay enchantment was undone — 
A gentle wife, but fairy none. 

Then I said, "I covet truth; 

Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat — 

I leave it behind with the games of youth." 

As I spoke, beneath my feet 

The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, 

Running over the club-moss burrs ; 

I inhaled the violet's breath ; 

Around me stood the oaks and firs ; 

Pine-cones and acorns lay on the ground ; 

Over me soared the eternal sky. 

Full of light and of deity ; 

Again 1 saw, again I heard, 

The rolling river, the morning bird ; 

Beauty through my senses stole — 

I yielded myself to the perfect whole. 

Ealfh Waldo SiTEiiaoN. 



706 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



THE LOST CIIUROH. 

In yonder dim and pathless wood 

Strange sounds are heard at twilight honr, 
And peals of solemn music swell 

As from some miustei-'s lofty tower. 
From ago to ago those sounds are heard, 

Borne on the breeze at twilight liour — 
From age to age no foot bath found 

A pathway to the minster's tower! 

Late, wandering in that ancient wood. 

As onward through the gloom I trod, 
From all the woes and wrongs of earth 

5Iy soul ascended to its Ciod. 
When lol in the buslied wilderness 

I heard, far off, that solemn bell : 
Still, heavenward as my spirit soared, 

Wilder and sweeter rang tlie knell. 

While thus in holy musings wrapt. 

My mind from outward sense withdrawn, 
Some pt)wer Iiad caught mo from the earth. 

And far into tho heavens upborne. 
Methought a hundred years bad passed 

In mystic visions as I lay — 
When suddenly tho parting clouds 

Seemed opening wide, and far away. 

No midday sun its glory shed, 

TIio stars wore shrouded from my sight; 
And lo ! majestic o'er my head, 

A minster shone in solemn light. 
nigh through tlio lurid heavens it seemed 

Aloft on cloudy wings to rise, 
Till all its pointed turrets gleamed, 

Far tlaming, through tho vaulted skies! 

The beU with full resounding peal 

Rang booming through tho rocking tower; 
No hand had stirred its iron tongue. 

Slow sw.aying to the storm-wind's power. 
My bosom beating like a bark 

Dashed by the surging ocean's foam, 
I trod with faltering, fearful joy 

Tho mazes of tho mighty dome. 

A soft light throngh the oriel streamed 
Like summer moonlight's golden gloom. 

Far through tho dusky arches gleamed. 
And tilled with glory all tho room. 



Pale sculptures of the sainted dead 
Seemed waking from their icy thrall; 

And many a glory-circled head 
Smiled sadly from the storied wall. 

Low at the altar's foot 1 knelt, 

Transfixed with awe, and dumb with dread; 
For, blazoned on the vaulted roof. 

Were heaven's fiercest glories spread. 
Yet when I raised my eyes oneo more, 

Tho vaulted roof itself was gone — 
Wide open was heaven's lofty door, 

And every cloudy veil withdrawn ! 

What visions burst upon my soul, 

What joys unutterable there 
In waves on waves for ever roll 

Like music through the pulseless air — 
Those never mortal tonguo may tell : 

Let him who fain would prove their power 
Pause when ho hears that solemn knell 

Float on the breeze at twilight hour. 

LuDwio UnLAND. (Genimn). 
rnrapliraso of Sarah IIklen Wuituan. 



THE GARDEN OF LOVE. 

I WENT to the garden of love. 
And saw what 1 never liad soon ; 
A chapel was built in tlie midst, 
Where I used to play on tho green. 

And the gate of this chapel was shut. 
And " thou shalt not " writ over tho door ; 
So I turned to the garden of love. 
That so many sweet flowers bore. 

And I saw it was fillod with graves. 

And tomb-stones where flowers shcndd be; 

And priests in black gowns were walking 
tlieir rounds. 

And binding with briars my joys and do- 
sires. 

Wn.LiAU Blaks. 



THE COTTEU'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 



707 



THE PROBLEM. 

I LIKE a oliiircli ; 1 like a cowl — 
I love a prophet of the soul ; 
And on my licart monastic aisles 
Full like sweet strains, or pensive smiles; 
Yet not for all his fiiitli can see, 
Would I that cowled chiirclinian be. 
Why sliould tlio vest on him alhiro 
Whieli I oould not on mo endure? 

Not from a vain or shallow thought 

His awful Jove young Phidias brought; 

Kevor from lips of curming fell 

The thrilling Delphic oracle ; 

Out from the heart of nature rolled 

Tlie burdens of the bible old; 

TIio litanies of nations came, 

Like the volcano's tongue of llamo, 

Up from the burning core below — 

The canticles of love and woo ; 

The hand that rounded Peter's dome, 

And groined the aisles of Christian Rome, 

Wrought in a sad sincerity; 

Himself from God ho could not free; 

He budded bettor tlian ho know — 

The conscious stone to beauty grew. 

Know'st thou what wove yon woodbird's 

nest 
Of loaves, and feathers from her breast? 
Or how the fish outbuilt her shell, 
Painting with morn each annual cell? 
Or how the sacred pine-tree adds 
To her old leaves now myriads? 
Such and so grew those holy piles, 
Whilst love and terror laid tlio tiles. 
Earth proudly wears the Partlienon, 
As the best gem iii)ou her zone; 
And morning opes with hasto her lids 
To gaze upon the pyramids ; 
O'er England's abbeys bends the sky. 
As on its friends, with kindred eye: 
For out of thought's interior sphere 
These wonders rose to upper air ; 
And nature gladly gave thorn place. 
Adopted them into her race, 
And granted them an eqiud date 
AVitli Andes and with Ararat. 



Those temiilos grow as grows the grass — 

Art might obey, but not surpass. 

The passive master lent his hand 

To tho vast soul that o'er him planned ; 

And tho same power that reared the shrine 

Bestrode tho tribes that knelt within. 

Ever tho fiery Pentecost 

(iirds with one (himo the countless host, 

Trances tljo heart through clianting choirs, 

And tlirougli tlio priest tlio mind inspires. 

The word unto tho i)rophet spoken 

"Was writ on tables yet unbroken; 

The word by soors or sibyls told, 

In groves of oak, or fiines of gold, 

Still floats upon the morning wind. 

Still whispers to tho willing mind. 

One accent of tho Holy Ghost 

Tho heedless world hath never lost. 

I know what say tho fathers wise — 

The book itself before mo lies — 

Old Chrysostom, host Augustine, 

And ho who blent both in his lino. 

The younger golden lips or mines — 

Taylor, tho Shakespeare of divines; 

His words are music in my ear — 

I see his cowled portrait dear ; 

And yet, for all his faith could see, 

I would not the good bishop be. 

Kali-ii Walbo Emerson. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 

Lot not ambition mocic tlicir useful toil, 
Tliuir liomc'Iy joys anil destiny obscure ; 

Nor grandeur lioitr, witii a (iistiiiinful sinllo, 
Tho sliort aD<i .'^iMipIo annals of tlic jioor. 

Grat. 

My loved, my hoiioi'od, much -respected 
friend ! 
No mercenary bard his homage pays ; 
With honest pride I scorn e.ach selfish end, 
^fy dearest meed a friend's esteem and 
praise. 
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, 

Tho lowly train in life's sequestered scone; 

Tho native feelings strong, the guileless 

ways — 

What Aiken in a cottage would have been ; 

Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier 

there, I ween. 



708 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Noveml)er chill bliiws loud \vi' augry sugh ; 
Tho short'ning winter day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frao the plough, 
Tho black'ning trains o' craws to their re- 
pose. 
The toil-worn cotter frae his labor goes — 

This night his weekly moil is at an end — 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his 
hoes, 
Hoping tho morn in ease and rest to spend ; 
And wonry, o'er the moor, his course docs 
lianioward bond. 

At length his lonely cot appears in view. 

Beneath tlio shelter of an aged tree ; 
Tb' expectant wee things, todlin, stachcr thro' 
To moot their dad wi' flichtorin noise and 
gleo. 
Ilis wee bit ingle blinkin' bonnilio, 
Uis clean hearth-staue, his thriftio wifio's 
smile. 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee. 

Does a' his weary, oarking cares beguile, 
, An' makes him quite forgot his labor and 
his toil. 

Belyve the elder bairns come drappiu' in — 
At sorvico out, amaug the farmers roun' ; 
Some ca' the pleugli, some herd, some tentie 

I'iu 

A cannie errand to a neebor town. 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown. 
In youtbfu' bloom, love sparkling in her 

CO, 

Oonies bame, perhaps, to show a braw now 
gown. 
Or deposite her sair-won penny foe. 
To help bor parents dear, if they in hard- 
ship be. 

Wi' joy unfeigned, brothers and sisters meet, 

Au' each for other's weclfarc kindly spiers; 
The social hours, swift-winged, minoticed 
fleet ; 

Each tells tho uncos that he sees or hears ; 
Tho parents, partial, eye tboir hopeful years — 

Anticipation forward points tho view. 
Tho mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers. 

Gars auld claes look amaist as wool 's the 
new; 

The father mixes a' wi' admonition duo : 



Their masters' and their mistresses' com- 
mand 

Tho younkers a' are warned to obey. 
An' mind their labours wi' an cydent hand. 

An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play 
An' oh ! be sure to fear the Lord alway 1 

An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night ! 
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, 

Lnplore his counsel and assisting might : 

They never sought in vain that sought the 
Lord aright ! 

But bark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; 

Jenny, wba kens tho meaning o' the same. 
Tolls how a nccbor lad cam o'er the moor 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
Tho wily mother sees tho conscious flame 

Sparkle in Jenny's oe, and flush her chock ; 
Wi' heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his 
name. 

While Jenny hafilins is afraid to speak ; 

Weel pleased tho mother licars it 's nao 
wild, worthless rake. 

AVi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben — 
A strajjpan youth, ho taks the mother's 
eye; 
Blytho Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en; 
The (atber cracks of horses, ploughs, and 
kye ; 
Tho youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, 
But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel be- 
have ; 
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 
Wh.'it nnikos the youth sae bashfu' and sae 

grave — 
Wool pleased to think her bairn 's respected 
like the lave. 

happy love 1 where love like this is found! 
O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond com- 

])are I 

1 've paced much this weary mortal round. 

And sago experience bids mo this declare — 
If heaven a draught of heavenly jdoasuro 
spare. 
One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair. 
In other's arms breathe o\it the tender tale, 
Beneath the n;ilk-wbite thorn that scents 
tho evening gale. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 



f09 



/ 



Is there, in human form that boars a lioart, 

A wretcli, a villain, lost to love and truth, 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, 

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth 2 
Curse on his perjured arts! dissembling 
smooth I 
Are honor, virtue, conscienco, all exiled ? 
la there no pity, no relenting ruth. 
Points to the parents fondling o'er their 

child— 
Tlien paints the ruined maid, and their dis- 
traction wild ? 



Hut now the supper crowns their simple 
board : 
The halesomo parritch, chief o' Scotia's 
food ; 
The soup their only hawkie does afford. 
That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her 
cud ; 
The dame brings forth, in complimental mood. 
To grace the lad, licr woel-hained kebbuck 
fell, 
A n' aft he 'a pressed, and aft ho ca's it good ; 
The frugal wifle, garrulous, will tell 
How 'twas a towniond auld, sin' lint was 
i' the bell. 

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face 

They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; 
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace. 

The big lia'-I)iblo, ance his ftither's pride: 
His bonnet rev'rcntly is laid aside, 

His lyart hafl'uts wearin' thin and bare ; 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion 
glide 

He wales a portion with judicious care ; 

And "Let us worship God ! " ho says with 
solemn air. 



They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 

Tliey tune their hearts, by far the noblest 

aim ; 

Perhaps Dundee's wild, warbling measures 

rise, 

Or plaintivo Martyrs, worthy o' the name; 

Or noble Elgin beets tlie heavenward flame — 

The sweetest far o' Scotia's holy lays; 
Compared with these, Italian trills are tamo; 



The tickled oars no heart-felt raptures 

raise — 
Nao unison hae they with our Creator's 

praise. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred page : 
IIow Abraham was the friend of (iod on 
high ; 
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage 

With Anialek's ungracious progeny ; 
Or how the roy.-d bard did groaning lie 
Beneath tlio stroke of heaven's avenging 
iro ; 
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 
Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; 
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred 
lyre. 

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme : 
How guiltless blood for guilty man was 
shod ; 
IIow he, who bore in heaven the second 
name. 
Had not on earth whereon to lay his head ; 
IIow his first followers and servants sped^ 
The precepts sago they wrote to many a 
land ; 
IIow he, who lone in Patmos banished, 
Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand, 
And heard great B.ab'lon's doom pronounced 
by heaven's command. 

Then kneeling down to heaven's eternal king. 
The saint, the father, and the husband 
prays : 

Hope "springs exulting on triumpliant wing " 
That thus they all shall meet in fut ure days ; 

There ever bask in uncreated rays, 

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear — 

Together hymning their creator's praiso. 
In such society, yet still more dear. 
While circling time moves round in an 
eternal sphere. 

Compared with this, how poor religion's [iride. 
In all the pomp of method and of art, 

When men display to congregations wide 
Devotion's every grace except the heart ! 

The power, incensed, the pageant will desert. 
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 

But haply, in some cottage far apart. 



710 



POEMS OF SENTIME-NT AND REFLECTION. 



May hear, well pleased, the language of the 

soul. 
And in his book of life the inmates poor 

enroll. 

Then homeward all take oft' their sov'ral way ; 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest ; 
The parent-pair their secret homage jmy, 

And proHor up to Iieaven the warm re- 
quest 
Tliat he who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, 

And decks the lily fair in flowery pride, 
Would, in the way his wisdom sees the best, 

For them and for their little ones provide — 

But chictly ia their hearts witli grace di- 
vine preside. 

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur 
springs, 
That makes her loved at home, revered 
abroad. 
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings — 
" An honest man 's the noblest work of 
God;" 
And, certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road, 
The cottage leaves the palace far behitid. 
What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load, 
Disguising oft the wretch of Iiuman kind. 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness re- 
fined I 

Scotia I my dear, my native soil I 
For whom my warmest wish to heaven is 
sent ! 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet 
content 1 
And, oh I may heaven their simple lives pre- 
vent 
From luxury's contagion weak and vile 1 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets bo rent, 
A virtuous populace may rise the wliile. 
And stand a w.all of fire around their mnoh- 
loved isle. 

O thou! who poured the patriotic tide 
That streamed through Wallace's undaunted 
heart — 

Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride, 
Or nobly die, the second glorious pai-t — 



(The patriot's God peculiarly thou art — 
Eis friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward !) 

Oh never, never Scotia s realm desert ; 
But still the patriot and tlie initriot hard 
In bright succession raise, lier ornament 
and guard ! 

KOBGRT liURMS. 



HALLOWED GROUND. 

What 's hallowed ground ? Has earth a clod 
Its maker meant not should be trod 
By man, the image of his God 

Erect and free, 
Unscourgcd by superstition's rod 

To bow the knee ? 

Tliat 's hallowed ground where, mourned and 

missed, 
Tlic lijis repose our love has kissed : — 
But wlicre 's their memory's mansion ? Is't 

Yon churchyard's bowers? 
No ! in ourselves their souls exist, 

A part of ours. 

A kiss can consecrate the ground 
Where mated hearts are mutual bound; 
The spot where love's first links were wound, 

Tliat ne'er are riven. 
Is hallowed, down to earth's profound. 

And up to heaven ! 

For time makes all but true love old ; 
The burning thoughts that then were told 
Run molten still in memory's mould ; 

And will not cool 
Until the heart itself bo cold 

In Letlie's pool. 

What hallows ground where heroes sleep ? 
'T is not the sculptured piles yon heap 1 — 
In dews that Iicavens far distant wcci> 

Their turf may bloom. 
Or genii twine beneath the deep 

Their cor.al tomb. 

But strew his ashes to tlio wind 

Wliose sword or voice has served mankind— 



THE HAPPY LIFE. 



711 



And is lie dciid whose glorious mind 

Lifts thine on high ? — 
To live in hearts we loavo behind 

Is not to die. 

Is't death to full for freedom's right? 
lie's dead alone that lacks her light! 
And naurder sullies in heaven's sight 

The sword he draws : — 
What can alone ennoble fight? 

A noble cause I 

Give thatl and welcome war to brace 

Her drums, and rend heaven's recking space I 

The colors iilantcd face to face, 

The charging cheer. 
Though death 's pale horse lead on the chase, 

Shall still be dear. 

And place our trophies wliore men kneel 
To heaven I — But heaven rebukes my zeal. 
The cause of truth and human weal, 

O God above 1 
Transfer it from the sword's appeal 

To peace and lovo. 

Peace ! lovo 1 — the cheruMm that join 
Tlieir spread wings o'er devotion's shrine! 
Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine. 

Where they are not ; 
The lieaft alone can make divine 

Bcligion's spot. 

To i/ncantations dost thou trust. 
And pompous rites in domes august? 
.Soo jMonldcring stones and metal's rust 

lielio the vaunt. 
That men can bless one pile of dust 

AVith chime or chaunt. 

The ticking wood- worm mocks thee, man 1 
Thy temples — creeds themselves grow wan I 
]?nt there's a dome of nobler span, 

A temple given 
Thy faith, that bigots dare not ban — 

Its space is heaven! 

Its roof star-pictured nature's ceiling. 
Where, trancing the rapt spirit's feeling. 
And God himself to man revealing. 

The harmonious spheres 
Made music, though unheard their pealing 

l!y mortal ears. 



Fair stars 1 are not your beings pure ? 
Can sin, can death, your worlds obscure? 
Else why so swell the thoughts at your 

Aspect above ? 
Ye must bo heavens that make us sure 

Of heavenly lovo ! 

And in your harnioriy sublime 
I read the doom of distant time: 
That man's regenerate soul from crime 

Shall yet bo drawn. 
And reason, on his mortal clime. 

Immortal dawn. 

What 's hallowed ground ? 'T is what gives 

birth 
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth ! — 
Peace! independence! truth! go forth. 

Earth's compass round ; 
And your high priestliood shall make o.irth 
All hallowed ground! 

Thomas Campbell. 



THE HAPPY LIFE. 

How happy is ho born and taught 
That servcth not .another's will — 
Whoso armor is his honest thought. 
And simple trulli his utmost skill ! 

Whose passions not his masters are, 
Whoso soul is still prepared for death — 
Untied unto the worldly care 
Of public fame or private breath ! 

Who envies none that chance doth raise, 
Or vice ; who never understood 
How deepest wounds aro given by praise ; 
Kor rules of state, but rules of good ; 

Who hatli his life from humors freed, 
Whoso conscience is his strong retreat ; 
Whose state can neither Uatterers feed. 
Nor ruin make accusers groat ; 

Who God doth late and early i>ray 
More of his grace than gifts to lend ; 
And entertains the harmless day 
With a well-chosen book or friend : 



712 POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 


This man is freed from servile bands 


Each thing is full of dutie : 


Of hope to rise, or fear to fall — 


Waters united are our navigation — 


Lord of himself, though not of lands ; 


Distinguished, our habitation ; 


And, having nothing, yet hath all. 


Below, our drink — above, our meat ; 


Sir IIenet "Wotton. 


Both are our cleanlinesse. Ilath one such 




beautie ? 

Then how are all things neat ! 




MAN. 






More servants wait on man 


My God, I heard this day 


Than he '11 take notice of. In every path 


That none doth build a stately habitation 


He treads down that which doth befriend 


But he that means to dwell therein. 


him 


What house more stately hath there been. 


"When sicknesse makes him pale and wan. 


Or can be, than is man, to whoso creation 


mightie love 1 Man is one world, and hath 


All things are in decay ? 


Another to attend him. 


For man is every tiling, 




And more : he is a tree, yet bears no fruit; 


Since then, my God, thou hast 


A beast, yet is, or should be, more — 


So brave a palace built, oh dwell in it. 


Reason and speech we only bring. 


That it may dwell with thee at hist! 


Parrots may thank lis, if they are not mute — 


Till then afford us so much -wit 


They go upon the score. 


That, as the world serves us, we rnay serve 
thee. 
And both thy servants be. 


Man is all symmetric — 


Full of proportions, one limb to another, 


Georgk Herbskt. 


And all to all the world besides. 




Each part may call the farthest brother ; 






For head with foot hath private araitie, 




And both with moons and tides. 






HEAVENLY WISDOM. 


Nothing hath got so farre 




But man hath caught and kept it as his prey. 


Oh happy is the man who hears 


His eyes dismount the highest starre ; 


Instruction's waj-ning voice, 


He is in little all the sphere. 


And who celestial wisdom makes 


Herbs gladly cure our flesh, because tliat they 


His early, only choice; 


Finde their acquaintance there. 




For us the winds do blow, 


For she has treasures greater far 


The earth doth rest, heaven move, and foun- 


Than east or west unfold. 


tains flow. 


And her reward is more secure 


Nothing we see but means our good, 


Than is the gain of gold. 


As our delight, or as our treasure ; 




The whole is either our cupboard of food 


In her right hand she holds to view 


Or cabinet of pleasure. 


A length of happy years ; 


The starres have us to bed — 


And in her left the prize of fiime 


Night draws the curtain, which the sunne 


And lumcir bright appears. 


withdraws. 




Musick and light attend our head ; 


She guides the young, with innocence, 


All things unto our flesh are kinde 


In pleasure's jiatli to tread ; 


In their descent and being — to our minde 


A crown of glory she bestows 


In their ascent and cause. 


Upon tlio hoary head. 



ODE. 713 


According as her labors rise, 




So her rewards increase ; 


ODE. 


Iler ways are ways of pleasantness, 
And all her paths are peace. 

John Looan. 


INTIMATIONS OF I.MMORTALITT FROM EEOOL- 
LE0TION3 OP EARLY CHILDHOOD. 

I. 

There was a time when meadow, grove, and 




SEED-TIME AND HARVEST. 


stream. 
The earth, and every common sight. 


As o'er his furrowed fields, which lie 
Beneath a coldly-dropping sky, 
Yet chill with winter's melted snow, 
The husbandman goes forth to sow : 


To me did seem 

Apparelled in celestial light — 
The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
It is not now as it hath been of yore : 

Turn wheresoe'er I may, 


Thus, freedom, on the bitter blast 
The ventures of thy seed wo cast. 


By night or day, 
The things which I have seen, I now can see 
no more. 


And trust to warmer sim and rain 




To swell the germ, and fill the grain. 


II. 




The rainbow comes and goes, 


Who calls thy glorious service hard ? 


And lovely is the rose ; 


Who deems it not its own reward ? 


Tiio moon doth with delight 


AVho, for its trials, counts it less 


Look round her when tlio heavens are bare ; 


A cause of praise and thankfulness ? 


Waters on a starry night 




Are beautiful and fair; 


It may not be our lot to wield 


TIio sunshine is a glorious birth ; 


The sickle in the ripened field ; 


But yet I know, where'er I go. 


Nor ours to hear, on summer eves, 


That there hath passed away a glory from 


The reaper's song among the sheaves ; 


the earth. 


Yet where our duty's task is wrought 
In unison with God's great thought, 
The near and future blend in one. 
And wliatsoe'er is willed is done ! 


III. 

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, 
And while the young lambs bound 
As to the tabor's sound. 
To me alone there came a thought of grief; 


And ours the grateful service whence 
Comes, day by day, the recompense — 
The hope, the trust, the purpose staid. 


A timely utterance gave that thought relief. 

And I again am strong. 
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the 

steep — 
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong. 


Tlie fountain, and the noonday shade. 




I hear the eclioes through the mountain.? 


And were this life the utmost span. 


throng ; 


The only end and aim of man. 


The winds come to me from the fields of sleep. 


Better the toil of fields like these 


And all the earth is gay ; 


Than waking dream and slothful ease. 


Land and sea 




Give themselves up to jollity ; 


Our life, though falling like our grain, 


And with the heart of May 


Like that revives and springs again ; 


Doth every beast keep holiday ; — 


And early called, how blest are they 


Thou child of joy. 


Who wait in heaven their harvest-day I 


Shout round me, let mo hear thy shouts, thou 


JoUN Greesleaf WniTTIER. 


happy shepherd boy ! 



714 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Ye blessed creatures ! I have beard tbe call 

Ye to eacb other make ; I see 
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ; 
My heart is at your festival, 
My head hath its coronal — 
The fulness of your bliss, 1 feel, I feel it all. 
Oh evil day ! if I were sullen 
While earth herself is adorning, 

This sweet May-morning, 
And the children, are culling 

On every side, 
In a thousand valleys far and wide. 
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines 
warm, 
And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm — 
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear ! 
— But there 's a tree, of many one, 
A single field which I have looked upon — 
Both of them speak of something that is gone ; 
The pansy at my feet 
Doth the same tale repeat. 
Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? 
Where is it now, the glory and the dream? 



Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting ; 
The soul that rises with us, our life's star. 

Hath had elsewhere its setting, 
And Cometh from afar. 

Not in entire forgetfulness. 

And not in utter nakedness. 
But trailing clouds of glory, do we come 

From God, who is our home. 
Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
Shades of the prison-house begin to close 

Upon the growing boy ; 
But he beholds the light, and whence it 
flows — 

He sees it in his joy. 
The youth, who daily farther from the east 

Must travel, still is nature's priest. 

And by the vision splendid 

Is on his way attended ; 
At length the man perceives it die away. 
And fade into the light of common day. 

VI. 

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own. 
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind; 
And, even with something of a mother's mind. 



A.nd no unworthy aim. 

The homely nurse doth all she can 
To make her foster-child, her inmate man. 

Forget the glories he hath known. 
And that imperial palace whence he came. 



Behold the child among his new-born blisses — 
A six years' darling of a pigmy size ! 
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, 
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, 
With light upon him from his father's eyes 1 
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart. 
Some fragment from his dream of human life. 
Shaped by himself with newly-learned art — 

A wedding or a festival, 

A mourning or a funeral — 
And this hath now his heart. 

And unto this he frames his song. 
Then will he fit his tongue 
To dialogues of business, love, or strife ; 

But it will not be long 

Ere this be thrown aside. 

And with new joy and pride 
The little actor cons another part — 
Filling from time to time his "humorooB 

stage " 
With all the persons, down to palsied age. 
That life brings with her in her equipage ; 

As if his whole vocation 

Were endless imitation. 



Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie 

Thy soul's immensity ! 
Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep 
Thy heritage ! thou eye among the blind. 
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep. 
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind ! — 
Mighty prophet ! Seer blest. 
On whom those truths do rest 
Which we are toiling all our lives to find, 
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave ! 
Thou over whom thy immortality 
Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave, 
A presence which is not to be put by ! 
Thou little chUd, yet glorious in the might 
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, 
Why with such earnest pains dost thou pro- 
voke 
The years to bring the inevitable yoke, 



ODE. 



715 



Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? 
FuU soon thy soul shall have her earthly 

freight, 
And custom lie upon thee with a weight 
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life ! 



Oh joy ! that in our embers 

Is something that doth live, 
That nature yet remembers 
What was so fugitive ! 
The thought of our past years in me doth 

breed 
Perpetual benediction : not, indeed. 
For that which is most worthy to be blest- 
Delight and liberty, the simple creed 
Of childhood, whether busy or at rest. 
With new-fledged hope still fluttermg in his 
breast — 
Not for these I raise 
The song of thanks and praise ; 
But for those obstinate questionings 
Of sense and outward things. 
Fallings from us, vanishings, 
Blank misgivings of a creature 
Moving about in worlds not realized, 
High instincts, before which our mortal nature 
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised— 
But for those first afi"ections. 
Those shadowy recollections. 
Which, be they what they may. 
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day. 
Are yet a master light of all our seeing. 

Uphold us, cherish, and have power to 
make 
Our noisy years seem moments in the being 
Of the eternal silence: truths that wake. 

To perish never — 
Wliich neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor, 

Nor man nor boy. 
Nor all that is at enmity with joy, 
Can utterly abolish or destroy ! 

Hence in a season of calm weather. 
Though inland far we be. 
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea 
Which brought us hither- 
Can in a moment travel thither, 
And see the children sport upon the shore. 
And hear the mighty waters roUing ever 
more. 



Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous songl 
And let the young lambs bound 
As to the tabor's sound ! 
We in thought will join your throng, 
Ye that pipe and ye that play. 
Ye that through your hearts to-day 
Feel the gladness of the May ! 
What though the radiance which was once so 

bright 
Be now for ever taken from my sight, 

Though nothing can bring back the 
hour 
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the 
flower — 
We will grieve not, rather find 
Strength in what remains behind : 
In the primal sympathy 
Which, having been, must ever be ; 
In the soothing thoughts that spring 
Out of human sufi'ering ; 
In the faith that looks through death, 
In years that bring the philosophic mind. 



And O ye fountains, meadows, hills, and 

groves, 
Forebode not any severing of our loves ! 
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might ; 
I only have relinquished one delight 
To live beneath your more habitual sway. 
I love the brooks which down their cliannels 

fret, 
Even more than when I tripped lightly as 

they ; 
The innocent brightness of a new-born day 

Is lovely yet ; 
The clouds that gather round the setting sun 
Do take a sober coloring from an eye 
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ; 
Another race hath been, and other palms are 

won. 
Thanks to the human heart by which we live. 
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and tears— 
To me the meanest flower that blows can 

give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 

■WllUAM WOEDBWOETH. 



116 POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 


THE LIGHT OF STARS. 


NIGHT. 


The night is come, but not too soon ; 


When I survey the bright 


And sinking silently, 


Celestial sphere. 


All silently, the little moon 


So rich with jewels hung that night 


Drops down behind the sky. 


Doth like an Ethiop brido appear, 


There is no light in earth or heaven. 


My soul her wings dotli spread, 


But the cold light of stars ; 


And heavenward files, 


And the first watch of night is given 


The Almighty's mysteries to read 


To the red planet Mars. 


In the large volume of the skies. 


Is it the tender star of love ? 




The star of love and dreams? 


For the bright firmament 


Oh no ! from that blue tent above 


Shoots forth no fiame 


A hero's armor gleams. 


So silent but is eloquent 




In speaking the Creator's name ; 


And earnest thoughts within me rise, 




When I behold afar, 


No unregarded star 


Suspended in the evening skies, 


Contracts its light 


The shield of that red star. 


Into so small character. 




Removed far from our human sight. 


star of strength ! I see thee stand 




And smile upon my pain ; 




Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, 


But if we steadfast look, 


And I am strong again. 


Wo shall discern 




In it, as in some holy book. 


Within my breast there is no light, 


How man may heavenly knowledge 


But the cold light of stars : 


learn. 


I give the first watch of the night 




To the red planet Mars. 


It tells the conqueror 




That fiir-stretched power, 


The star of the unconquered will, 


Which his proud dangers traflic for. 


He rises in my breast, 


Is but the triumph of an hour — 


Serene, and resolute, and still. 




And calm, and self-possessed. 


That from the farthest north 




Some nation may, 


And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, 


Yet undiscovered, issue forth. 


That readest this brief psalm. 


And o'er his new-got conquest sway ! 


As one by one thy hopes depart. 




Be resolute and calm ! 


Some nation, yet shut in 




With hills of ice, 


Oh fear not in a world like this, 


May be let out to scourge his sin. 


And thou shalt know ere long. 


Till they shall equal him in vice. 


Know how sublime a thing it is 




To suft'er and be strong. 


And they likewise shall 


Henry ■Wadsworth Longfellow. 


Their ruin have ; 




For as yourselves your empires fall. 




And every kingdom hath a grave. 



DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. 



in 



There those celestial fires, 

Though seeming mute, 
The fallacy of our desires 

And all the pride of life confute. 

For they have watched since first 

Tha world had birth, 
And found sin in itself accurst, 

And nothing permanent on earth. 
William Ha3ington, 



THE STURDY ROCK, FOR ALL HIS 
STRENGTH. 

The sturdy rock, for all his strength, 
By raging seas is rent in twain ; 

The marble stone is pierced at length 
With little drops of drizzling rain ; 

The OS doth yield unto the yoke ; 

The steel obey'th the hammer stroke ; 

The stately stag, that seems so stout. 
By yelping hounds at bay is set ; 

The swiftest bird that flies about 
Is caught at length in fowler's net ; 

The greatest fish in deepest brook 

Is soon deceived with subtle hook ; 

Yea! man himself, unto whose will 
All things are bounden to obey, 

For all his wit and worthy skill 
Doth fade at length, and fall away : 

There is no thing but time doth waste — 

The heavens, the earth consume at last. 

/' 
But virtue sits triumpbing stUl 

Upon the throne of glorious fame ; 
Though spiteful death man's body kill, 
Yet hurts he not his virtuous name. 
By life or death, whatso betides. 
The state of virtue never slides. 

Anonymous. 



VIRTUE. 

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
The bridal of the earth and sky ! 
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; 
For thou must die. 



Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave. 
Bids the rash g.azer wipe his eye ! 
Thy root is ever in its grave — 

And thou must die. 

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and I'oses 
A box where sweets compacted lie ! 
Tliy music shows ye have your closes. 
And aU must die. 



Only a sweet and virtuous soul. 
Like seasoned timber, never gives ; 
But, though the whole world turn to coixl, 
Then chiefly lives. 

George Hebbxbt. 



DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. 

The glories of our birth and state 

Are shadows, not substantial things; 
There is no armor against fate — 
Death lays his icy hands on kings ; 
Sceptre and crown 
Must tumble down. 
And in the dust be equal made 
With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 

Some men with swords may reap the field, 
And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; 
But their strong nerves at last must yield — 
They tame but one another still ; 
Early or late 
They stoop to fate. 
And must give up their murmuring breath. 
When they, pale captives, creep to deatli. 

The garlands wither on your brow — 

Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; 
Upon death's purple altar, now, 
See where the victor victim bleeds 1 
All heads must come 
To the cold tomb — 
Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust. 

James Sdirlet. 



718 POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. , | 




Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn — 


THE HERMIT. 


Kind nature the embryo blossom will save ; 




But when shall spring visit the mouldering 


At the close of the day, when the hamlet is 


urn? 


still, 


Oh when shall day dawn on the night of the 


And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness 


grave 1 


prove, 


« 


When nought but the torrent is heard on the 


"'T was thus, by the glare of false science be- 


hill, 


trayed, 


And nought but the nightingale's song in the 


That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind. 


grove, 


My thoughts wont to roam from shade on- 


'T was thus, by the cave of the mountain afar, 


ward to shade, 


While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit 


Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. 


began ; 


' Oh pity, great Father of light,' then I cried. 


No more with himself or with nature at war, 


' Thy creature, who fain would not wander 


He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man : 


from theel 




Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride ; 


"Ah I why, all abandoned to darkness and 


From doubt and from darkness thou only 


woe. 


canst free.' 


Wliy, lone Philomela, that languishing fall? 




For spring shall return, and a lover bestow, 


"And darkness and doubt are now flying 


And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthrall. 


away ; 


But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay — 


No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn. 


Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee 


So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, 


to mourn ! 


The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. 


Oh soothe him, whose pleasures like thine 


See truth, love, and mercy in triumph de- 


pass away ! 


scending. 


Full quickly they pass — but they never re- 


And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! 


turn. 


On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses 




are blending. 


" Now, gliding remote on the verge of the sky, 


And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb." 


The moon, half extinguished, her crescent dis- 


James Beattul 


plays; 




But lately I marked when majestic on nigh 


' 


She shone, and the planets were lost in her 




blaze. 


THE STRIFE. 


EoU on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pur- 




sue 


The wish that of the living whole 


The path that conducts thee to splendor again! 


No life may fail beyond the grave- 


But man's faded glory what change shall re- 


Derives it not from what wo have 


new? 


The likest God witliin tlie soul? 


Ah, fool ! to exult in a glory so vain ! 






Are God and nature then at strife. 


" 'T is night, and the landscape is lovely no 


That nature lends such evil dreams? 


more. 


So careful of the typo she seems, 


I mourn — but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for 


So careless of the single life. 


you; 
For morn is approaching your charms to re- 


That I, considering every where 


store, 


Her secret meaning in her deeds. 


Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering 


And finding that of fifty seeds 


with dew. 


She often brings but one to bear— 



THE SLEEP. 



71 u 



I falter where I firmly trod ; 

And, falling with my weight of care3 
Upon the great world's altar-stairs, 

That slope through darkness up to God, 

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope. 
And gather dust and chaff, and call 
To what I feci is Lord of all, 

And faintly trust the larger hope. 

Alfred Tenntson. 



THE SLAVE SINGING AT MIDNIGHT. 

Loud he sang the psalm of David ! 
He, a negro and enslaved — 
Sang of Israel's victory. 
Sang of Zion, bright and free. 

In that hour, when night is calmest, 
Sang he from the Hebrew psalmist, 
In a voice so sweet and clear 
Tliat I could not choose but hear — 

Songs of triurapu, and ascriptions, 
Such as reached the swart Egyptians, 
When upon the Red Sea coast 
Perished Pharaoh and his host. 

And the voice of his devotion 
Filled my soul with strange emotion ; 
For its tones by turns were glad. 
Sweetly solemn, wildly sad. 

Paul and Silas, in their prison. 
Sang of Clirist, the Lord arisen ; 
And an earthquake's arm of might 
Broke their dungeon-gates at night. 

But, alas ! what holy angel 
Brings the slave this glad evangel? 
And what earthquake's arm of might 
Breaks his dungeon-gates at night ? 

Henry Wadswoeth Longfellow. 



THE SLEEP. 

Of all the thoug'.its of God that are 
Borne inward unto souls afar. 

Along the Psalmist's music deep, 
Now tell me if that any is 
For gift or grace surpassing this — 

" He giveth his beloved sleep." 

What would we give to our beloved ? 
The hero's heart, to be unmoved — 

The poet's star-tuned harp to sweep — 
The senate's shout to patriot's vows — 
The monarch's crown, to light the brows ? 

" He giveth his beloved sleep." 

What do we give to our beloved ? 
A little faith, all undisproved — 

A little dust to overweep — 
And bitter memories, to make 
The whole earth blasted for our sake ! — 

" He giveth his beloved sleep." 

"Sleep soft, beloved! " we sometimes say. 
But have no tune to charm away 

Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep, 
But never doleful dream again 
Shall break the happy slumber when 

"He giveth his beloved sleep." 

earth, so full of dreary noises ! 
O men, with wailing in your voices I 
O delved gold the waiters' heap ! 

strife, O curse, tliat o'er it fall ! 
God makes a silence through you aU, 

" And giveth his beloved sleep." 

Ilis dew drops mutely on the hUl ; 
His cloud above it saileth still, 

Though on its slope men toil and reap. 
More softly than tlie dew is shed, 
Or cloud is floated overliead, 

" He giveth his beloved sleep." 

Yea! men may wonder while they scan 
A living, thinking, feeling man 

In such a rest his heart to keep ; 
But angels say — and through the word 

1 ween tlieir blessed smile is heard — 

" He giveth his beloved sleep." 



1 

720 POEMS OF SENTIMENT' AND REFLECTION. 


For me, my heart that erst did go 


There was a pause; then suddenly said 


Most like a tired child at a show, 


Sleep, 


That sees through tears the juggler's leap, 


"He whom I named approacheth, so fare- 


Would now its wearied vision close — 


well." 


Would, childlike, on His love repose 


Walter Savage Laitdor. 


"Who " giveth His beloved sleep." 
And friends ! — dear freinds ! — when it shall be 






That this low breath is gone from me, 


SLEEP. 


And round my bier ye come to weep. 


Weep ye no more, sad fountains ! 


Let one, most loving of you all, 


What need you flow so fast ? 


Say, " Not a tear must o'er her fall" — 


Look how the snowy mountains 


" He giveth His beloved sleep." 


Heaven's sun dotli gently waste. 


Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 


But my sun's heavenly eyes 


. 1 


View not your weeping, 




That now lies sleeping 


AN OLD POET TO SLEEP. 


Softly, now softly lies 


No god to mortals oftener descends 


Sleeping. 


Than thou, sleep ! yet thee the sad alone 


Sleep is a reconciling — 


Invoke, and gratefully thy gift receive. 


A rest that peace begets ; 


Some thou invitest to explore the sands 


Doth not the sun rise smiling, 


Left by Pactolus ; some to climb up higher. 


When fair at even he sets ? 


Where points ambition to the pomps of war ; 


Rest you then, rest, sad eyes — 


Others thou watehest while they tighten 


Melt not in weeping. 


obes 


While she lies sleeping 


Which law throws round them loose, and 


Softly, now softly lies 


they meanwhile 


Sleeping. 


Wink at a judge, and he the wink returns. 


JOnN DOWLASD. 


Apart sit fewer, whom thou lovest more ' 




And leadest where unruffled rivers flow. 


1 


Or azure lakes 'neath azure skies expand. 
These have no wider wishes, and no fears, 




LIFE AND DEATH. 


Unless a fear, in turning to molest 


Life and Death are sisters fair ; 


The silent, solitary, stately swan, 


Yes, they .are a lovely p.air. 


Disdaining the garrulity of groves 


Life is sung in joyous song ; 


Nor seeking shelter there from sun or storm. 


While men do her sister wrong, 




Colling her severe and stern. 


Me also hast thou led among such scenes. 


While her heart for them doth burn ; 


Gentlest of gods ! and age appeared ftir off 


Weave, then, weave a grateful wreath, 


While thou wast standing close above the 


For the sisters Life and Death. 


couch, 




And whispered'st, in whisper not unheard, 


If fair Life her sister lost. 


" I now depart from thee, but leave behind 


On a boundless ocean tost, 


My own twin-brother, friendly as myself. 


Slie would rove in gre.at unrest. 


Who soon shall take my place; men call him 


Missing that warm loving breast. 


Death. 


Now, wlien scared by wild alarms. 


Thou hearest rae, nor tremblest, as most do ; 


She can seek her sister's arms — 


In sooth, why shouldst thou ? What man hast 


To th.at tender bosom flee. 


thou wronged 


Sink to sleep in ecstasy. 


By deed or word? Few dare ask this within." 


Anonymous. 



THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT. 



721 



THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT. 

OuTSTEETCHED beneath the leafy shade 
Of Windsor forest's deepest glade, 

A dying woman lay ; 
Three little childi-en round her stood, 
And there went up from the greenwood 

A woful wail that day. 

" mother ! " was the mingled cry, 
" mother, mother I do not die. 

And leave us all alone." 
" My blessed babes ! " she tried to say — 
But the faint accents died away 

In a low sobbing moan. 

And then, life struggling hard with death, 
And fast and strong she drew her breath, 

And up she raised her head ; 
And, peering through the deep wood maze 
With a long, sharp, unearthly gaze, 

" Will she not come ? " she said. 

Just then, the parting boughs between, 
A little maid's light form was seen. 

All breathless witli her speed ; 
And, following close, a man came on 
(A portly man to look upon). 

Who led a panting steed. 

" Mother ! " the little maiden cried. 
Or e'er she reached the woman's side, 

And kissed her clay-cold cheek — 
" I have not idled in the town. 
But long went wandering up and down. 

The minister to seek. 

" They told me here, they told me there — 
I think they mocked me everywhere ; 

And when I found his home, 
And begged him on my bended knee 
To bring his book and come with me, 

Mother ! he would not come. 

" I told him how you dying lay, 
And could not go in peace away 

Without the minister ; 
I begged him, for dear Christ his sake, 
But oh ! my heai't was tit to break — 

Mother ! he would not stir. 
47 



" So, though my tears were blinding me, 
I ran back, fast as fast could be. 

To come again to you ; 
And here — close by — this squire I met. 
Who asked (so mild) what made me fret ; 

And when I told him true, — 

" ' I will go with you, child,' he said, 
' God sends me to this dying bed ' — 

Mother, he 's here, hard by." 
While thus the little maiden spoke. 
The man, his back against an oak. 

Looked on with glistening eye. 

The bridle on his neck hung free. 

With quivering flank and trembling knee, 

Pressed close his bonny bay ; 
A statelier man — a statelier steed — 
Never on greensward paced, I rede. 

Than those stood there that day. 

So, while the little maiden spoke. 
The man, his back against an oak, 

Looked on with glistening eye 
And folded arms, and in his look 
Something that, like a sermon-book, 

Preached — "All is vanity." 

But when the dying woman's face 
Turned toward him with a wishful gaze. 

He stepped to where she lay ; 
And, kneeling down, bent over her, 
Saying — " I am a minister. 

My sister ! let us pray." 

And well, withouten book or stole 
(God's words were printed on his soul I) 

Into the dying eai" 
He breathed, as 't were an angel's strain, 
The things that unto life pertain. 

And death's dark shadows clear. 

He spoke of sinners' lost estate. 
In Christ renewed, regenerate — 

Of God's most blest decree. 
That not a single soul should die 
Who turns repentant, with the cry 

" Be merciful to me." 

He spoke of trouble, pain, and toil, 
Endured but for a little while 



722 POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 


In patience, faith, and love — 


1 
All came to the rare old fellow, 


Sure, in God's own good time, to be 


Who laughed till his eyes dropped brine, 


Exclianged for an eternity 


As he gave them his hand so yellow, 


Of liappiness above. 


And pledged them in Death's black wine. 




Hurrah ! Hurrah ! 


Then — as the spirit ebbed away — 


Hurrah ! for the coal-black wine ! 


He raised his hands and eyes to pray 




Basry Coenwall. 


That peaceful it might pass ; 




And then — the orphans' sobs alone 






Were lieard, and they knelt, every one. 


A PSALM OF LIFE. 


Close round on the green grass. 




Such was the sight their wandering eyes 


WHAT THE HEAET OP THE YOUNG MAN SAID 


Beheld, in heart-struck, mute surprise. 


TO TDE PSALMIST. 


Who reined their coursers back. 


Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 


Just as they found the long astray. 


" Life is but an empty dream ! " 


Who, in the heat of chase that day. 


For the soul is dead that slumbers. 


Had wandered from then' track. 


And things are not what they seem. 


But each man reined his pawing steed. 




And lighted down, as if agreed, 


Life is real ! Life is earnest! 


In silence at his side ; 


And the grave is not its goal ; 


And there, uncovered all, they stood— 


" Dust thou art, to dust returnest," 


It was a wholesome sight and good 


Was not spoken of the soul. 


That day for mortal pride. 


Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 


For of the noblest of the land 


Is our destined end or w ay ; 


Was that deep-hnshed, bare-headed band ; 


But to act, that each to- morrow 


And, central in the ring. 


Find US farther than to-day. 


By that dead pauper on the ground. 




Her ragged orphans clinging round. 


Art is long, and time is fleeting, 


Knelt their anointed king. 


And our liearts, though stout and brave, 


KoBEBT .and Caholine Southet. 


Still, like inufiled drums, are beating 




Funeral marches to the grave. 
In the world's broad field of battle, 


KING DEATH. 




In the bivouac of life. 


Kino Death was a rare old fellow ! 


Be not like dumb, driven cattle. 


He sat where no sun could shine ; 


Be a hero in the strife ! 


And he lifted his hand so yellow, 




And poured out his coal-black wine. 


Trust no future, howe'er pleasant ! 


Hurrah! for the coal-black wine ! 


Let the dead past bury its dead ! 




Act — act in the living present ! 


There came to him many a maiden 


Heart within, and God o'crhead ! 


Whose eyes had forgot to shine. 




And widows, with grief o'erladen. 


Lives of great men all remind us 


For a draught of his sleepy wine. 


We can make our lives sublime, 


Hurrah ! for the coal-black wine! 


And, departing, leave behind us 




Footprints on the sands of time — 


The scholar left all his learning ; 




The poet his fancied woes ; 


Footprints that perhaps another, 


And the beauty her bloom returning. 


Sailing o'er life's solemn main 


Like life to the fading rose. 


A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 


Hurrah ! for the coal-black icine ! 


Seeing, shall take heart again. 



AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. 



723 



Let us, then, be up and doing, 

With a heart for any fate; 
Still achieving, still pursuing, 

Leai'n to labor and to wait. 

Heney 'SVADSwonTn Longfello'w. 



"MY DAYS AMONG THE DEAD." 

Mt days among the dead are passed ; 

Around me I behold, 
Where'er these casual eyes are cast. 

The mighty minds of old ; 
My never-failing friends are they. 
With whom I converse day by day. 

With them I take delight in weal, 

And seek relief in woe ; 
And while I understand and feel 

How much to them I owe, 
My cheeks have often been bedewed 
With tears of thoughtful gratitude. 

My thoughts are with the dead ; with them 

I live in long-past years ; 
Their virtues love, their faults condemn. 

Partake their hopes and fears. 
And from their lessons seek and find 
Instruction with an humble mind. 

My hopes are with the dead ; anon 

My place with them will be, 
And I with them shall travel on 

Through all futurity : 
Yet leaving here a name, I trust. 
That will not perish in the dust. 

Egbert Soutiiey. 



SIT DOWN, SAD SOUL. 

Sit down, sad soul, and count 

The moments flying ; 
Come — tell the sweet amount 

That 's lost by sighing ! 
How many smiles ? — a score ? 
Then laugh, and coimt no more; 
For day is dying ! 

Lie down, sad soul, and sleep. 
And no more measure 

The flight of time, nor weep 
The loss of leisure ; 



But here, by this lone stream, 
Lie down with us, and dream 
Of starry treasure ! 

We dream; do thou the same; 

We love — for ever ; 
We laugh, yet few we shame — 

The gentle never. 
Stay, then, till sorrow dies ; 
Then — hope and happy skies 
Are thine for ever ! 

Bakry Cornwalu 



LIFE. 



We are born ; we laugh ; we weep ; 

We love; we droop; we die! 
Ah! wherefore do we laugh or weep? 

Why do we live or die? 
Who knows that secret deep ? 

Alas, not I ! 

Why doth the violet spring 

Unseen by human eye ? 
Why do the radiant seasons bring 

Sweet thoughts that quickly fly ? 
Why do our fond hearts cling 

To things that die? 

We toil — through pain and wrong ; 

We fight — and fly ; 
We love ; we lose ; and tlien, ere long. 

Stone-dead we lie. 
life ! is all thy song 

"Endure and— die?" 

Bakky Coentpall. 



AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. 

How sweet it were, if without feeble friglv, 
Or dying of the dreadful beauteous sight. 
An angel came to us, and we could hear 
To see him issue from the silent air 
At evening in our room, and bend on ours 
His divine eyes, and bring us from his bowers 
News of dear friends, and children who have 

never 
Been dead indeed — as we shaU know for- 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Alas ! we think not what we daily see 
About our hearths — angels, that ai'e to be, 
Or may be if they will, and we prepai'e 
Their souls and ours to meet in happy air ; 
A child, a friend, a wife whose soft heart 

sings 
In unison with ours, breeding its future wings. 

Leiqh Hitnt. 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 

And Valniond, emperor of Allomaiue, 

Apparelled in magnificent attire, 

"With retinue of many a knight and squire. 

On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat 

And heard the priests chaut the Magnificat. 

And as he listened, o'er and o'er again 

Rejieated, like a burden or refrain, 

He caught the words, '^ Bepostiit potentes 

De sede, et exaltadit Immiles ;" 

And slowly lifting up his kingly head, 

He to a learned clerk beside hira said, 

" What mean these words ? " the clerk made 

answer meet, 
" He has put down the mighty from their seat. 
And has exalted them of low degree." 
Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully, 
" 'T is well that such seditious words are sung 
Only by priests and in the Latin tongue ; 
For unto priests and people be it known. 
There is no power can push me from my 

throne ! " 
And leaning hack, he yawned and fell asleep. 
Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep. 

"When he awoke, it was already night ; 

The church was empty, and there was no 

light. 
Save where the lamps that glimmered, few 

and faint. 
Lighted a little space before some saint. 
He started fi-om his scat and gazed around. 
But saw no living thing and heard no sound. 
He groped towards the door, but it was 

locked; 
llecried aloud, andlistened, and then knocked, 
And uttered awful threatenings and com- 

jdaints, 
And imprecations upon men and saints. 



The sounds reechoed from the roof and walls 
As if dead priests were laughing in their 
stalls. 

At length the sexton, hearing from without 
The tumult of the knocking and the shout. 
And thinking thieves were in the house of 

pi-ayer. 
Came with his lantern, asking, "Wlio is 

there ? " 
Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely 

said, 
" Open : 't is I, the king ! Ai-t thou afraid ? " 
The frightened sexton, muttering, with a 

curse, 
"This is some drunken vagabond, or worse ! " 
Turned the great key and flung the portal 

wide ; 
A man rushed by him at a single stride, 
Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak, 
Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor 

spoke, 
But leaped into the blackness of the night, 
And vanished like a spectre from his sight. 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 
And Valmond, emperor of iUlemaine, 
Despoiled of his magnificent attire. 
Bare-headed, breathless, and besprent with 

mire, 
"With sense of wrong and outrage desperate, 
Strode on and thundered at the palace gate ; 
Rushed through the court-yard, thrusting in 

his rage 
To right and left each seneschal and page, 
And hurried up the broad and sounding 

stair, 
His white face ghastly in the torches' glare. 
From hall to hall he passed with breathless 

speed ; 
Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed. 
Until at last he reached the banquet-room. 
Blazing with light, and breathing with per- 
fume. 
There on the dais sat another king. 
Wearing his robes, his crown, his signot-ring. 
King Robert's self in features, form, and 

height. 
But all transfigured with angelic light ! 
It was an angel ; and his presence there 
With a divine elTulgence filled the air, 



KING ROBERT OF SIOILY 



725 



An exaltation, piercing tlie disguise, 
riiough none the liidclen angel recognize. 

A moment speechless, motionless, amazed, 
The thi-oneless monarch on the angel gazed, 
AVho met his looks of anger and surprise 
Witli the divine compassion of his eyes; 
Tlien said, "Wlio art thou? and why coni'st 

thou liere? " 
To which King Robert answered witli a sneer, 
" I am the king, and come to claim my own 
From an impostor, who usurps my throne ! " 
And suddenly, at these audacious words, 
Fi) sprang the angry guests, and drew their 

swords ; 
Tlie angel answered, with unruffled brow, 
" Nay, not the king, hut the king's jester ; 

thou 
Ilenccfortli shall wear the bells and scalloped 

cape. 
Anil for thy coimsellor shalt lead an ape : 
Tliou slialt obey my servants when they call, 
And wait upon my henchmen in the hidl ! " 

Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and 

prayers, 
Tliey thrust him from the hall and down tlio 

stairs ; 
A group of tittering pages ran before. 
And as tliey opened wide the folding-door. 
His heart failed, for he beard, witli strange 

ahu'ms, 
Tlie boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms. 
And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring 
Witli the mock plaudits of "Long live the 

kingl" 
Next morning, waking with the day's first 

beam, 
lie said within himself, " It was a dream ! " 
But the straw rustled as he turned his head, 
There were the cap and beUs beside his bed ; 
Around him rose the bare, discolored walls, 
Close by, the steeds wore champing in their 

stalls, 
And in the corner, a revolting shape, 
Shivering and chattering, sat the wretched 

ape. 
It was no dream; the world he loved so much 
Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch ! 



Days came and w^ent; and now returned 

again 
To Sicily the old Saturnian reign : 
Under tlio angel's governance benign 
The happy island danced with corn and wine, 
And deep within the mountain's burning 

bi'east 
EnceladiLs, tlie giant, was at rest. 
Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate, 
Sullen and silent and disconsolate. 
Dressed in the motley garb that jesters wear. 
With looks bewildered and a vacant stare. 
Close shaven aliove the ears, as monks are 

shorn. 
By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to 

scorn, 
Ilis only friend the ape, liis only food 
What otiiers left, — he still was unsubdued. 
And when tlie angel met hira on his way. 
And half in earnest, half in jest, would say. 
Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel 
The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel, 
" Art thou the king ? " the passion of his woe 
Burst from him in resistless overflow. 
And lifting higli his forehead, he would fling 
Tlie liaughty answer b.ack, "I am, I am the 

king ! " 

Almost three years were ended ; when tliere 

came 
Ambassadors of great repute and name 
From Valniond, emperor of Allemaine, 
Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane 
By letter sunnnoned them forthwith to come 
On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome. 
The angel with great joy received liis guests. 
And gave tliem presents of embroidered vests. 
And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined. 
And rings and jewels of the rarest kind. 
Then he departed with them o'er the sea 
Into the lovely land of Italy, 
Whose loveliness was more resplendent made 
By the mere passing of that cav.alcade, 
With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and 

tlie stir 
Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur. 

And lo! among the menials, in mock state. 
Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait. 
His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind, 
Tlie solemn ape demurely perched behind. 



126 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



King Robert rode, making huge merriment 
In all the country towns through which they 
went. 

The pope received tliem with great pomp, 

and blare 
Of bannered trumpets, ou Saint Peter's square. 
Giving his benediction and embrace, 
Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. 
'While with congratulations and with prayers 
He entertained the angel unawares, 
Robert, the jester, bursting through the 

crowd, 
Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud: 
" I am the king ! Look and behold in me 
Robert, your brother, king of Sicily ! 
This man, who wears my semblance to yom' 

eyes. 
Is an impostor in a king's disguise. 
Do you not know me ? does no voice within 
Answer my cry, and say we are akin ? " 
The pope in silence, but with troubled mien, 
Gazed at the angel's countenance serene ; 
The emperor, laughing, said, " It is strange 

sport 
To keep a madman for thy fool at court ! " 
And the poor, baffled jester in disgrace 
Was hustled back among the populace. 

In solemn state the holy week went by. 
And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky ; 
The presence of an angel, with its light. 
Before the sun rose, made the city bright. 
And with new fervor tilled the hearts of men, 
"Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again. 
Even the jester, on his bed of straw, 
With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor 

saw ; 
He felt within a power unfelt before, 
And, kneeling humbly on bis chamber floor. 
He heard the rushing garments of tlie Lord 
Sweep through the sUent air, ascending 

heavenward. 

And now the visit ending, and once more 
Valraond returning to tlie Danube's shore. 
Homeward the angel journeyed, and again 
Tlio land was made resplendent with his train. 
Flashing along the towns, of Italy 
Unto Salerno, and from there by sea. 
And when once more within Palermo's wall. 
And, seated on his throne in liis great liall, 



He heard the Angelus from convent towers. 
As if the better world conversed with ours, 
He beckoned to King Robert to di-aw nigher. 
And with a gesture bade the rest retire; 
And when they were alone, the angol said, 
"Aj-t thou the king? " Then bowing down 

his head. 
King Robert crossed both hands upon his 

breast, 
And meekly answered him : " Thou knowest 

best ! 
My sins as scarlet are ; let me go hence, 
And in some cloister's school of penitence, 
Across those stones that pave the way to 

heaven 
Walk barefoot, tUl.my guilty soul is shriven ! " 
The angel smiled, and from his radiant face 
A holy light illumined all the place. 
And through tlie open window, loud and 

clear. 
They heard the monks chant in the chapel 

near. 
Above the stir and tumult of the street : 
" He has put down the mighty from their seat, 
And has exalted them of low degree! " 
And through the chant a second melody 
Rose like the throbbing of a single string: 



King Robert, who was standing near the 

throne, 
Lifted his eyes, and lo ! he was alolie ! 
But all apparelled as in days of old, - 
With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold; 
And when his courtiers came they found him 

there 
Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent 

prayer. 

Henry Wadswortii Longfellow. 



FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. 

When the hours of day are numbered, 
And the voices of the night 

Wake the better soul that slumbered 
To a holy, calm delight^ 

Ere the evening lamps are lighted. 
And, like pliantoms grim and tall, 

Shadows from tlie fitful fire-light 
Dance upon the jiai-lor wall ; 



SONNET. 



727 



Then the forms of the departed 

Enter at the open door — 
The beloved ones, the trne-hearted, 

Come to visit me once more : 

He, the young and strong, who chwished 
Noble longings for the strife. 

By tlie road-side fell and perished, 
Weary with the march of life ! 

They, the holy ones and weakly. 
Who the cross of saft'ering bore. 

Folded their pale hands so meekly. 
Spake with us on earth no more ! 

And with them the being beauteous 
Who unto my youth was given. 

More than all things else to love me, 
And is now a saint in heaven. 

With a slow and noiseless footstep 
Comes that messenger divine. 

Takes the vacant chair beside me, 
Lays her gentle hand in mine; 

And she sits and gazes at me 

With tliose deep and tender eyes. 

Like the stars, so still and saint-like. 
Looking downward from the skies. 

Uttered not, yet comprehended, 
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, 

Soft rebukes, in blessings ended. 
Breathing from her lips of air. 

Oh, though oft depressed and lonely. 

All my fears are laid aside, 
If I but remember only 

Such as these have lived and died ! 
Uenet Wadswoeth Longfellow. 



LIFE. 



Like to the falling of a star. 
Or as the flights of eagles are. 
Or like the fresh .spring's gaudy hue. 
Or silver drops of morning dew. 
Or like a wind that chafes the flood. 
Or bubbles which on water stood — 



E'en such is man, whose borrowed light 
Is straight called in, and paid to-night. 
Tlie wind blows out, the bubble dies, 
The spring entombed in autumn lies. 
The dew dries up, the star is shot. 
The flight is past — and man forgot! 

Henry King. 



MAN'S MORTALITY. 

Like as the damask rose you see, 
Or like the blossom on the tree, 
Or like the dainty flower in May, 
Or like the morning of the day. 
Or like the sun, or like the shade. 
Or like the gourd whicli Jonas bad— 
E'en such is man ; — whose thread is spun, 
Drawn out, and cut, and so is done. — 
The rose withers, the blossom blasteth. 
The flower fades, the morning hasteth, 
The sun sets, the shadow flies. 
The gourd consumes — and man he dies! 

Like to the grass that 's newly sprung. 
Or like a tale that 's new begun, 
Or like the bird that's here to-day, 
Or like the pearled dew of May, 
Or like an hour, or like a span, 
Or like the singing of a swan — 
E'en such is man ; — who lives by breath. 
Is here, now there, in life and death. — 
The grass withers, the tale is ended. 
The bird is flown, the dew 's ascended, 
The hour is short, the span is long, 
The swan 's near death — man's life is done ! 

S1.MON Wastell. 



SONNET. 

Of mortal glor}-, O soon darkened ray ! 
winged joys of man, more swift than wind ! 
O fond desires, which in our fancies stray ! 
O trait'rous hopes, which do our judgment; 

blind ! 
Lo, in a flash that light is gone away 
Which dazzle did each eye, delight each 

mind. 
And, with that sun from whence it came 

combined, 



728 



POEMS or SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Now makes more radiant heaven's eternal 

day. 
Let beauty now bedew her cheeks with tears ; 
Let widowed music only roar and groan ; 
Poor virtue, get thee wings and mount the 

spheres, 
For dwelling-place on earth for thee is none ! 
Death hath thy temple razed, love's empire 

foiled, 
The world of honor, worth, and sweetness 

spoiled. 

WlLLIA.\I DruMMOSD. 



LINES ON A SKEIJETON. 

Behold this ruin ! — 'T was a skull 
Once of ethereal spirit fiiU ! 
This narrow cell was life's retreat ; 
This space was thouglit's mysterious seat ; 
Wliat beauteous pictures filled this spot — 
What dreams of pleasures long forgot ! 
Nor love, nor joy, nor hope, nor fear, 
Has left one trace of record here. 

Beneath this mouldering canopy 

Once shone the bright and busy eye ; 

But start not at the dismal void ; — 

If social love that eye employed. 

If with no lawless fire it gleamed, 

But tbi'oiigh the dew of kindness beamed. 

That eye sbaU be forever bright 

When stars and suns have lost their light. 

Here, in tliis silent ca\'ern, hung 

The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue : 

If falsehood's honey it disdained. 

And, where it could not praise, was 

chained — 
If bold in virtue's cause it spoke, 
Yet gentle concord never broke. 
That tuneful tongue shall plead for thee 
Wlien death unveils eternity. 

Say, did these fingers delve the mine, 
Or with its envied rubies shine? 
To hew the rock or wear the gem 
Can nothing now avail to them ; 
But if the p.age of truth they sought, 
Or comfort to the mourner brought. 
These hands a richer meed shall claim 
Than all that waits on wealth or tame. 



Avails it whether bare or shod 
These feet the path of duty trod? 
If from the bowers of joy they fled 
To soothe affliction's humble bed— 
If grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned, 
And home to vu'tue's lap returned, 
Those feet with angel's wings shall vie, 
And tread the palace of the sky. 

Anonymods. 



HYMN OF THE CHURCH-YAKD. 

All mo ! this is a sad and silent city : 

Let mo walk softly o'er it, and sm-vey 
Its grassy streets with melancholy pity ! 
Where are its children ? where their glee- 
some play ? 
Alas ! their cradled rest is cold and deep, — 
Their playthings are thrown by, and they 
asleep. 

This is pale beauty's bower; but where the 
beautiful, 
Whom I have seen come forth at evening's 
liours. 

Leading their aged friends, with feelings du- 
tiful, 
Amid the wreaths of spring to gather flow- 
ers? 

Alas ! no flowers are hero but flowers ot 
death, 

And those who once were sweetest sleep be- 
neath. 

This is a populous place ; but where the 
bustling — 
The crowded buyers of tho noisy mart — 
Tho lookers-on, — tho snowy garments rust- 
ling,— ' 
The money-changers, and the men of art i 
Business, alas 1 hath stopped in mid career. 
And none are anxious to resume it here. 

This is the home of grandeur : where are 
they,— 
The rich, the great, the glorious, ami the 
wise? 
Where are the trappings of the proud, tho 
ga.v,— 
The gaudy guise of human butterflies ? 



THANATOPSIS. 729 


Aliis ! all lowly lies each lofty brow, 




And tlie green sod dizens tlieir beauty now. 


THANATOPSIS. 




To him who in the love of nature holds 


Tliis is a place of refuge and repose. 


Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 


Where are the poor, the old, the weary 


A various language ; for his gayer hours 


wight. 


She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 


The scorned, the humble, and the man of 


And eloquence of beauty ; and slio glides 


woes. 


Into his darker musings with a mild 


Who wept for morn, and sighed again for 


And healing sympathy, that steals away 


night ? 


Their sharpness ere ho is aware. When 


Their sighs at last have ceased, and here they 


thoughts 


sleep 


Of the last bitter hour come like a bhght 


Beside their scornerg, and forget to weep. 


Over thy spirit, and sad images 




Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 




And breatliless darkness, and the narrow 


Tliis is a place of gloom : where are the 


house. 


gloomy ? 


Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at 


Tlie gloomy arc not citizens of death — 


heart — 


Approach and look, where the long grass is 


Go forth, under the open sky, and list 


plumy ; 


To nature's teachings, while from all around — 


See them above ! they are not found be- 


Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — 


neath 1 


Comes a still voice : Yet a few days, and thee 


For these low denizens, with artful wiles. 


The all-beholding sun shall see no more 


Nature, in flowers, contrives her mimic 


In all Iiis course ; nor yet in the cold ground. 


smiles. 


Where thy pale form was laid witli many 




tears. 




Nor in the embrace of ocean shall exist 


This is a place of sorrow : friends have met 


Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall 


And mingled tears o'er those who answered 


claim 


not; 


Thy growth to be resolved to earth again ; 


And where are they whose eyelids then were 


And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 


wot? 


Thine individual being, shalt thou go 


Alas ! their griefs, their tears, are all for- 


To mix for ever with the elements — 


got; 


To be a brother to the insensible rock, 


They, too, are landed in this silent city. 


And to the sluggish clod which the rude swain 


Wbere there is neither love, nor tears, nor 


Turns with his share, and treads upon. The 


pity. 


oak 




Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy 




mould. 


This is a place of fear : the firmest eye 




llath qiiailcd to see its shadowy dreariness ; 


Yet not to thine eternal resting-place 


lUit Christian hope, and heavenly prospects 


Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish 


high, 


Couch more magniticent. Thou sbalt lie 


And earthly cares, and nature's weariness, 


down 


Have made the timid pilgrim cease to fear, 


With patriarchs of the infant world — witli 


And long to end liis painful journey here. 


kings. 


JOHK BETmrKE. 


The powerful of the earth— the wise, the 




good — 
Fair forms, and hoai-y seers of ages past. 


' 




All in one mighty sepulchre. The hiDs 



730 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Eock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, — the 

vales 
Stretching in pensive quietness between — 
Tlje venerable woods — rivers that move 
In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
That make the meadows green ; and, poured 

round all. 
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — 
Are but the solemn decorations all 
Of the great tomb of man. Tlie golden sun, 
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,- 
Are shining on the sad abodes of death. 
Through the still lapse of ages. All that 

tread 
The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings 
Of morning; traverse Barca's desert sands, 
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound 
Save his own dashings — yet — the dead are 

there ; 
And millions in those solitudes, since first 
The flight of years began, have laid them down 
In tlicir last sleep — the dead reign there alone. 
So slialt thou rest ; and what if thou withdraw 
In silence from the living, and no friend 
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
Plod on, and each one as before will chase 
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall 

leave 
Their mirth and their employments, and shall 

come 
And make their bed with thee. As the long 

train 
Of ages glide away, the sons of men, 
The youth in life's green spring, and he who 

goes 
In the full strength of years — matron, and 

maid. 
And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed 

man, — 
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side 
By those, who in their turn shall follow them. 

So live, that when thy summons comes to 

join 
The innumerable caravan which moves 
To that mysterious realm where each shall 

take 



His chamber in the sOent halls of death, 
Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon ; but, sustained 

and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 

WrLLIAM CrLLEN Brtaht. 



OVER THE RIVER. 

Over the river they beckon to me. 
Loved ones who 've crossed to the farther 
side. 
The gleam of their snowy robes I see. 
But their voices are lost in the dashing 
tide. 
There 's one with ringlets of sonny gold, 
And eyes the reflection of heaven's own 
blue; 
He crossed in the twilight gray and cold. 
And the pale mist hid him from mortal 
view. 
We saw not the angels who met him there. 

The gates of the city we could not see: 
Over the river, over the river, 
My brother stands waiting to welcome me. 

Over the river the boatman pale 

Carried another, the household pet ; 
Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale, 

Darling Minnie ! I see her yet. 
She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands. 

And fearlessly entered the phantom bark ; 
We felt it glide from the silver sands, 

And all our sunshine grew strangely dark ; 
We know she is safe on the farther side, 

Where all the ransomed and angels be : 
Over the river, the mystic river. 

My childhood's idol is waiting for me. 

For none return from those quiet shores. 
Who cross with the boatman cold and 
pale; 
We hear the dip of the golden oars. 

And catch a gleam of the snowy sail ; 
And lo ! they have passed from our yearning 
hearts. 
They cross the stream and are gone for 
aye. 
We may not sunder the vail apart 



ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. 



731 



That hides from our vision the gates of 
day; 
We only know that their barks no more 

May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea ; 
Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore. 

They watch, and beckon, and wait for me. 

And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold 

Is flushing river and hill and shore, 
I shall one day stand by the water cold, 

And list for the sound of the boatman's 
oar; 
I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail, 

I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand, 
I shall pass fi-om sight with the boatman 
pale. 

To the better shore of the spirit land. 
I shall know the loved who have gone before, 

And joyfully sweet will the meeting be. 
When over the river, the peaceful river. 

The angel of death shall carry me. 

Nancy AiiELiA. Woodbxtby Pkiest. 



THE DEATH OF THE VIRTUOUS. 

Sweet is the scene when virtue dies! 

When sinks a righteous soul to rest, 
IIow mildly beam the closing eyes. 

How gently heaves tli' expiring breast! 

So fades a summer cloud away, 

So sinks the gale when storms are o'er, 

So gently shuts the eye of day, 
So dies a wave along the shore. 

Triumphant smiles the victor brow, 

Fanned by some angel's purple wing; — 

Where is, O grave! thy victory now? 
And where, insidious death ! thy sting? 

Farewell conflicting joys and fears. 

Where light and shade alternate dwell ! 

IIow bright th' unchanging morn api)ears;- 
Farewell, inconstant world, farewell ! 

Its duty done, — as sinks the day, 
Light from its load the spirit flies ; 

While heaven and earth combine to say 
" Sweet is the scene when virtue dies ! " 
Anna L^titia Barbauld. 



ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY 
CHURCH-YARD. 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day ; 

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, 
The ploughman homeward plods his weary 
way. 
And leaves the world to darkness and to 
me. 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the 
sight. 
And all the air a solemn stUlness holds, 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning 
flight. 
And drowsy tinklings luU the distant folds ; 

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower. 
The moping owl does to the moon com- 
plain 

Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient, solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's 
shade. 
Where heaves the turf in many a moulder- 
ing heap. 
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 
The swallow twitt'ring from the straw 
built shed, 
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn. 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly 
bed. 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall 
barn. 

Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 
No children run to lisp their sire's return, 

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe hai^ 
broke ; 
IIow jocund did they di-ive their team a-field ! 
How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy 
stroke ! 



132 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 

Kor grandeur hear ■with a disdainful smUe 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

Tlie boast of heraldry, tlie pomp of power. 
And aU that beauty, all that wealth e'er 
gave, 

Await alike th' inevitable hour. — 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault. 
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies 
raise. 
Where through the long-drawn aisle and 
fretted vault 
The pealing anthem swells the note of 
praise. 

Oan storied urn, or animated bust. 
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 

Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust. 
Or flattery soothe tlie dull cold ear of death ? 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
Some heart once pregnant with celestial 
fire — 
Hands, that the rod of empire might have 
swayed, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living Ij're ; 

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
Eich with the spoils of time, did ne'er un- 
roll ; 

CliiU penury repressed tlieir noble rage. 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene 
Tlie dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear ; 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless 
breast, 
Tlie little tyrant of his fields withstood — 
Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest, 
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's 
blood. 

Th' applause of listening senates to command. 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise. 

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land. 

And read their liistory in a nation's eyes, 



Their lot forbade ; nor circumscribed alone 
Their growing virtues, but their crimes 
confined — 
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a 
throne. 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; 

The strugghng pangs of conscious truth to 
hide. 

To quench the blushes of ingenious sliauie. 
Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride 

With incense kindled at the muse's flame. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife. 
Their sober wishes never learned to stray ; 

Along the cool, sequestered vale of life 
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Yet even these bones from insult to protect. 
Some frail memorial still erected nigh. 

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculp- 
ture decked. 
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unlet- 
tered muse. 

The place of fame and elegy supply ; 
And many a holy text around she strews, 

That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey. 
This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned. 

Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
Nor cast one longing, lingering look be- 
hind? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies. 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 

E'en from the tomb tlie voice of nature cries, 
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

For thee, who, mindful of tli' unhonored 
dead. 

Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; 
If chance, by lonely contemplation led, 

Some kindred spirit shall iuquii-e tliy fixte — 

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say : 
" Oft have we seen him at the peep of 
dawn 

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, 
To meet the sun upon tlie upland lawn. 



ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTEY CHURCH-YARD. 



733 



" There at the foot of yonder nodding beach, 

That wreathes its old, fantastic roots so 

high. 

His listless length at noontide -n-ould he 

stretch, 

And pore upon the brook that babbles 

by. 

" Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in 
scorn, 
Muttering his wayward fancies he would 
rove — 
Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one for- 
lorn. 
Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless 
love. 

' One morn I missed him on the customed 
hill, 
Along the heath, and near his favorite 
tree ; 
Another came — nor yet beside the rill, 
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was 
he; 



" The next, with dirges due in sad array. 
Slow through the church-way path we saw 
him borne :— 
Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the 
lay 
Graved on the stone beneath you aged 
thorn." 

THE EPITAPH. 

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth 
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown ; 

Fair science frowned not on his humble birth. 
And melancholy mai-ked him for her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere — 
Heaven did a recompense as largely send ; 

He gave to misery (all he had) a tear, 
He gained from heaven ('t was all he 
wished) a friend. 

No farther seek his merits to disclose. 

Or draw his fi-ailties from their dread 
abode — • 

(There they alike in trembling hope repose), 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 

TnoaAS Geat. 



PART X. 

POEMS OF RELIGION 



Oh! what is man, great Maker of mankind! 

That Thou to him so great respect dost bear — 
That Thou adorn'st him with so bright a mind, 

Mak'st him a king, and even an angel's peer ? 

Oh ! what a lively Hfe, what heavenly power, 
What spreading virtue, what a sparkling fire! 

How great, how plentiful, how rich a dower 
Dost Thou within this dying flesh inspire ! 

Thou leav'st Thy print in other works of Thine, 
But Thy whole image Thou in man hast writ; 

There cannot be a creature more divine, 
Except, like Thee, it should be infinite. 

But it exceeds man's thought, to think how high 
God hath raised man, since God a man became; 

The angels do admire this mystery, 

And are astonished when they view the same. 

Nor hath he given these blessings for a da}^ 
Nor made them on the body's life depend : 

The soul, though made in time, survives for aye ; 
And though it hath beginning, sees no end. 

SiE JouN Daties. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



DAEKNESS IS THINNING. 

Darkness is thinning ; shadows are retreat- 
ing: 
Morning and light are coming in their heanty. 
, Suppliant seek -we, with an earnest outcry, 
God the Almighty ! 

So that our master, having mercy on us, 
May repel languor, may bestow salvation, 
Granting us, Father, of Thy loving kindness 
Glory hereafter! 

This of His mercy, ever blessed Godhead, 

Father, and Son, and Holy Spu'it,give us — 

Whom through the wide world celebrate for 

ever 

Blessing and glory ! 

St. Gregory the Great. (Latin.) 
Translation of John Mason Neale. 



EARLY RISING AND PRATER. 

When first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul 

leave 
To do the like ; our bodies but forerun 
The spirit's duty : true hearts spread and 

heave 
Unto their God as flowers do to the sun. 
Give him thy first thoughts then, so shalt 

thou keep 
Sim company all day, and in him sleep. 
48 



Yet never sleep the sun up, prayer should 
Dawn with the day; there are set awful 

hours 
'Twixt heaven and as; the manna was not 

good 
After sun-rising ; far-day sullies flowers. 
Rise to prevent the sun ; sleep doth sins glut. 
And heaven's gate opens when the world's 

is shut. 

Walk with thy fellow-creatures: note the 

hush 
And whisperings among them. Not a spring 
Or leaf but hath his morning hymn ; each 

bush 
And oak doth know I AM. Canst thou not 

sing? 
Oh, leave thy cares and follies ! go this way, 
And thou art sure to prosper all the day. 

Serve God before the world ; let him not go 
Until thou hast a blessing ; then resign 
The whole unto him, and remember who 
Prevailed by wrestling ere the sun did shine : 
Pour oil upon the stones, weep for thy sin. 
Then journey on, and have an eye to heaven. 

Mornings are mysteries: the flrst, world's 

youth, 
Man's resurrection, and the future's bud. 
Shroud in their births; the crown of life, 

light, truth. 
Is styled their star — the stone and hidden 

food. 
Three blessings wait upon them, one of which 
Should move— they make us holy, happy, 

rich. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Wliou the world's up, and every swarm 

abroad, 
Keep ■well thy temper, mix not Mitli eacli 

clay ; 
Despatch necessities; life hath a load 
Wliioh must bo carried on, and safely may: 
Yet keep those cares without thee; let the 

heart 
13e God's alone, and choose the better part. 
Uenrt VAuanAN. 



THE SPIRIT-LAND. 

f ATHEK ! Thy wonders do not singly stand, 
Nor far removed where feet have seldom 

strayed ; 
Around us over lies the enchanted land, 
In marvels rich to Thine own sons displayed ; 
In finding Thee are all things ronnd us found ; 
In losing Thee are all things lost beside ; 
Ears have we, but in vain strange voices 

sound ; 
And to our eyes the vision is denied ; 
We wander in the country far remote, 
ilid tombs and ruined piles in death to 

dwell ; 
Or on the records of past greatness dote, 
And for a buried soul the living sell; 
While on our path bewildered falls the night 
That ne'er returns us to the lields of light. 

Jones Vkiiy. 



THE PHILOSOPHER'S DEVOTION. 

Smo aloud I His praise rehearse, 
Who hath made the universe, 
lie the boundless heavens has spread, 
All the vital orbs has Icned ; 
He that on Olympus high 
Tends His tlock with watchful eye ; 
And this eye has multiplied 
Midst each flock for to reside. 
Thus, as round about they stray, 
Toucheth each with outstretched ray: 
Nimbly they hold on their way. 
Shaping out their night and day. 
Never slack they ; none respires, 
Dancing roimd their central fires. 



In duo order as tliey move, 
Echoes sweet bo gently drove 
Through heaven's vast hollowness, 
Which unto all comers press — 
Music, tliat the heart of Jove 
Moves to joy and sportful love, 
Fill? the listening sailor's oars, 
Riding on the wandering spheres. 
Neither speech nor language is 
Where their voice is not transmiss. 

God is good, is wise, is strong — 
Witness all the creature-throng — 
Is confessed by every tongue. 
All things back from whence they 

sprung. 
As the thankful rivers pay 
What they borrowed of the sea. 

Now, myself, I do resign ; 
Take me whole, I all am Thine. 
Save me, Godl from self-desire. 
Death's pit, dark hell's raging fire, 
Envy, hatred, vengeance, ire; 
Let not lust my soul bemire. 

Quit from these, Thy jjraise I '11 sing, 
Loudly sweep the trembling string. 
Rear a part, O wisdom's sons, 
Freed from vain religions ! 
Lo ! from far I you salute, 
Sweetly warbling on my lute — 
India, Egypt, Araby, 
Asi:i, Greece, and Tartary, 
Carmel-traets and Lebanon, 
With the Mountains of the Afoon, 
From whence muddy Nile doth run ; 
Or, wherever else you won, 
Rreathing in one vital air — 
One we are though distant far. 



Rise at once — let's sacrifice ! 
Odors sweet perfume the skies. 
See how heavenly lightning fires 
Hearts intlamed with high aspires; 
All the substance of our souls 
Up in clouds of incense rolls I 
Leave we nothing to ourselves 
Save a voice — what need wo else ? 



THE BEE. 



M9 



Of a liand to wear and tire 
On tho thankful lute or lyre. 

Sing aloud 1 His praise reliearse 
Wlio liatli made tlio universe. 

IlKNRY MOttH. 



THE BEE. 

Fr.oM fruitful beds and tlowory borders, 
[■"arcellcd to wasteful ranks and orders, 
Where state grasps more than plain truth 

needs, 
.\nd wholesome herbs are starved by weeds. 
To the wild woods I will bo gone, 
And tlie coarse meals of great Saint John. 

AVIien truth and piety are missed. 

Both in the rulers and tho priest ; 

When pity is not cold, but dead. 

And tho rich cat the poor like bread ; 

While factious heads, with open coil 

And force, first make, then share, tho spoil ; 

To Ilorob then Elias goes. 

And in tho desert grows the rose. 

Hail, crystal fount.iins and fresh shades, 
AVhcre no proud look invades, 
No busy worldling hunts away 
The s.ad rctirer all the day ! 
Hail, happy, harmless solitude! 
Our sanctuary from the rude 
And scornful world ; the calm recess 
Of faith, and hope, and holiness! 
Here something still like Eden looks — 
Honey in woods, juleps in brooks; 
And flowers whose rich, nnrifled sweets 
With a chaste kiss the cool dew greets. 
When (lie toils of the day are done, 
And the tired world sets with tho sun. 
Hero flying winds and flowing wells 
Arc tho wise, watchful hermit's beUs: 
Their busy ranrmnrs.all the night 
To praise or prayer do invite ; 
And with an awful sound arrest. 
And ]nously employ his breast. 

When in the East the dawn doth blush, 
Here c<iol, fresh spirits the air brush ; 



Herbs straight get up ; flowers peep and spread ; 
Trees whisper praise, and bow the head ; 
Birds, from the shades of night released, 
Look round about, then quit the nest. 
And with united gladness sing 
Tho glory of the morning's king. 
The hermit hoars, and with meek voice 
Offers his cwn up, and their joys ; 
Then prays tliat all the world might be 
Blest with as sweet an unity. 

If sudden storms the day invade, 
They flock about him to the shade, 
Where wisely they expect the end. 
Giving tho tempest time to spend ; 
And hard by, shelters on some bough 
Hilarion's servant, the sage crow. 
O purer years of light and grace I 
Great is the difi'erence, as the space, 
'Twi.'ct you and us, who blindly run 
After false fires, and leave the sun. 
Is not fair nature of herself 
Much richer than dull paint and pelf? 
And are not streams at the spring head 
More sweet than in carved stono or lead ? 
But fancy and some artist's tools 
Frame a religion for fools. 

Tho truth, whicli once was plainly taught, 
With thorns and briars now is frauglit. 
Some part is with bold fables spotted. 
Some by strange comments wildly blotted; 
And discord, old corruption's crest, 
With blood and blame have stained the rest. 
So snow, which in its first descents 
A whiteness like pure heaven presents. 
When touched by man is quickly soiled. 
And after trodden down and spoiled. 

lead me where I may be free 
In truth and spirit to serve Thee! 
Wliere undisturbed I may converse 
With Thy great self; and there rehearse 
Thy gifts with thanks; and from Thy store, 
Who art all blessings, beg much more. 
Give me the wisdom of tho bee. 

And her unwearied industry ! 

That from the wild gourds of these days, 

1 may extract health, and Thy praise 
Who canst turn darkness into light. 
And in my weakness sliow Thy might. 



740 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Suffer me not in any want 
To seek refreshment from a plant 
Thou didst not set ; since all must be 
Plucked up whose growth is not from Thee. 
'Tis not the garden and the bowers, 
Nor sense and forms, that give to flowers 
Their wholesomeness ; but Thy good will. 
Which truth and pureness purchase still. 

Then, since corrupt man hath driven hence 

Thy kind and saving influence, 

And balm is no more to be had 

In all the coasts of Gilead — 

Go with me to the shade and cell 

Where Thy best servants once did dwell. 

There let uie know Thj- will, and see 

Exiled religion owned by Thee ; 

For Thou canst turn dark grots to halls, 

And make hills blossom like the vales. 

Decking their untilled heads with flowers. 

And fresh delights for all sad hours ; 

Till from them, like a laden bee, 

I may fly home, and hive with Thee ! 

Henet Vaughan. 



THE ELDER SORIPTURE. 

There is a book, who runs may read. 
Which heavenly truth imparts. 

And all the lore its scholars need — 
Pure eyes and loving hearts. 

The works of God, above, below, 

Within us, and around. 
Are pages in that book, to show 

How God himself is found. 

The glorious sky, embracing all. 

Is like the Father's love ; 
Wherewith encompassed, great and small 

In peace and order move. 

The dew of heaven is like His grace : 

It steals in silence down ; 
But where it lights, the favored place 

By richest fruits is known. 

Two worlds are ours : tis only sia 

Forbids us to descry 
The mystic heaven and earth within. 

Plain as the earth and sky. 



Thou who hast given me eyes to see 

And love this sight so fair. 
Give me a heart to find out Thee 

And read Thee every where. 

John Keblh. 



GOD IN NATURE. 

Great Ruler of all Nature's frame ! 

We own Thy power divine ; 
We hear Thy breath in every storm. 

For all the winds are Thine. 

Wide as they sweep their sounding way, 
They work Thy sovereign will ; 

And awed by Thy majestic voice, 
Confusion shall be still. 

Thy mercy tempers every blast 
To them that seek Thy face. 

And mingles with the tempest's roar 
The whispers of Thy grace. 

Those gentle whispers let me hear. 

Till all the tumult cease ; 
And gales of Paradise shall lull 

My weary soul to peace. 

PniLip Doddridge. 



FOR NEW-YEAR'S DAY. 

Eternal source of every joy ! 

Well may Thy praise our lips employ, 

While in Thy temple we appear 

Whose goodness crowns the circling year. 

While as the wheels of nature roll. 
Thy hand supports the steady pole ; 
The sun is taught by Tliee to rise, 
And darkness when to veil the skies. 

The flowery spring at Thy command 
Embalms the air, and paints the land ; 
The summer rays with vigor shine 
To raise the corn, and cheer the vino. 



AN ODE. 



741 



Thy hand in autumn nchly pours 
Through all our coasts redundant stores ; 
And wmters, softened by Thy care, 
No more a face of Iiorror "wear. 

Seasons, and months, and weeks, and days 
Demand successive songs of praise ; 
Still be the cheerful homage paid 
With opening light and evening shade. 

Here in Thy house shall incense rise, 
As circling Sabbaths bless our eyes ; 
StiU will we make Thy mercies known. 
Around Thy board, and round our own. 

Oh may our more harmonious tongues 
In worlds unknown pursue the songs : 
And in those brighter courts adore 
Where days and years revolve no more. 
Philip Doddridge. 



"MARK THE SOFT-FALLING SNOW." 

Mark the soft-falling snow. 
And the diffusive rain : 
To heaven from whence it fell, 
It turns not back again. 

But waters earth 

Through every pore, 

And calls forth all 

Its secret store. 

Arrayed in beauteous green 
The hills and valleys shine. 
And man and beast is fed 
By Providence divine ; 

The harvest bows 

Its golden ears, 

The copious seed 

Of future years. 

" So," saith the God of grace, 
" My gospel shall descend — 
Almighty to effect 
The purpose I intend ; 



Millions of souls 
Shall feel its power, 
And bear it down 
To millions more. 

"Joy shall begin your march, 
And peace protect your ways, 
While all the mountains round 
Echo melodious praise ; 

The vocal groves 

Shall sing the God, 

And every tree 

Consenting nod." 

Philip Doddkidoe. 



AN ODE. 

The spacious firmament on high. 

With all the blue ethereal sky. 

And spangled heavens, a shining frame, 

Their great original proclaim. 

The unwearied sun, from day to day, 

Does his creator's power display 

And publishes to every land 

The work of an almighty hand. 

Soon as the evening shades prevail, 
The moon takes up the wondrous tale, 
And nightly, to the listening earth, 
Repeats the story of her birth ; 
Whilst aU the stars that round her burn. 
And all the planets in their turn. 
Confirm the tidings as they roll. 
And spread the truth from pole to pole. 

What though, in solemn silence, all 
Move round the dark, terrestrial ball ? 
What though nor real voice nor sound 
Amid their radiant orbs be found ? 
In reason's ear they all rejoice. 
And utter forth a glorious voice. 
Forever singing as they shine 
" The hand that made us is divine ! " 

Joseph Addibon. 



742 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



EVENING. 

Father ! by Thy love and power 
Comes again tlio evening hour : 
Light has vanislied, labors cease, 
"Weary creatures rest in peace. 
Thou, whose genial dews distil 

On the lowliest weed that grows, 
Father ! guard our coucli from ill, 

Lull Thy children to repose. 
We to Thee ourselves resign, 
Let our latest thoughts be Thine. 



Saviour ! to Thy Father bear 
This our feeble evening prayer ; 
Thou hast seen how oft to-day 
We, like sheep, have gone astray : 
Worldly thoughts, and thoughts of pride, 

Wishes to Thy cross untrue, 
Secret faults, and undescried. 

Meet Thy spirit-piercing view, 
Blessed Sa'siour! yet through Thee 
Pray that these may pardoned be. 



Holy Spirit ! breath of balm ! 
Fall on us in evening's calm : 
Yet awhile before we sleep 
We with Thee will vigils keep ; 
Lead us on our sins to muse, 

Give us truest penitence, 
Then the love of God infuse. 

Breathing humble confidence ; 
Melt our spirits, mould our will. 
Soften, strengthen, comfort still ! 

Blessed Trinity ! be near 

Through the hours of darkness drear ; 

When the help of man is far. 

Ye more clearly present are : 

Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 

Watch o'er our defenceless head. 
Let your angels' guardian host. 

Keep all evil from our bed. 
Till the flood of morning's rays 
Wake us to a song of praise. 

Anonymous. 



IN A CLEAR STARRY NIGHT. 

A HYMN AND PRATER FOR TIIE USE OF 
BELIEVERS. 

Lord ! when those glorious lights I see 
With which Thou hast adorned the skies, 
Observing how they moved be. 
And how their splendor fills mine eyes, 

Mcthinks it is too large a grace. 
But that Thy love ordained it so — 
That creatures in so high a place 
Should servants be to man below. 



The meanest lamp now shining there 
In size and lustre doth exceed 
The noblest of Thy creatures here. 
And of our friendship hath no need. 

Yet these upon mankind attend. 
For secret aid, or public light ; 
And from the world's extremest end 
Repair unto us every night. 



Oh ! had that stamp been undefaced 
Which first on us Thy hand had set, 
IIow highly shoidd we have been graced. 
Since we ju-e so much honored yet. 

Good God, for what but for the sake 
Of Thy beloved and only Son, 
Who did on Him our nature take. 
Were these exceeding favors done ! 



As we by Him have honored been. 
Let us to Him due honors give ; 
Let His uprightness hide our sin. 
And let us worth from Him receive. 

Yea, so let us by grace improve 
What Thou by nature doth bestow, 
That to TI13' dwelling-i)Iace above 
We may bo raised from below. 

Gbokoe WrrnEB. 



ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY. 



743 



ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NA- 
TIVITY. 



Tnis is the month, and this the htippy morn, 
Wherein the Son of heaven's eternal king, 
Of wedded maid and virgin motlier born, 
Our great redemption from above did bring — 
For so the holy sages once did sing — 

That He onr deadly forfeit should release. 
And with His Father work us a perpetual 
peace. 



That glorious form, that light unsuiferahle, 
And that far-beaming blaze of ra.ijesty 
Wherewith He wont at heaven's high council- 
table 
To sit the midst of Triual Unity, 
He laid aside ; and here with us to be 

Forsook the courts of everlasting day. 
And chose with us a darksome house of mor- 
tal clay. 



Say, heavenly muse! shall not thy sacred 

vein 
AtTord a present to the infant God? 
Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn 

strain, 
To welcome Him to this His new abode — 
Now while the heaven, by the sun's team 

untrod, 
Hath took no print of the approaching 

light. 
And all the spangled host keep watch in 

squadrons bright? 



See how from far upon the eastern road 
The star-led wizards haste with odors sweet 1 
Oh ! run prevent them with thy humble ode, 
And lay it lowly at his blessed feet ; 
Have thou the honor first thy Lord to greet, 

And join thy voice unto the angel choir. 
From out His secret altar touched with hal- 
lowed fire. 



THE HYMN. 



It was the winter wild 
While the heaven-born child 

All meanly wrapt in the rude manger 
lies — • 
Nature, in awe to Him, 
Had dofted her gaudy trim, 

With her great master so to sympathize ; 
It was no season then for her 
To wanton with the sun, her lusty para- 
mour. 

u. 
Only with speeches fair 
She woos the gentle air 
To hide her guilty front with innocent 
snow, 
And on her naked shame, 
Pollute with sinful blame. 

The saintly veil of maiden white to throw — 
Confounded that her maker's eyes 
Should look so near upon her foul deforfni- 
ties. 



But He, her fears to cease, 
Sent down the meek-eyed peace ; 

She, crowned with olive green, came softly 
sliding 
Down through the turning sphere, 
His ready harbinger. 

With turtle wing the amorous clouds divid- 

inn" • 

And waving wide her myrtle wand, 
She strikes a universal peace through sea 
and land. 



Nor war, or battle's sound, 
Was heard the world around — 
The idle spear and shield were high up 
hung; 
The hooked chariot stood 
Unstained with hostile blood ; 

The trumpet spake not to the armed 
throng ; 
And kings sat stiU with awful eye. 
As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord 
was b}'. 



744 POEMS OF RELIGION. 


V. 


Answering the stringed noise, 


But peaceful was the night 


As all their souls in blissful rapture took ; 


■Wherein the prince of light 


The air, such pleasure loath to lose. 


His reign of peace upon the earth began ; 


With thousand echoes still prolongs each 


The winds, with wonder whist, 


heavenly close. 


Smoothly the waters kissed, 




Whispering new joys to the mild ocean. 


X. 


Who now hath quite forgot to rave, 


Nature, that heard such sound 


While birds of calm sit brooding on the 


Beneath the hollow round 


charmed wave. 


Of Cynthia's seat the airy region thrilling. 




Now was almost won 


VI. 


To think her part was done. 


The stars with deep amaze 


And that her reign had here its last ful- 


Staud fixed in steadfast gaze. 


filling ; 


Bending one way their precious influence ; 


She knew such harmony alone 


And will not take their flight 


Could hold all heaven and earth in happier 


For all the morning light. 


union. 


Or Lucifer that often warned them thence ; 




But in their glimmering orbs did glow 


XI. 


UntU their Lord himself bespake, and bid 


At last surrounds their sight 


them go. 


A globe of circular light, 


That with long beams the shamefaced night 


TII. 


arrayed ; 


And though the shady gloom 


The helmed cherubim 


Had given day her room, 


And sworded seraphim 


The sun himself withheld his wonted 


Are seen in glittering ranks with wings 


speed, 


displayed. 


And hid his head for shame, 


Harping in loud and solemn choir, 


As his inferior flame 


With unexpressive notes, to heaven's new- 


The new-enlightened world no more should 


born heir — 


need; 


XII. 


He saw a greater sun appear 


Than his bright throne or burning axle-tree 


Such music (as 't is said) 


could bear. 


Before was never made, 




But when of old the sons of morning sung, 


VIII. 


While the Creator great 


The shepherds on the lawn, 


His constellations set. 


Or e'er the point of dawn. 


And the well-balanced world on hinges 


Sat simply chatting in a rustic row ; 


hung. 


Full little thought they then 


And cast the dark foundations deep, 


That the mighty Pan 


And bid the weltering waves their oozy 


Was kindly come to live with them below ; 


channel keep. 


Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep. 




Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy 


XIII. 


keep. 


Ring out, ye crystal spheres ! 




Once bless our human ears. 


IX. 


If ye have power to touch our senses so ; 


When such music sweet 


And let your silver chime 


Their hearts and ears did greet 


Move in melodious time, 


As never was by mortal finger strook — 


And let the bass of heaven's deep organ 


Divinely-warbled voice 


blow ; 



ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY. 



745 



And witli your ninefold harmony 
Make up full consort to the angelic sym- 
phony. 

XIV. 

For if such holy song 
Inwrap our fancy long, 

Time will run back, and fetch the age of 

gold; 
And speckled vanity 
Will sicken soon and die, 
And leprous sin will melt from earthly 

mould ; 
And hell itself will pass away, 
And leave her dolorous mansions to the 

peering day. 

XV. 

Yea, truth and justice then 
Will down return to men, 

Orbed in a rainbow ; and, like glories 
wearing, 
Mercy will sit between, 
Throned in celestial sheen, 

"With radiant feet the tissued clouds down 
steering ; 
And heaven, as at some festival, 
Will open wide the gates of her high palace 
hall. 

XVI. 

But wisest fate says Ko — 
This must not yet be so ; 

Tlie babe yet lies in smiling infancy 
That on the bitter cross 
Must redeem our loss. 

So both Himself and us to glorify. 
Yet first to those ye chained in sleep 
The wakeful trump of doom must thunder 
through the deep, 

XVII. 

With such a horrid clang 
As on Mount Sinai rang. 

While the red fire and smouldering clouds 
out-brako ; 
The aged earth, aghast 
With terror of that blast, 

Shall from the surface to the centre shake — 
When, at the world's last session, 
The dreadful judge in middle air shall spread 
his throne. 



XVIII. 

And then at last our bliss 
Full and perfect is — 

But now begins ; for from this happy day 
The old dragon, under ground 
In straiter limits bound, 

Not half so for casts his usurped sway. 
And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, 
Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. 



The oracles are dumb ; 

No voice or hideous hum 
Runs through the arched roof in words 
deceiving ; 

Apollo from his shrine 

Can no more divine. 
With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos 
leaving; 

No nightly trance, or breathed spell. 

Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the pro- 
phetic cell. 

XX. 

The lonely mountains o'er, 
And the resounding shore, 

A voice of weeping heard and loud lament ; 
From haunted spring, and dale 
Edged with poplar pale. 

The parting genius is with sighing sent ; 
With flower-inwoven tresses torn 
The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled 
thickets mourn. 



In consecrated earth, 
And on the holy hearth. 
The lars and lemm-es moan with midnight 
plaint ; 
In urns and altars round 
A drear and dying sound 
Affrights the flamens at their service 
quaint ; 
And the chill marble seems to sweat. 
While each peculiar power foregoes his 
wonted seat. 



Peor and Baalim 
Forsake their temples dim. 

With that twice-battered god of Palestine ; 



746 POEMS OF 


K E L IG 1 N . 


And mooned Ashtarotli, 


And the yellow-skirted fays 


Heaven's queen and mother both, 


Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their 


Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine ; 


moon-loved maze. 


The Lybio Hammon slirinks his horn — 




In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded 


XXVII. 


Thammuz mourn. 


But see the virgin blest 




Hath laid her babe to rest- 




Time is our tedious song should here have 


xxin. 


ending ; 


And sullen Moloch fled, 


Heaven's youngest teemed star 


Hath left in shadows dread 


Hath fixed her polished car. 


His burning idol all of blackest hue ; 


Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp 


In vain, with cymbals' ring, 


attending ; 


They call the grisly king, 


And all about the courtly stable 


In dismal dance about the furnace blue ; 
The brutish gods of Nile as fast — 


Bright-harnessed angels , sit in order service- 
able. 


Isis and Orus, and the dog Auubis — haste. 
xxrv. 


John Milton. 




Nor is Osiris seen 


EPIPHANY. 


In Memphian grove or green. 

Trampling the uushowered grass with 


Brightest and best of the sons of the morn- 


lowings loud; 


ing, 


Nor can he be at rest 


Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thino 


"Within his sacred chest — 


aid! 


Nought but profoundest hell can be his 


Star of the east, the horizon adorning, 


shroud ; 


Guide where our infant Eedeemer is laid ! 


In vain, with timbrelled anthems dark, 
The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his wor- 
shipped ark. 


Cold on His cradle the dew-drops are shining; 
Low lies His bed with the beasts of the 
stall; 


sxv. 

Ho feels from Juda's land 


Angels adore Him in slumber reclining — 


Maker, and monarch, and Saviour of all. 


The dreaded infant's hand — 
The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn ; 


Say, shall we yield Him, in costly devotion, 
Odors of Edom, and oiferings divine — 


Nor all the gods beside 


Gems of the mountain, and pearls of the 


Longer dare abide — 


ocean — ■ 


Not Typhon huge, ending in snaky twine ; 


Myrrh from the forest, and gold from the 


Our babe, to show His God-head true, 


mine ? 


Can in His swaddling bands control the 




damned crew. 


Vainly we offer each ample oblation. 




Vainly with gold would His favor secure ; 


XXVI. 


Richer by far is the heart's adoration, 


So, when the sun in bed. 


Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor. 


Curtained with cloudy red, 

PDlows his chin upon an orient wave. 
The flocking shadows pale 


Brightest and best of the sons of the mornmg. 
Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine 
aid! 


Troop to the infernal jail — 
Each fettered ghost slips to his several 


Star of the east, tlie horizon adorning. 
Guide where our infant Eedeemer is laid! 


grave ; 


EEGtNALD HkbEK. 



MESSIAH. 



747 



MESSIAn. 

Yk nymphs of Solj'ma ! begin the song — 

To heavenly themes sublimer strains belong. 

The mossy fountains and the sylvan shades, 

The dreams of Piudus and the Aonian maids, 

Delight no more — O tliou my voice inspire 

Who touched Isaiah's hallowed lips with fire ! 
Eapt into future times the bard begun : 

A virgin shall conceive — a virgin bear a son ! 

From Jesse's root behold a branch arise 

Whose sacred flower with fragrance fills the 
skies ! 

The ethereal spirit o'er its leaves shall move, 

And on its top descends the mystic dove. 

Ye heavens ! from high the dewy nectar pour. 

And iQ soft silence shed the kindly shower ! 

The sick and weak the healing plant shall 
aid — 

From storm a shelter, and from heat a shade. 

All crimes shall cease, and ancient frauds 
shall fail ; 

Returning justice lift aloft her scale, 

Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend. 

And white-robed innocence from heaven de- 
scend. 

Swift fly the yeai-s, and rise the expected 
morn ! 

Oh spring to light ! auspicious babe, be born ! 

See, nature hastes her earliest wreatlis to 
bring, 

With all the incense of the breathing spring! 

See lofty Lebanon his head advance ; 

See nodding forests on the mountains dance ; 

See spicy clouds from lowly Sharon rise. 

And Carmel's flowery top perfumes the skies! 

Hark ! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers : 

Prepare the way ! a God, a God appears ! 

A God, a God ! the vocal hills reply — 

The rocks proclaim the approaching deity. 

Lo, earth receives Him from the bending 
skies ! 

Sink down, ye mountains; and ye valleys, 
rise ! 

With heads declined, ye cedars, homage pay ! 

Be smooth, ye rocks ; ye rapid floods, give 
way ! 

The Saviour comes ! by ancient bards fore- 
told— 

Uear Him, ye deaf; and all ye blind, behold ! 



He from thick films shall purge the visual 
ray, 

And on the sightless eyeball pour the day ; 

'T is He the obstructed paths of sound shall 
clear. 

And bid new music charm the unfolding ear ; 

The dumb shall sing; the lame his crutch 
forego, 

And leap exulting like the bounding roe. 

No sigh, no murmur, the wide world shall 
hear — 

From every face He wipes off every tear. 

In adamantine chains shall death be bound, 

And bell's grim tyrant feel the eternal wound. 

As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care. 

Seeks freshest pasture, and the purest air. 

Explores the lost, the wandering sheep di- 
rects, 

By day o'ersees them, and by night protects ; 

The tender lambs He raises in His arms — 

Feeds from His hand, and in His bosom 
warms : 

Thus shall mankind His guardian care en- 
gage— 

The promised father of the future age. 

No more shall nation against nation rise. 

Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes ; 

Nor fields with gleaming steel bo covered o'er, 

The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more ; 

But useless lances into scythes shall bend. 

And the broad falchion in a plough-share end. 

Then palaces shall rise ; the joyful son 

Shall finish what his short-lived sire begun ; 

Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield. 

And the same band that sowed shall reap the 
field; 

The swain in barren deserts with surprise 

Sees lilies spring and sudden verdure rise ; 

And starts, amidst the thirsty wilds, to hear 

New falls of water murmuring in his ear. 

On rifted rocks, the dragon's late abodes. 

The green reed trembles, and tlio bulrush 
nods; 

Waste sandy valleys, once perplexed with 
thorn. 

The spiry fir and shapely box adorn ; 

To leafless shrubs the fiowery palms succeed, 

And odorous myrtle to the noisome weed ; 

The lambs with wolves shall graze the ver- 
dant mead, 

And boys in flowery bauds the tiger lead ; 



748 



POEMS OF RELIGIOX. 



The steer and lion at one crib shall meet, 
And harmless serpents liok the pilgrim's 

feet. 
The smiling infant in his hand shall take 
The crested basilisk and speckled snake — 
Pleased, the gi-een lustre of the scales survey. 
And with their forked tongue shall innocent- 
ly play. 
Rise, crowned with light, imperial Salem, 

rise! 
Exalt thy towery head, and lift thine eyes! 
See a long race thy spacious courts adorn ; 
See future sons and daughters, yet unborn. 
In crowding ranks on every side arise. 
Demanding life, impatient for the skies ! 
See barb-irons nations at thy gates attend, 
Walk in tliy light, and in thy temple bend; 
See thy bright altars thronged with prostrate 

kings. 
And heaped with products of Sabean spriugs ! 
For thee Idume's spicy forests blow, 
An(\ seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains 

glow. 
Sec heaven its sparkling portals wide display, 
And break upon thee in a flood of day ! 
Xo more the rising sun shall gild the morn, 
Xor evening Cynthia fill her silver horn ; 
But lost, dissolved in thy superior rays, 
One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze, 
O'erflow thy courts ; the Light Himself shall 

shine 
Revealed, and God's eternal day be thine ! 
The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke de- 
cay, 
Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away ; 
But fixed His word. His saving power re- 
mains ; 
Thy realm for ever lasts, tliy own Messiah 
reigns ! 

Alexander Pope. 



TWELFTH DAY, OR THE EPIPHANY. 

That so Thy blessed bu-tb, Christ, 
Might tlirough the world be spread about. 
Thy star ajipearod in the east. 
Whereby the Gentiles found Thee out; 
And ofteriug Tliec niyrrli, incense, gold, 
Thv three-fold office did unfold. 



Sweet Jesus, let that star of Thine — 
Thy grace, which guides to find out Thee- 
Within our hearts for ever shine. 
That Thou of us found out mayst he; 
And Thou shalt be our king therefore. 
Our priest and prophet evermore. 

Tears that from true repentance drop, 
Instead of myrrh, present will we; 
For incense we will offer up 
Our prayers and praises unto Tliee ; 
And bring for gold each pious deed 
Which doth from saving grace proceed. 

And as those wise men never went 
To visit Herod any more ; 
So, finding Thee, we wUl repent 
Our courses followed heretofore ; 
And that we homewai-d may retire, 
The way by Thee we will inquire. 

Geogge IVrrHER. 



LINES 



ON THE CELEBRATED PICTUEE BY LEONARDO DA 
TlXCl, CALLED TUE VIRGIN OF THE ROCKS. 

While young John runs to greet 

The greater infant's feet. 

The mother standing by, with trembling 

passion 
Of devout admiration. 
Beholds the engaging mystic play, and 

pretty adoration ; 
Nor knows as yet the full event 
Of those so low beginnings 
From whence we date our winnings. 
But wonders at the intent 
Of those new rites, and what that strange 

child-worship meant. 
But at her side 
An angel doth abide. 
With such a perfect joy 
As no dim doubts alloy — 
An intuition, 
A glory, an amenity, 
Passing the dark condition 
Of blind humanity. 
As if he surely knew 
All the blest wonders sliould ensue. 



THE REIGN OF CHRIST ON EARTH. 



749 



Or lie had lately left the upper sphere, 
And had read all the sovereign schemes 
aud divine riddles there. 

CuAKLES Lamb. 



THE REIGN OF CHRIST ON EARTH. 

Hail to the Lord's anointed— 

Great David's greater Son ! 
Hail, in the time appointed. 

His reign on earth hegun ! 
He comes to break oppression. 

To set the captive free. 
To take away transgression. 

And rule in equity. 

He comes with succor speedy 

To those who suffer wrong ; 
To help the poor and needy. 

And bid the weak be strong ; 
To give them songs for sighing, 

Their darkness turn to light, 
Whose souls, condemned and dying. 

Were precious in His sight. 

By such shall He be feared 

While sun and moon endure — 
Beloved, obeyed, revered; 

For He shall judge the poor. 
Through changing generations. 

With justice, mercy, truth. 
While stars maintain their stations 

Or moons renew their youth. 

He shall come down like showers 

Upon the fruitful earth. 
And love, joy, hope, like flowers. 

Spring in His path to birth ; 
Before Him, on the mountains, 

Shall peace, the herald, go. 
And righteousness, in fountains. 

From hill to valley flow. 

Arabia's desert-ranger 

To Him shall bow the knee. 
The Etliiopian stranger 

His glory come to see ; 
With ofterings of devotion 

Ships from the isles shall meet, 
To pour the wealth of ocean 

In tribute at His feet. 



Kings shall fall down before Him, 

And gold and incense bring ; 
All nations shall adore Him, 

His praise all people sing ; 
For lie shall have dominion 

O'er river, sea, and shore. 
Far as the eagle's pinion 

Or dove's light wing can soar. 

For Him shall prayer unceasing, 

And daily vows, ascend — 
His kingdom still increasing, 

A kingdom without end ; 
The mountain dews shall nourish 

A seed in weakness sown, 
Whose fruit shall spread and flourish, 

And shake like Lebanon. 

O'er every foe victorious, 

He on His throne shall rest. 
From age to age more glorious, 

All-blessing and all- blest ; 
The tide of time shall never 

His covenant remove ; 
His name shall stand for ever ; 

That name to us is — love. 

JAJIE3 Montgomery. 



"JESUS SHALL REIGN." 

Jesus shall reign where'er the sun 
Does his successive journeys run, — 
His kingdom spread from shore to shore, 
Till moons shall wax and wane no more. 

From north to south the princes meet 
To pay their homage at His feet. 
While western empires own their Lord, 
And savage tribes attend His word. 

To Him shall endless prayer be made. 
And endless praises crown His head ; 
His name like sweet perfume shall rise 
With every morning sacrifice. 

People and realms of every tongue 
Dwell on His love with sweetest song, 
And infant voices shall proclaim 
Their early blessings on His name. 

Isaac Watts. 



750 POEMS OF 


RELIGIOX. 




Thither, by their Master brought, 


PASSION Sr>1)AY. 


His disciples likewise came ; 




There the heavenly truths He tanght 


TiTE royal banners forward go ; 


Often set their hearts on flame ; 


The cross sbines fortli in ravstic glow ; 


Therefore they, as well as He, 


■Where He in flesh, onr flesh who made, 


Visited Gethsemane. 


Onr sentence bore, onr ransom paid — 




■Where deep for us the spear was dyed. 


Oft conversing here they sat. 


Life's torrent rushing from His side, 


Or might .join ^-ith Christ in prayer ; 




Oh I what blest devotion that. 


To wash ns in that precious flood 




Where mingled water flowed and blood. 


"When the Lord Himself is there ! 
AU things thus did there agree 


Fulfilled is all that David told 


To endear Gethsemane. 


In true prophetic song of old : 




Amidst the nations, God, saith he. 


FuU of love to man's lost race. 


Hath reigned and triumphed from the tree. 


On the conflict much lie thought ; 




This He knew the destined place. 


tree of beauty, tree of light! 


And He loved the sacred spot ; 


tree with royal purple dight ! 


Therefore Jesus chose to be 


Elect on whose triumphal breast 


Often in Gethsemane. 


Those holy limbs should find their rest! 






Came at length the dreadful night; 


On whose dear arms, so widely flnng. 


Vengeance with its iron rod. 


The weight of this world's ransom hung — 


Stood, and with collected might 


The price of human kind to pay, 


Bruised the harmless Lamb of God ; 


And spoil the spoiler of his prey. 


See, my soul, thy Saviour see, 




Prostrate in Gethsemane ! 


To Thee, eternal three in one. 




Let homage meet by all be done, 


View Him in that olive press, 


"Whom by the cross Thou dost restore. 


Wrimg with angiiish, whelmed with 


Preserve and govern evermore. Amen. 


blood — 


Tenastics Foetunahts. (Latin.) 


Hear Him pray in His distress. 


Anonymous TranslatioD. 


With strong cries and tears, to God : 




Then reflect what sin must be, 
Gazing on Gethsemane. 




GETHSEMANE. 




JEsrs, while He dwelt below, 


Gloomy garden, on thy beds. 


As divine historians say. 


"Washed by Kedron's water pool. 


To a place would often go — 


Grow most rank and bitter weeds ! 


Near to Kedron's brook it lay. 


Think on these, my soul, my soul ! 


In this place He loved to be. 


Wonldst thou sin's dominion see — 


And 't was named Gethsemane. 


Call to mind Gethsemane. 


'T was a garden, as we read. 


Eden, from each flowery bed. 


At the foot of Olivet — 


Did for man short sweetness breathe : 


Low, and proper to be made 


Soon, by Satan's counsel led, 


The Redeemer's lone retreat ; 


Man wrought sin, and sin wrought death ; 


"When from noise he would be free. 


But of life the healing tree 


Then lie sought Gethsemane, 


Grows in rich Gethsemane. 



WEEPING MARY. 751 


Hither, Lord, Thou didst resort 


"It is finished ! " — hear the cry — 


Ofttirues with Thy httle train ; 


Learn of Jesus Christ to die. 


Ilcro wouldst keep Thy private court — 




Oh ! confer that grace again ; 


Early hasten to the tomb 


Lord, resort with worthless me, 


Where they laid His breathless clay — 


Ofttimes to Gethsemane. 


All is solitude and gloom ; 




Who hath taken Him away ? 


True, I can't deserve to share 


Christ is risen ! — he meets our eyes! 


In a favor so divine ; 


Saviour, teach us so to rise ! 


But since sin first fixed Thee there. 


James Montqomeev. 


None have greater sins than mine ; 
And to this my woeful plea 






Witness thou, Gethsemane ! 






WEEPING MARY. 


Sins against a holy God, 


Maht to her Saviour's tomb 


Sins against His righteous laws, 


Hasted at the early dawn ; 


Sins against His love, Uis blood. 


Spice she brought, and rich perfume — 


Sins against His name and cause. 


But the Lord she loved was gone. 


Sins immense as is the sea — 


For a wliile she weeping stood. 


Hide me, Gethsemane ! 


Struck with sorrow and surprise, 




Shedding tears, a plenteous flood — 


Saviour, all the stone remove 


For her heart supplied her eyes. 


From my flinty, frozen heart ! 




Thaw it with the beams of love, 


Jesus, who is always near, 


Pierce it with Thy mercy's dart! 


Though too often unperceived. 


Wound the heart that wounded Thee ! 


Comes his drooping child to cheer, 


Break it, in Gethsemane ! 


Kindly asking why she grieved. 


Joseph Haet. 


Though at first she knew him not — 




When He called her by her name. 
Then her griefs were all forgot. 




GETHSEMANE. 


For she found He was the same. 


Go to dark Gethsemane, 


Grief and sighing quickly fled 


Ye that feel the tempter's power ; 


When she heard His welcome voice ; 


Your Redeemer's conflict see. 


Just before she thought Him dead, 


Watch with Him one bitter hour; 


Now He bids her heart rejoice. 


Turn not from his griefs away — 


What a change His word can make, 


Learn of Jesus Christ to pray ! 


Turning darkness into day ! 




Y'ou who weep for Jesns' sake, 


Follow to the judgment-hall— 


He will wipe yonr tears away. 


View the Lord of life arraigned ! 




Oh the wormwood and the gall ! 


He who came to comfort her 


Oh the pangs his soul sustained ! 


When she thought her all was lost. 


Shun not suffering, shame, or loss — 


Will for your relief appear. 


Learn of Him to bear the cross ! 


Though you now are tempest-tossed. 




On His word your burden cast. 


Calvary's mournful mountain climb ; 


On His love your thoughts employ ; 


There, adoring at His feet. 


Weeping for a while may last, 


Mark tliat miracle of time — 


But the morning brings the joy. 


God's own sacrifice complete ! 


John Newton. 



V52 POEMS OF 


RELIGION. 




Consort both harp and lute, and twist a song 


AN EASTER IITM^r. 


Pleasant and long ! 


Awake, thou wintry earth — 


Or since all music is but three jjarts vied 


Fling off thy sadness ! 


And umltiplied. 


Fair vernal flowers, laugh forth 


Oh let thy blessed Spirit boar a part. 


Your ancient gladness ! 


And make up our defects with His sweet art. 


Christ is risen ! 






I got me flowers to strew tby way — 


Wave, woods, your blossoms all — 


I got me boughs off many a tree ; 


Grini death is dead ! 


Bnt thou wast up by break of day, 


Ye weeping funeral trees, 


And broughtst thy sweets along with thee. 


Lift up your head 1 




Christ is risen ! 






The sun arising in the cast, 


Come, see ! the graves arc green ; 


Thougli he give light, and th' east perfume, 


It is light ; let 's go 


If they should offer to contest 


Where our loved ones rest 


With Thy arising, they presume. 


In hope below ! 




Christ is risen ! 


Can there bo any G.ay but this. 




Tliough many suns to shine endeavor ? 


All is fresh and new, 


We count three hundred, but wo miss — 


Full of spring and light ; 


There is but one, and that one ever. 


Wintry heart, why wear'st the hue 




Of sleep and night ? 


Oeosqe Herbert. 


Clirist is risen ! 

Leave thy cares beneath. 
Leave thy worldly love ! 




HYMN. 


Begin the better life 


From my lips in their defilement, 


With God above ! 


From my lieart in its beguilemcnt, 


Christ is risen ! 


From my tongue which sjieaks not fair. 


Thomas Blackburn. 


From my soul stained everywhere — 




my Jesus, take my prayer ! 




EASTEE. 






Spurn me not, for all it says,— 


Rise, heart! thy Lord is risen. Sing His 


Not for words, and not for fl-ays, — 


praise 


Not for sliamelcssness endured ! 


Without delays 


Make me brave to speak my mood, 


Who takes thee by the hand, that thou like- 


my Jesus, as I would ! 


wise 


Or teach me, which I rather seek, 


With Him mayst rise — 


What to do and what to speak. 


That, as His death calcined thee to dust. 




His life may make thee gold, and much more 


I luive sinned more than she 


just. 


Wlio, learning where to meet with Thee, 


Awake, my Inte, and struggle for thj- part 


And bringing myrrh the highest priced. 


With all thy art! 


Anointed bravely, from her knee, 


The cross taught all wood to resound Ills name 


Thy blessed feet accordingly — 


Who bore the same ; 


My God, my Lord, my Christ ! 


His stretched sinews tauglit all strings what 


As thou saidest not " Depart," 


key 


To that sujipliant from her heart, 


Is best to celebrate this most high day. 


Scorn me not, Word, that art 



I JOURNEY THROUGH A DESERT DREAR AND WILD. 



753 



The gentlest one of all words said ! 
But give Thy feet to me instead, 
That tenderly I may them kiss, 
And clasp thera close, and never miss, 
With over-dropping tears, as free 
And precious as that myrrh could be, 
T' anoint them bravely from my knee ! 

Wash me with Tliy tears ! draw nigh me. 

That their salt may purify me ! 

Thou remit my sius who knowest 

AU the sinning, to the lowest — 

Knowest all my wounds, and seest 

All the stripes Thyself decreest ; 

Yea, but knowest all my faith — 

Seest all my force to death, — 

Hearest all my wailings low 

That mine evil should be so ! 

Nothing hidden but appears 

In Thy knowledge, O Divine, 

O Creator, Saviour mine ! — 

Not a drop of falling tears. 

Not a breath of inward moan, 

Not a heart-beat — which is gone ! 

St. Joannes Damasoenus. (Greek.) 
Translation of E. B. Browning. 



MY GOD, I LOVE THEE. 

Mt God, I love Thee ! not because 
I hope for heaven thereby ; 

Nor because those who love Thee not 
Must burn eternally. 

Thou, O my Jesus, Thou didst me 

Upon the cross embrace ! 
For me didst bear the nails and spear, 

And manifold disgrace. 

And griefs and torments numberless, 

And sweat of agony. 
Yea, death itself — and all for one 

That was Thine enemy. 

Then why, blessed Jesus Christ, 
Should I not love Thee well ? 

Not for the hope of winning heaven, 
Nor of escaping hell ! 
49 



Not with the hope of gaining aught, 

Not seeking a reward ; 
But as Thyself hast loved me, 

O everlasting Lord ! 

E'en so I love Thee, and will love, 
And in Thy praise will sing — 

Solely because thou art my God, 
And my eternal king. 

St. Feancis Xaviee. (Latin.) 
Translation of Edwaed Caswell. 



"I JOUENEY THROUGH A DESERT 
DREAR AND WILD." 

I JOUKNET through a desert drear and wild, 

Yet is my heart by such sweet thoughts be- 
guiled 

Of Him on whom I lean, my strength, my 
stay, 

I can forget the sorrows of the way. 

Thoughts of Hislove — the root of every grace. 

Which finds in this poor heart a dwelling- 
place ; 

The sunshine of my soul, than day more 
bright. 

And my calm pillow of repose by night. 

Thoughts of His sojourn in this vale of tears — 
The tale of love unfolded in those years 
Of sinless suffering, and patient grace, 
I love again and yet again to trace. 

Thoughts of His glory — on the cross I gaze. 
And there behold its sad, yet healing rays ; 
Beacon of hope, which hfted up on high, 
lUumes with heavenly light the tear-dimmed 
eye. 

Thoughts of His coming — for that joyful day 
In patient hope I watch, and wait, and pray ; 
The dawn draws nigh, the midnight shadows 

flee. 
Oh ! what a sunrise will that advent be ! 

Thus while I journey on, my Lord to meet. 
My thoughts and meditations are so sweet, 
Of Him on whom I lean, my strength, my 

stay, 
I can forget the sorrows of the way. 

Anontmous. 



154 



POEMS OF RELIGION'. 



WEESTLDvG JACOB. 

FIEST PAET. 

Come, O Thou traveller unknown, 
Whom still I hold, but cannot see ; 

My company before is gone, 
And I am left alone with Thee; 

Vith Thee all night I mean to stav, 

And wrestle tUl the break of day. 

I need not teU Thee who I am ; 

My sin and misery declare ; 
Thyself hast called me by my name ; 

Look on Thy hands, and read it there ; 
But who, I ask Thee, who art Tliou? 
TeU me Thy name, and tell me now. 

In vain Thou strngglest to get free ; 

I never will unloose ray hold : 
Art Thou the man that died for me ? 

The secret of Thy love unfold ; 
'Wrestling, I wlU not let Thee go. 
Till I Thy name. Thy nature know. 

Wilt Thou not yet to me reveal 

Thy new, unutterable name ? 
Tell me, I still beseech Thee, tell ; 

To know it now resolved I am ; 
Wrestling, I wiU not let Thee go. 
Till I Thy name. Thy nature know. 

Wh.at though my shrinking flesh complain 
And murmur to contend so long ; 

I rise superior to my pain ; 
When I am weak, then am I strong ! 

And when my all of strength shall fail, 

I shall with the God-man prevail. 



SECOND PART. 

Yield to me now, for I am weak, 

But confident in self-despair; 
Spesik to my heart, in blessings sp 

Be conquered by my instant prayer ; 
Speak, or Thou never hence shall move. 
And tell me if Thy name be Love. 

'T is love! 'tis love! Thou diedst for me ; 

I hear Thy whisper in my heart; 
The morning breaks, the shadows flee ; 

Pure, universal love Thou art; 



To me, to all. Thy bowels move, 
Thy nature and Thy name is Love. 

My prayer hath power with God ; the grace 

Unspeakable I now receive ; 
Through faith I see Thee face to face; 

I see Thee face to face and live ! 
In vain I have not wept and strove ; 
Thy nature and Thy name is Love. 

I know Tliee, Saviour, v,ho Thou art, 
Jesus, the feeble sinner's friend ; 

Kor wilt Thou with the night depart, 
But stfiy and love rae to the end ; 

Thy mercies never shall remove ; 

Thy nature and Thy name is Love. 

The sun of righteousness on me 
Ilath rose, with healing in his wings ; 

Withered my nature's strength ; from Thee 
My soul its life and snccor brings ; 

My help is all laid up above ; 

Thy nature and Thy name is Love. 

Contented now upon my thigh 
I halt, till life's short journey end ; 

All helplessness, all weakness, I 
On Thee alone for strength depend ; 

Nor have I power from Thee to move ; 

Tliy nature and Thy name is Love. 

Lame as I am, I take the prey ; 

Hell, earth, and sin, with ease o'ercome; 
I leap for joy, pursue my way. 

And, as a bounding hart, fly home ; 
Through all eternity to prove 
Thy nature and Thy name is Love. 

CllARLEd WeSLBT. 



THE CALL. 

Come, my way, my truth, my life, — 
Such a way as gives us breath ; 
Such a trutli as ends all strife; 
Such a life as killeth death. 

Come my light, my feast, my strength I- 
Such a light as shows a feast ; 
Such a feast as mends in length : 
Sucli a strength as makes His guest. 



THE ODOR. 



755 



Come my joy, my love, my heart ! 
Such a joy as none can move ; 
Sucb a love as none can part; 
Such a heart as joys in love. 



George Hebbebt. 



THE STRANGER AND HIS FRIEND. 

A POOR wayfaring man of grief 

Hath often crossed me on my way. 
Who sued so humbly for relief 

That I could never answer " Nay." 
I had not power to ask His name, 
Whither He went, or whence He came ; 
Yet there was something in His eye 
Tliat won my love, — I knew not why. 

Once, when my scanty meal was spread, 
He entered. Not a word He spake. 

Just perishing for want of bread, 
I gave Him all ; He blessed it, brake. 

And ate; — but gave me part again. 

Mine was an angel's portion then ; 

For while I fed with eager haste, 

That crust was manna to my taste. 

I spied Him where a fountain burst 
Clear from the rock ; His strength was 
gone; 
Tlie heedless water mocked His thirst; 

He heard it, saw it hurrying on. 
I ran to raise the sufferer up ; 
Thrice from the stream He drained my cup. 
Dipped, and returned it running o'er ; — 
I drank, and never thirsted more. 

'T was night ; the floods were out,— it blew 

A winter hurricane aloof; 
I heard His voice abroad, and flew 

To bid Him welcome to my roof; 
I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest- 
Laid Him on my own couch to rest ; 
Tlien made the earth my bed, and seemed 
In Eden's garden while I dreamed. 

Stripped, wounded, beaten nigh to death, 
I found Him by the highway side ; 

I roused His pulse, brought back Ilis breath, 
Revived His spirit and supplied 



Wine, oil, refreshment; He was healed. 
I had, myself, a wound concealed — 
But from that hour forgot the smart, 
And peace bound up my broken heart. 

In prison I saw Him next, condemned 

To meet a traitor's doom at mom ; 
The tide of lying tongues I stemmed. 

And honored Him midst shame and scorn. 
My friendship's utmost zeal to try. 
He asked if I for Him would die ; 
The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill. 
But the free spirit cried, " I will." 

Then in a moment, to my view, 
The stranger darted from disguise ; 

The tokens in His hands I knew — 
My Saviour stood before mine eyes. 

He spake ; and my poor name he named — 

" Of me thou hast not been ashamed ; 

These deeds shall thy memorial be ; 

Fear not ! thou didst them unto me." 

James Montgomeey. 



THE ODOR. 

How sweetly doth My Master sound ! — My 
Master ! 
As ambergris leaves a rich scent 

Unto the taster, 
So do these words a sweet content 
An oriental fragrancy — My Master ! 

With these all day I do perfume my mind. 
My mind even thrust into them both — 

That I might find 
What cordials make this curious broth. 
This broth of smells, that feeds and fats my 
mind. 

My Master shall I speak ? Oh that to Thee 
My servant were a little so 

As flesh may be ; 
That these two words might creep and 
grow 
To some degree of spiciness to Thee ! 

Then should the pomander, which was before 
A speaking sweet, mend by reflection. 

And tell me more : 
For pardon of my imperfection 

Would warm and work it sweeter than before. 



756 POEMS OF 


RELIGION. 


For when My Master, which alone is sweet, 


Such a sure part 


And e'en in my nnworthiness pleasing, 


In His blest heart. 


Shall call and meet 


The well where living waters spring, 


My servant, as Thee not displeasing. 


That, with it fed. 


That call is but the breathing of the sweet. 


Poor dust, though dead, 




Shall rise again, and live, and sing. 


This breathing would with gains, by sweet- 




'ning me, 
(As sweet things traffick when they meet) 


drink and bread. 
Which strikes death dead. 


Return to Thee ; 
And so this new commerce and sweet 

Should all my life employ, and busy me. 

Geobqe Hbbbeet. 


The food of man's immortal being ! 

Under veils here 

Thou art my cheer. 
Present and sure without my seeing. 

How dost Thou fly, 
And search and pry 


THE FEAST. 


On come away ! 


Through all my parts, and, like a quick 


Make no delay — 


And knowing lamp. 


Come while my heart is clean and steady 1 


Hunt out each damp 


While faith and grace 


Whose shadow makes me sad or sick. 


Adorn the place, 




Making dust and ashes ready ! 


Oh what high joys ! 


No bliss here lent 
Is permanent — 
Such triumphs poor flesh cannot merit ; 
Short sips and sights 
Endear delights ; 


The turtle's voice 
And songs I hear ! quick'ning showers 

Of my Lord's blood. 

You make rocks bud. 
And crown dry hiUs with wells and flowers I 


"Who seeks for more he would inherit. 






For this true ease. 


Come then, true bread, 


This healing peace. 


Quick'ning the dead, 
Whose eater shall not, cannot die ! 


For this brief taste of living glory, 
My soul and aU, 


Come, antedate 


Eieel down and fall. 


On me that state 


And sing His sad victorious story I 


Which brings poor dust the victory ! — 




Aye, victory ! 

Which from thine eye, 
Breaks as the day doth from the east. 

When the spilt dew. 

Like tears, doth shew 
The sad world wept to be releast. 


thorny crown. 
More soft than down ! 

painful cross, my bed of rest ! 
speai', the key 
Opening the way ! 

Thy worst state my only best ! 


Spring up, wine ! 


Oh, all Thy griefs 


And springing shine 


Are my reliefs. 


With some glad message from His heart. 


As all my sins Thy sorrows were ! 


Who did, when slain. 


And what can I 


These means ordain 


To this reply ? 


For me to have in Him a part ! — 


What, God ! but a silent tear ! 



THE FLOWER. 767 


Some toil and so w 


Of hot Arabia do enrich the air 


That wealth may flow, 


With more delicious sweetness than the fair 


And dress this earth for nest year's meat ; 


Reports that crown the merits of Thy name 


But let me heed 


With heavenly laurels of eternal fame, 


Why Thou didst bleed, 


Which makes the virgins fix their eyes upon 


And what in the next world to eat. 


Thee, 


Hesey Vaughas. 


And all that view Thee are enamored on Thee. 

Wno ever smelt the breath of morning fiow- 
ers 


COMPLAmiNG. 


Do not beguile my heart. 


New sweetened witli the dash of twilight 


Because Thou art 


showers. 


My power and wisdom ! Put me not to shame, 


Of pounded amber, or the flowing thyme, 


Because I am 


Or purple violets in their proudest prime. 


Thy clay that sweeps. Thy dust that calls ! 


Or swelling clusters from the cypress-tree ? 




So sweet 's my love ; aye, far more sweet is 


Thou art the Lord of glory — 


He 


The deed and story 


So fair, so sweet, that heaven's bright eye is 


Are both Thy due ; but I a silly fly. 


dim, 


That live or die 


And flowers have no scent, compared with 


According as the weather falls. 


Him. 


Art Thou all justice, Lord ? 


Feanois Quakleb. 


Shows not Thy word 




More attributes ? Am I all throat or eye, 


THE FLOWER. 


To weep or cry ? 




Have I no parts but those of grief? 


How fresh, 0, Lord, how sweet and clean 




Are thy returns! e'en as the flowers in 


Let not Tliy wrathful power 


spring- 


Afflict my hour. 


To which, besides their own demean. 


My inch of life ; or let Thy gracious power 


The late-past ft-osts tributes of pleasure brmg. 


Contract my hour, 


Grief melts away' 


That I may climb and find relief. 


Like snow in May, 


Geoege Heebeet. 


As if there were no such cold thing. 
Who would have thought ray shrivelled 




SONNETS. 


heart 




Could have recovered greenness ? It was gone 


How orient is Thy beauty ! How divine ! 


Quite under ground ; as flowers depart 


How dark 's the glory of the earth to Thine ! 


To see their mother-root when they have 


Thy veiled eyes outshine heaven's greater 


blown, 


light. 


Where they together. 


TJnconquered by the shady cloud of night ; 


All the hard weather. 


Tliy curious tresses dangle, all unbound. 


Dead to the world, keep house unknown. 


With unaffected order to the ground : 




How orient is Thy beauty ! How divine ! 


These are Thy wonders. Lord of power : 


How dark 's the glory of the earth to Thine ! 


Killing and quick'ning, bringing down to hell 




And up to heaven in an hour, 




Making a chiming of a passing-bell. 


Nor myrrh, nor cassia, nor the choice per- 


We say amiss. 


fumes 


This or that is — 


Of unctions nard, or aromatic fumes 


Thy word is aU, if we could spell. 



758 POEMS OF 


RELIGION. 


Oh, that I once past changing were — 


AH for sin could not atone — 


Fast in Thy paradise, -where no flower can 


Thon must save, and Thou alone. 


witlicr ! 




Many a spring I shoot up fair. 


Nothing in my hand I bring — 


Ofl'ering at heaven, growing and groaning 


Simply to Thy cross I cling ; 


thither ; 


Naked come to Thee for dress — 


Nor doth my flower 


Helpless look to Thee for grace ; 


Want a spring-shower, 


Foul, I to the fountain fly — 


My sins and I joining together. 


Wash mo, SaWour, or I die. 


But, wliile I grow in a straight line, 


While I draw this fleeting breath, 


Still upwards hent, as if heaven were mine 


When my eye-strings break in death. 


own, 


When I soar to worlds unknown. 


Thy anger comes, and I decline ; 


See Thee on Thy iudgment throne. 


What frost to that ? what jjolo is not the zone 


Rook of ages, cleft for me. 


Where all things burn. 


Let mo hide myself in Thee! 


When Thou dost turn 






AcQUSTna MoNXAOtrs Toplabt. 


And the least frown of Thine is shown ? 
And now in age I bud again — 






After so many deaths I live and write ; 


JESUS. 


I once more smell the dew and rain, 






None upon earth I desire beside Thee. 


And relish versing ; my only light. 


Psalm Ixxiii. 25. 


It cannot be 




That I am he 


How tedious and tasteless the hours 


On whom Tiiy tempests fell all night ! 


When Jesus no longer I see ! 




Sweet prospects, sweet birds, and sweet 


These are Thy wonders, Lord of love — 


flowers, 


To make us see we are but flowers that 


Have lost all their sweetness witli me ; 


glide ; 


The midsummer sun shines but dim. 


Which when we once can find and 


The flelds strive in vain to look gay ; 


prove. 


But when I am happy in Him, 


Thou hast a garden for us where to bide. 


December 's as pleasant as May. 


Who would bo more, 




Swelling through store, 


His name yields the richest perfume, 


Forfeit their paradise by their pride. 


And sweeter than music His voice ; 


Ghorqe Herbert. 


His presence disperses my gloom, 




And makes all within mo rejoice; 


' 




I should, were He always thus nigh, 


A PRAYER LF^ING AKD DYING. 


Have nothing to wish or to fear ; 


Rook of ages, cleft for me. 


No mortal so happy as I — 


Let me hide myself in Thee ! 


My summer would last all the year. 


Let the water and the blood, 




From Thy riven side which flowed. 


Content with beholding His face, 


Be of sin the double cure — 


My all to His pleasure resigned, 


Cleanse me from its gdt and power. 


No changes of season or place 




Would make any change in my mind ; 


Not the labors of ray hands 


While blest with a sense of His love 


Can fulfil Thy law's demands ; 


A palace a toy would appear ; 


Could my zeal no respite know, 


And prisons would palaces prove. 


Could my tears for ever flow. 


If Jesus would dwell with me there. 



THE WATCHMAN'S REPORT. 759 


Dear Lord, if indeed I am Thine, 


Ye who, tossed on beds of pain, 


If Thou art my sun and my song — 


Seek for ease, but seek in vain — 


Say, why do I languish and pine, 


Ye whose swollen and sleepless eyes 


And wliy are my winters so long ? 


Watch to see the morning rise — 


Oh drive these dark clouds from my sky. 




Thy soul-eheeriug presence restore ; 




Or take me unto Thee on high. 


Ye by fiercer anguish torn, 


Where winter and clouds are no more. 


In strong remorse for guilt who mourn, 


John Newton. 


Here repose your heavy care — 




A wounded spirit who can bear! 
Sinner, come 1 for here is found 


THE EXAMPLE OF CHRIST. 




Balm that flows for every wound — 


My dear Redeemer, and my God, 


Peace, that ever shall endure — 


I read my duty in Thy word ; 


Rest eternal, sacred, sure. 


But in Thy life the law appears 


Anna L^titia Baebauld. 


Drawn out in living characters. 

Such was Thy trutli, and such Thy zeal, 
Such deference to Thy Father's will. 




THE WATCHMAN'S REPORT. 


Such love, and meekness so divine. 




I would transcrihe, and make them mine. 


Watchman, tell us of the night — 




What its signs of promise are ! 


Cold mountains, and the midnight air, 
Witnessed the fervor of Thy prayer; 
The desert Thy temptations knew — 
Thy conflict, and Thy victory too. 


Traveller, o'er yon mountain's height 
See that glory-beaming star! 

Watchman, does its beauteous ray 
Aught of hope or joy foretell ? 

Traveller, yes ; it brings the day — 




Promised day of Israel. 


Be thou my pattern ; make me bear 




More of Thy gracious image here ; 

Then God, the Judge, shall own my name 


Watchman, tell us of the night — 


Amongst the followers of the Lamb. 

Isaac Watts. 


Higher yet that star ascends ! 
Traveller, blessedness and light, 




Peace and truth, its course portends. 


• 


Watchman, will its beams alone 


COME UNTO ME. 


Gild the spot that gave them birth ? 
Traveller, ages are its own — 


" Come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden, 


See, it bursts o'er all the earth ! 


and I will give you rest." 




Come, said Jesus' sacred voice — 


Watchman, tell us of the night, 


Come and make my paths your choice ! 


For the morning seems to dawn. 


I will guide you to your home — 


Traveller, darkness takes its flight — 


AVeary pilgrim, hither come ! 


Doubt and terror ai-e withdrawn. 




Watchman, let thy wandering cease ; 


Thou who, houseless, sole, forlorn. 


Hie thee to thy quiet home. 


Long hast borne the proud world's scorn. 


Traveller, lo ! the prince of peace — 


Long hast roamed the barren waste. 


Lo ! the Son of God is come. 


A¥eary pilgrim, hither haste I 


John Bowkino. 



760 POEMS 01 


RELIGION. 


"JESUS, LOVER OF MY SOUL." 


" JESUS, MY STRENGTH, MY HOPE." 


Jesus, lover of my soul. 


Jesus, my strength, my hope. 


Let me to Thy bosom fly, 


On Thee I cast my care — 


■While the nearer waters roll, 


With humble confideuce look up, 


While the tempest still is high! 


And know thou hear'st my prayer. 


Hide me, my Saviour, hide. 


Give me on Thee to wait 


Till the storm of life is past : 


Till I can all things do- 


Safe into Thy haven guide — 


On Thoe, almighty to create. 


Oh receive my soul at last^ 


Almighty to renew. 




I want a sober mind. 


Other refuge have I none — 


A self-renouncing will 


Hangs my helpless soul on Thee ; 


That tramples down, and casts heliind, 


Leave, ah ! leave me not alone — 


The baits of pleasing ill — 


Still support and comfort me. 


A soul inured to pain. 


All my trust on Thee is stayed, 


To hardship, grief, and loss — 


All my help from Thee I bring: 


Bold to take up, firm to sustain, 


Cover my defenceless head 


The consecrated cross. 


With the shadow of Thy wing. 






I want a godly fear. 




A quick discerning eye, 


Wilt Thou not regard my call? 


That looks to Thee when sin is near. 


Wilt Thou not rogai-d my prayer? 


And sees the tempter fly— 


Lol I sink, I faint, I fall— 


A spirit still prepared, 


Lo ! on Thee I cast my care ; 


And armed with jealous care — 


Reach me out Thy gracious hand. 


Forever standing on its guard. 


While I of Thy strength receive ! 


And watching unto prayer. 


Hoping against hope I stand — 




Dying, and behold I live. 


I want a heart to pray. 




To pray, and never cease ; 




Never to murmur at Thy stay, 


Thou, Christ, art all I want — 


Or wish ray sufferings less. 


More than all in Thee I find ; 


This blessing, above all. 


Raise the fallen, cheer the ftiint, 


Always to pray, I want, — 


Heal the sick, and lead the bhnd. 


Out of the deep on Thee to call, 


Just and holy is Thy name — 


And never, never faiut. 


I am all unrighteousness ; 




False, and full of sin I am : — 


I want a true regard — 


Thou art full of truth and grace. 


A single, steady aim 




(Unmoved by threatening or reward), 




To Thee and Thy great name — 


Plenteous grace with Thee is found, — 


A jealous, just concern 


Grace to cover all my sia ; 


For Thine immortal praise — 


Let the healing streams abound — 


A pure desire tliat all may learn 


Make and keep me pure within. 


And glorify Thy grace. 


Thou of life the fountain art — 




Freely let me take of Thee; 


I rest upon Thy word, — 


Spring Tliou up within my heart — 


The promise is for me ; 


Rise to all eternity. 


My succor and s.ilvation. Lord, 


Charles Wesley. 


Shall surely conic from Thee ; 



ETERNAL BEAM OF LIGHT DIVINE. 



761 



But let me still abide, 

Xor from my hope remove, 

Till Tliou my patieut spirit guide 
Into Thy perfect love. 

CnAELES Weslet. 



LIVING BY CHRIST. 

Jesus, Thy boundless love to me 

No thought can reach, no tongue declare ; 
Oh knit my thankful heart to Thee, 

And reign without a rival there. 
Thine wholly, Thine alone, I am — 
Be Thou alone my constant flame. 

Oh grant that nothing in my soul 
May dwell but Thy pure love alone ; 

Oh may Thy love possess me whole — 
My joy, my treasure, and my crown ! 

Strange flames far from my lieart remove — 

My every act, word, thoiiglit, be love. 

Love, how cheering is Thy ray ! 

AU pain before Thy presence flies ; 
Care, anguish, sorrow, melt away 

Wliere'er Tliy liealing beams arise ; 
O Jesu, notliiug may I see. 
Nothing desire or seek, but Thee ! 

Unwearied may I this pursue — 
Dauntless, to the high prize aspire ; 

Hourly within my soul renew 

This holy flame, this heavenly fire ; 

And, day and night, be all my care 

To guard the sacred treasure tliere. 

My Saviour, Thou Tliy love to me 
In shame, in want, in pain, hast showed ; 

For me, on the accursed tree. 

Thou pouredst forth Tliy guiltless blood ; 

Thy wounds upon ray lieart impress. 

Nor aught shall the loved stamp efface. 

More hard than marble is my heart. 
And foul with sins of deepest stain ; 

But Thou the mighty Saviour art, 

Nor flowed Thy cleansing blood in vain ; 

Ah, soften, melt this rock, and may 

Thy blood wash all these stains away ! 



Oh that I, as a little child, 
May follow Thee, and never rest 

Till sweetly Thou hast breathed Thy mild 
And lowly mind into my breast ! 

Nor ever may we parted bo 

Till I become one spirit with Thee. 

Still let Thy love point out my way ! 

How wondrous things Thy love hath 
wrought ! 
Still lead me, lest I go astray — 

Direct my word, inspire my thought ; 
As if I fall, soon may I hear 
Thy voice, and know that love is near. 

In suffering be Thy love my peace, 
In weakness be Thy love ray power ; 

And when the storms of life shall cease, 
Jesus, in that important hour, 

In death, as life, be Thou my guide, 

And save me, who for me hast died. 

Paiti, Geedaed. (German.) 
Translation of John Wesley. 



" ETERNAL BEAM OF LIGHT DIVINE." 

Eteksai beam of light divine, 

Fountain of unexhausted love, 
In whom the Father's glories shine 

Through earth beneath, and heaven above ! 



Jesus, the weary wanderer's rest, 
Give me Thy easy yoke to bear ; 

With steadfast patience arm my breast. 
With spotless love and lowly fear. 



Thankful I take the cup from Tliee, 
Prepared and mingled by Thy skill — 

Though bitter to the taste it be, 
Powerful the wounded soul to heal. 



Be thou, Rock of Ages, nigh ! 

So shall each murmuring thought be gone ; 
And grief, and fear, and care shall fly 

As clouds before the raid-day sun. 



762 POEMS OP 


RELIGION. 


Speak to my warring passions, — Peace! 


Perfect let us walk before Thee — 


Say to my trembling heart, — Be still ! 


Walk in white 


Thy power my strength and fortress is. 


To the sight 


For all things serve Thy sovereign will. 


Of Thy heavenly glory ! 


death! where is thy sting? Where now 


Both with calm impatience press on 


Thy boasted victory, grave ? 


To the prize — 


Who shall contend with God 1 or who 


Scale the skies. 


Can hurt whom God delights to save ? 


Take entire possession- 


CaABLES Wesley. 






Drink of life's exhaustless river — 
Take of Thee 




"FRIEND OF ALL." 


Life's fair tree- 


Feiend of all who seek Thy favor, 


Eat, and live for ever ! 

Chaeles Wesley. 


Us defend 
To the end — 






Be our utmost Saviour I 






LITANY. 


Us, who join on earth to adore Thee, 

Guard and love, 

Till above 
Both appear before Thee I 


Satiour, when in dust to Thee 
Low we bow the adoring knee ; 
When, repentant, to the skies 
Scarce we lift our weeping eyes — 




0, by all Thy pains and woe 


Fix ou Thee our whole affection- 


Suffered once for man below. 


Love divine. 


Bending from Thy throne on high, 


Keep us Thine, 


Hear our solemn litany ! 


Safe in Thy protection ! 






By Thy helpless infant years ; 


Christ, of all onr conversation 


By Thy life of want and tears ; 


Be the scope — 


By Thy daj's of sore distress. 


Lift us up 


In the savage wilderness ; 


To Thy full salvation ! 


By the dread, mysterious hour 




Of the insulting tempter's power — 


Bring ns every moment nearer ; 
Fairer rise 


Turn, turn, a favoring eye — 
Hear our solemn litany ! 


In our eyes — 




Dearer still, and dearer ! 


By the sacred griefs that wept 




O'er the grave where Lazarus slept ; 


Infinitely dear and precious. 


By the boding tears that flowed 


With Thy love 


Over Salem's loved abode ; 


From above 


By the anguished sigh that told 


Evermore refresh us ! 


Treachery lurked within the fold — 




From Tliy seat above the sky 


Strengthened by the cordial blessing. 


Hear our solemn litany ! 


Let us haste 




To the feast. 


By Thine hour of dire despair ; 


Feast of joys unceasing ! 


By Thine agony of prayer ; 



HYMNS. 763 


By the cross, the wail, the thorn. 


When sorrowing o'er some stone I bend, 


Piercing spear, and torturing scorn ; 


Which covers what was once a friend, 


By the gloom that veiled the skies 


And from his voice, his hand, his smile. 


O'er the dreadful sacrifice — 


Divides me for a little while ; 


Listen to our humble cry : 


Thou, Saviom-, mark'st the tears I shed, 


Hear our solemn litany ! 


For Thou didst weep o'er Lazarus dead. 


By Thy deep expiring groan ; 


And oh, when I have safely past 


By the sad sepulchral stone ; 


Through every conflict — but the last, 


By the vault whose dark abode 


Still, still unchanging, watch beside 


Held in vain the rising God ! 


My painful bed, — for Thou hast died ; 


Oh ! from earth to heaven restored, 


Then point to realms of cloudless day. 


Mighty, reascended Lord — 


And wipe the latest tear away. 


Listen, listen to the cry 


8m EOBERT Geaht. 


Of our solemn litany ! 




SiE Robert Grant. 


— . — 


1 


RYKS 


HYMN. 






FOR SIXTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. 


■Whejt gathering clouds around I view, 




And days are dark, and friends are few, 


When our heads are bowed with woe, 


On Him I lean, who, not in vain, 


When our bitter tears o'erflow. 


Experienced every human pain ; 


When we mourn the lost, the dear : 


He sees my wants, allays my fears, 


Gracious Son of Mary, hear ! 


And counts and treasures up my tears. 




If aught should tempt my soul to stray 
From heavenly wisdom's narrow way. 
To fly the good I would pursue. 
Or do the sin I would not do, — 


Thou our throbbing flesh hast worn. 
Thou our mortal griefs hast borne. 
Thou hast shed the human tear : 
Gracious Son of Mary, hear ! 


Still He who felt temptation's power 




Sliall guard me in that dangerous hour. 




When the sullen death-bell toUs 




For our own departed souls — 


If wounded love my bosom swell. 


When our final doom is near, 


Deceived by tliose I prized too weU, 


Gracious Son of Mary, -hear ! 


He shall His pitying aid bestow 




Who felt on earth severer woe, 




At once betrayed, denied, or fled, 


Thou hast bowed the dying head. 


By those who shared His daily bread. 


Thou the blood of life hast shed, 




Thou hast filled a mortal bier : 




Gracious Son of Mary, hear ! 


If vexing thoughts within me rise. 




And sore dismayed my spirit dies, 




Still He who once vouchsafed to bear 


When the heart is sad within 


The sickening anguish of despair 


With the thought of all its sin, 


Shall sweetly soothe, shall gently dry, 


Wlien the spirit shrinks with fear. 


The throbbing heart, the streaming eye. 


Gracious Son of Mary, hear ! 



764 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Thon the shame, the grief hast known ; 
Though the sins were not Thine own, 
Thou hast deigned their load to bear : 
Gracious Son of Mary, hear ! 

HENRY IIabT MlLMAN. 



THE DEAD CHRIST. 

Take the dead Christ to my chamber — 

The Christ I brought from Rome ; 
Over all the tossing ocean, 

He has reached His western home : 
Bear Him as in procession, 

And lay Him solemnly 
Where, through weary night and morning. 

He shall bear me company. 

The name I bear is other 

Than that I bore by birth ; 
And I 've given life to children 

Who 'II grow and dwell on earth ; 
But the time comes swiftly towards me— 

Nor do I bid it stay — 
When the dead Christ will be more to me 

Than all I hold to-day. 

Lay the dead Christ beside me — 

Oh, press Him on my hcai-t ; 
I would hold Him long and painfully. 

Till the weary tears should start — 
Till the divine contagion 

Heal me of self and sin. 
And the cold weight press wholly down 

The pulse that cliokes within. 

Reproof and frost, they fret me ; 

Towards the free, the sunny lands. 
From the chaos of existence, 

I stretch these feeble hands — 
And, penitential, kneeling. 

Pray God would not be wroth. 
Who gave not the strength of feeling 

And strength of labor both. 

Thou 'rt but a wooden carving, 

Defaced of worms, and old ; 
Yet more to mo Thou couldst not be 

Wert Thou all wrapt in gold. 



Like the gem-bedizened baby 
Which, at the Twelfth-day noon, 

They show from the Ara Coeli's stepa 
To a merry dancing tune. 

I ask of Thee no wonders — 

No changing white or red ; 
I dream not Thou art living, 

I love and prize Thee dead. 
That salutary deadness 

I seek through want and pain. 
From which God's own high power can bid 

Our virtue rise again. 

JcLiA Ward Howe. 



SONNET. 

Im the desert of the Holy Land I strayed. 
Where Christ once lived, but seems to live 

no more ; 
In Lebanon my lonely home I made ; 
I heard the wind among the cedars roar. 
And saw far off the Dead Sea's solemn shore - 
But 't is a dreary wilderness, I said. 
Since the prophetic spirit hence has sped. 
Then from the convent in the vale I heard, 
Slow chanted forth, the everlasting Word — 
Saying " I am He that liveth, and was dead ; 
And lo I am alive for evermore." 
Then forth upon my pilgrimage I fare, 
Resolved to find and praise Him every where. 

Anonyuoitb. 



A HYMN. 

Dkop, drop, slow tears. 

And bathe those beauteous feet 
Which brought from heaven 

The news and prince of peace ! 
Cease not, wet eyes. 

His mercies to entreat 
To cry for vengeance 

Sin doth never cease; 
In your deep floods 

Drown all my faults and fears; 
Nor let His eye 

See sin, but through my tears. 

PlIINEAS FLETCHElt 



CHRISTMAS. 



766 



A CHRISTMAS HYMN. 

It was the calm and silent night! 

Seven hundred years and fifty-three 
Had Rome been growing up to might, 

And now was queen of land and sea. 
No sound was heard of clashing wars — 

Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain : 
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars 

Held undisturbed their ancient reign. 

In the solemn midnight. 

Centuries ago. 

'T was in the calm and silent night ! 

The senator of haughty Rome, 
Impatient, urged his chariot's flight, 

From lordly revel rolling home ; 
Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell 

His breast with thoughts of boundless 
sway ; 
What recked the Roman what befell 
A paltry province far away. 

In the solemn midnight. 
Centuries ago ? 

Within that province far away 

Went plodding home a weary boor ; 
A streak of light before him lay, 

Fallen through a half-shut stable-door 
Across his path. He passed — fur naught 

Told what was going on within ; 
How keen the stars, his only thought — 

The air how calm, and cold, and thin, 

In the solemn midnight. 

Centuries ago I 

Oh, strange indifference ! low and high 

Drowsed over common joys and cares; 
The earth was still — but knew not why 

The world was listening, unawares. 
How calm a moment may precede 

One that shall thrill the world for ever ! 
To that still moment, none would heed, 

Man's doom was linked no more to sever — 
In the solemn midnight. 
Centuries ago ! 

It is the calm and solemn night ! 

A thousand beUs ring out, and throw 
Their joyous peals abroad, and smite 

The darkness — charmed and holy now ! 



The night that erst no name had worn. 

To it a happy name is given ; 
For in that stable lay, new-born, 
The peaceful prince of earth and heaven. 
In the solemn midnight. 
Centuries ago ! 

AlFEED DOMilETT. 



CHRISTMAS. 

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, 
The flying cloud, the frosty light : 
The year is dying in the night — • 

Ring out, wild beUs, and let him die. 

Ring out the old, ring in the new — 
Ring, happy bells, across the saow : 
The year is going, let him go ; 

Ring out the false, ring in the true. 

Ring out the grief that saps the mind, 
For those that here we see no more ; 
Ring out the feud of rich and poor, 

Ring in redress to all mankind. 

Ring out a slowly dying cause, 
And ancient forms of party strife ; 
Ring in the nobler modes of life, 

With sweeter manners, purer laws. 

Ring out the want, the care, the sin, 
The faithless coldness of the times ; 
Ring out, ring cut my mournful rhymes. 

But ring the fuUer minstrel in. 

Ring out false pride in place and blood. 
The civic slander and the spite; 
Ring in the love of truth and right, 

Ring in the common love of good. 

Ring out old shapes of foul disease. 
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold ; 
Ring out the thousand wars of old, 

Ring in the thousand years of peace. 

Ring in the valiant man and free. 
The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; 
Ring out the darkness of the land — 

Ring in the Christ that is to be. 

Alfked Tennyso.n. 



766 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



ST. PETER'S DAY. 



Thou thrice denied, yet thrice beloved, 
Watch by Thine own forgiven friend ! 

In sharpest perils faithful proved, 
Let his soul love Thee to the end. 

The prayer is heard — else why so deep 
His slumber on the eve of death ? 

And wherefore smiles he in his sleep 
As one who drew celestial breath? 

He loves and is beloved again — 
Can his soul elioose but be at rest ? 

Sorrow hath fled away, and pain 
Dares not invade the guarded nest. 

He dearly loves, and not alone ; 

For his winged thoughts are soaring high, 
"Where never yet frail heart was known 

To breathe in vain affection's sigh. 

He loves and weeps ; but more than tears 
Have sealed Thy welcome and his love 

One look lives in him, and endears 
Crosses and wrongs where'er he rove 

That gracious chiding look. Thy call 
To win him to himself and Thee 

Sweetening the sorrow of his fall 
Which else were rued too bitterly ; 

Even through the veil of sleep it shines, 
The memory of that kindly glance ;— 

The angel, watching by, divines, 
And spares awhile his blissful trance. 

Or haply to his native lake 
His vision wafts him back, to talk 

With Jesus, ere his fJight he take, 
As in that solemn evening walk 

When to the bosom of his friend, 
The Shepherd, He whose name is Good, 

Did His dear lambs and sheep commend. 
Both bought and nourished with His blood ; 



Then laid on him th' inverted tree. 
Which, firm embraced with heart and arm 

Might cast o'er hope and memory, 
O'er life and death, its awful charm. 

With brightening heart he bears it on, 
Hia passport through th' eternal gates, 

To his sweet home — so nearly won, 
He seems, as by the door he waits, 

The unexpressive notes to hear 
Of angel song and angel motion. 

Rising and falling on the ear 
Like waves in joy's unbounded ocean.— 

His dream is changed— the tyrant's voice 
Calls to that last of glorious deeds 

But as he rises to rejoice, 
Not Herod, but an angel leads. 

He dreams he sees a lamp flash bright. 
Glancing around his prison room ; 

But 't is a gleam of heavenly light 
That fills up all the ample gloom. 

The flame, that in a few short years 
Deep through the chambers of the dead 

Shall pierce, and dry the fount of tears, 
Is waving o'er his dungeon-bed. 

Touched, he upstarts— his chains unbind- 
Through darksome vault, up massy stair, 

His dizzy, doubting footsteps wind 
To freedom and cool, moonlight air. 



Then all himself, all joy and calm, 
Though for awhile his hand forego, 

Just as it touched, the martyr's palm, 
He turns him to his task below : 

The pastoral stafl', the keys of heaven. 

To wield awhile in gray-haired might- 
Then from his cross to spring forgiven, 
And follow Jesus out of sight. 

John Kkele, 



THE LABORER'S NOONDAY HYMN. 



7G7 



THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDAS. 

"Where the remote Bermudas ride 
In til' ocean's bosom, unespied — 
From a small boat, that rowed along, 
The list'ning winds received this song : 

What should we do but sing His praise 
That led us through the watery maze 
Unto an isle so long unknown, 
And yet far kinder than our own ? 
Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks 
That lift the deep upon their backs, 
He lands us on a grassy stage. 
Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage. 
He gave us this eternal spring 
Which hero enamels every thing. 
And sends the fowls to us in care, 
On daily visits throngh the air. 
He hangs in shades the orange bright, 
Like golden lamps in a green night. 
And does in the pomegranates close 
•lewels more rich than Ormus shows. 
He makes the figs our mouths to meet. 
And throws the melons at our feet. 
But apples — plants of such a price 
No tree could ever bear them twice. 
With cedars, chosen by His hand 
From Lebanon, He stores the land ; 
And makes the hollow seas, that roar. 
Proclaim the ambergris on shore. 
He cast (of which we rather boast) 
The gospel's pearl upon our coast ; 
And in these rocks for us did frame 
A temple, where to sound His name. 
Oh ! let our voice His praise exalt 
Till it arrive at heaven's vault ; 
Which, then, perhaps rebounding, may 
Echo beyond the Mexique bay. 

Thus sang they, in the English boat, 
A holy and a cheerful note ; 
And all the way, to guide their chime. 
With falling oars they kept the time. 

Andrew Maetell. 



HYMN OF THE HEBREW MAID. 

When Isr.ael, of the Lord beloved, 

Out from the land of bondage came, 
Her father's God before her moved, 

An awful guide in smoke and flame. 
By day, along the astonished lands 

The cloudy piUar glided slow ; 
By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands 

Returned the fiery column's glow. 

There rose the choral hymn of praise, 

And trump and timbrel answered keen ; 
And Zion's daughters poured their lays. 

With priest's and warrior's voice between. 
No portents now our foes amaze — 

Forsaken Israel wanders lone ; 
Our fathers would not know Thy ways. 

And Thou hast left them to their own. 

But, present still, though now unseen, 

When brightly shines the prosperous day. 
Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen, 

To temper the deceitful ray. 
And oh, when stoops on Judah's path 

In shade and storm the frequent night, 
Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, 

A burning and a shining light ! 

Our harps we left by Babel's streams — 

The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn; 
No censer round our altar beams. 

And mute are timbrel, trump, and horn. 
But Thou hast said, the blood of goats. 

The flesh of rams, I will not prize — 
A contrite heart, and humble thoughts, 

Are mine accepted sacrifice. 

8m Wid.TEB Scott, 



THE LABORER'S NOONDAY HYMN. 

Up to the throne of God is borne 
The voice of praise at early morn. 
And He accepts the pimctual hymn 
Sung as the light of day grows dim ; 

Nor will He turn his ear aside 
From holy offerings at noontide : 
Then, here reposing, let us raise 
A song of gratitude and praise. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



TSTiat though our burden be not light, 
Ve need not toil from morn to night ; 
The respite of the mid-day hour 
Is in the thankful creature's power. 

Blest are the moments, doubly blest. 
That, drawn from this one hour of rest, 
Are with a ready heart bestowed 
Upon the service of our God ! 

Each tield is then a hallowed spot — 
An altar is in each man's cot, 
A church in every grove that spreads 
Its living roof above our heads. 

Look up to heaven ! the industrious sun 
Already half his race hath run ; 
He cannot halt nor go astray — 
But our immortal spii-its may. 

Lord ! since his rising in the east 
If we have ftiltered or transgressed. 
Guide, from Thy love's abundant source, 
Wliat yet remains of this day's course. 

Help with Thy grace, through life's short 

day. 
Our upward and our downward way; 
And glorify for us the west. 
When we shall sink to final rest. 

"WllLIAil ■WOEDSWOETH. 



TO KEEP A TRUE LENT. 

Is tlfis a fast — to keep 
The larder lean, 
And clean 
From fat of veals and sheep ? 

Is it to quit the dish 

Of flesh, yet still 
To fill 
The platter high with fish? 

Is it to fast an hour — 

Or ragged to go — 
Or show 
A downcast look, and sour ? 



No! 



't is a fast to dole 
Thy sheaf of wheat, 
And meat, 
Unto the hungry soul. 

It is to fast from strife. 
From old debate 
And hate — 
To circumcise thy life. 

To show a heart grief-rent ; 

To starve thy sin. 
Not bin — 
And that 's to keep thy lent. 

BOBEBT HeBBICE. 



FASTING. 

Is fasting then the thing that God requires? 

Can fasting expiate, or slake those fires 
That sin hath blown to such a mighty 

flame? 
Can sackcloth clothe a fault, or hide a shame ? 
Can ashes cleanse thy blot, or purge thy of- 
fence ? 
Or do thy hands make heaven a recompense. 
By strewing dust upon thy briny face ? 
Are these the tricks to purchase heavenly 

grace ? — 
No I though thou pine thyself with willing 

want. 
Or face look thin, or carcass ne'er so gaunt ; 
Although thou worser weeds than sackcloth 

wear. 
Or naked go, or sleep in shirts of hair ; 
Or though thou choose an ash-tub for thy bed. 
Or make a daily dunghill on thy head ; — 
Thy labor is not poised with equal gains, 
For thou hast naught but labor for thy 

pains. 
Such holy madness God rejects and loathes, 
That sinks no deeper than the skin or clothes. 
'Tis not thine eyes, which, taught to weep 

by art, 
Look red with tears (not guilty of thy heart) : 
'T is not the holding of thy hands so higli. 
Nor yet the purer squinting of thine eye ; 



CHARITY AND HUMILITY, 



769 



'Tis not your mimic moutlis, your antic 

faces, 
Your Scripture phrases, or affected graces. 
Nor prodigal up-banding of thine eyes, 
Whose gashful balls do seem to pelt the 

sliies; 
'T is not the strict reforming of your hair, 
So close that all the neighbor skull is 

bare; 
'T is not the drooping of thy head so low. 
Nor yet the lowering of thy sullen brow ; 
Nor wolvish howling that disturbs the air, 
Nor repetitions, or your tedious prayer : 
No, no ! 't is none of this, that God regards — 
Such sort of fools their own applause re- 
wards ; 
Such puppet-plays to heaven are strange and 

quaint ; 
Their service is nnsweet, and foully taint ; 
Their words fall fruitless from their idle 

brain — 
But true repentance runs in other strain : 
Where sad contrition harbors, there the 

heart 
Is truly acquainted with the secret smart 
Of past offences — hates the bosom sin 
The most, which the soul took pleasure in. 
No crime unsifted, no sin unpresented, 
Can lurk unseen ; and seen, none unlament- 

ed. 
The troubled soul 's amazed with dire aspects 
Of lesser sins committed, and detects 
The wounded conscience ; it cries amain 
For mercy, mercy — cries, and cries again; 
It sadly grieves, and soberly laments ; 
It yearns for grace, reforms, returns, re- 
pents. 
Aye, this is incense whose accepted favor 
Mounts up the heavenly Throne, and findeth 

favor ; 
Aye, this is it whose valor never fails — 
With God it stoutly wrestles, and prevails; 
Aye, this is it that pierces heaven above, 
Never returning home, like Noah's dove, 
But brings an olive leaf, or some increase 
That works salvation, and eternal peace. 

Fbancis Quaeles. 



50 



CHARITY AND HUMILITY. 

Far have I clambered in my mind. 
But naught so great as love I find ; 
Deep-searching wit, mount-moving might, 
Are naught compared to that good spright. 
Life of deliglit, and soul of bliss ! 
Sure source of lasting happiness I 
Higher than heaven, lower than hell ! 
What is thy tent? where mayst thou dwell? 

My mansion bight humility, 
Heaven's vastest capability — 
The further it doth downward tend 
The higher up it doth ascend ; 
If it go down to utmost naught 
It shaU return with that it sought. 

Lord, stretch Thy tent in my strait 
breast — 
Enlarge it downward, that sure rest 
May there be pight ; for that pure fire ■ 
Wherewith thou wontest to inspire 
All self-dead souls. My life is gone — 
Sad solitude 's my irksome wonne. 
Cut off from men and aU this world. 
In Lethe's lonesome ditch I 'm hurled. 
Nor might nor sight doth aught me move. 
Nor do I care to be above. 
O feeble rays of mental light. 
That best be seen in this dark night ! 
What are 3'ou ? what is any strength 
If it be not laid in one length 
With pride or love ? I naught desire 
But a new life, or quite t' expire. 
Could I demolish with mine eye 
Strong towers, stop the fleet stars in sky. 
Bring down to earth the pale-faced moon. 
Or turn black midnight to bright noon — 
Though all things were put in my hand — 
As parched, as dry, as the Libyan sand 
Would be my life, if charity 
Were wanting. But humility 
Is more than my poor soul durst crave, 
That lies intombed in lov/ly grave. 
But if 't were lawful up to send 
My voice to heaven, this should it rend : 

Lord, thrust me deeper into dust 
That Thou mayest raise me with tlie just ! 

Henry Mobs, 



770 POEMS 01' 


KELIGIOX. 




If long and sad thy lonely hours, 


nUMILITT. 


And winds have rent thy sheltering bowers — 




Bethink thee what thou art, and where, 


Thb bird that soars on highest -wing 


A sinner in a life of care. 


Builds on the ground her lowly nest ; 




And she that doth most sweetly sing 




Sings in the shade, where all things rest ; 


The fire of God is soon to faU— 


In lark and nightingale we see 


Thou know'st it — on this earthly ball ; 


What honor hath humility. 


Full many a soul, the price of blood 




Marked by the Almighty's hand for good. 


■WTien Mary chose " the better part," 


To utter death that hour shall sweep — 


She meekly sat at Jesus' feet ; 


And will the saints in heaven dare weep ? 


And Lydia's gently opened heart 




TVas made for God's own temple meet : 
Fairest and best adorned is she 


Then in Eis wrath shall God uproot 
The trees lie set, for lack of fruit ; 


Whose clothing is humility. 


And drown in rude tempestuous blaze 


The saint that wears heaven's brightest 


The towers His hand had deigned to raise. 


crown 


In silence, ere that storm begin. 


In deepest adoration bends : 


Count o'er His mercies and thy sin. 


The weight of glory bows him down 




Then most, when most his soul ascends : 


Pray only that thine aching heart — 


Nearest the throne itself must be 


From visions vain content to part, 


The footstool of humility. 


Strong for love's sake its woe to hide — 


James Montoomeet. 


May cheerful wait the cross beside : 




Too happy if, that dreadful day. 
Thy life be given thee for a prey. 




" IS THIS A Tnre TO PLANT AND 




BUTT.n?" 


Snatched sudden from the avenging rod, 


Is this a time to plant and build, 


Safe in the bosom of thy God, 


Add house to house, and field to field, 


How wilt thou then look back, and smile 


Wlien round our walls the battle lowers^ 


On thoughts that bitterest seemed ere while, 


When mines are hid beneath our towers, 


And bless the pangs that made thee see 


And watchful foes are stealing round 


This was no world of rest for thee ! 


To search and spoil the holy ground ? 


JonN Kbblb. 


Is this a time for moonlight dreams 
Of love and home, by mazy streams — 






For fancy with her shadowy toys. 




Aerial hopes and pensive joys. 


HYMN 


While souls are wandering far and wide, 




And curses swarm on every side ? 


FOB AXNIVERSART MARRIAGE DATS. 


No — rather steel thy melting heart 


Lord, living here are we — 


To act the martyr's sternest part — 


As fast united yet 


To watch, with firm unshrinking eye. 


As when our hands and hearts by Thee 


Thy darling visions as they die. 


Togelher first were knit. 


Till all bright hopes, and hues of day. 


And in a thankful song 


Have faded into twilight gray. 


Now sing we will Thy praise, 


Yes — let them pass without a sigh ; 


For that Thou dost as well prolong 


And if the world seem dull and dry — 


Our loving as our days. 



THE PRIEST. 



in 



Together we have now- 
Begun another year; 

But how much time Tliou wilt allow 
Thou mak'st it not appear. 

We, therefore, do implore 
That live and love we may. 

Still so as if hut one day more 
Together we should stay. 

Let each of other's wealth 

Preserve a faithful care, 
And of each other's joy and health 

As if one soul we were. 
Such conscience let us make, 

Each other not to grieve. 
As if we daily were to take 

Our everlasting leave. 

The frowardness that springs 

From our corrupted kind. 
Or from those trouhlous outward things 

"Which may distract the mind, 
Permit Thou not, O Lord, 

Our constant love to shake — 
Or to disturb our true accord, 

Or make our hearts to ache. 

But let these frailties prove 

Afl'ection's exercise ; 
And that discretion teach our love 

Which wins the noblest prize. 
So time, which wears away. 

And ruins all things else. 
Shall fix our love on Thee for aye. 

In whom perfection dwells. 

George Wither. 



DEDICATION OF A CHURCH. 

Jerusalem, that place divine. 
The vision of sweet peace is named ; 
In heaven her glorious turrets shine — 
Her walls of living stones are framed ; 
While angels guard her on each side — 
Fit company for such a bride. 

She, docked in new attire from heaven, 
Her wedding chamber now descends, 
Prepared in marriage to be given 
To Christ, on whom her joy depends. 



Her walls, wherewith she is inclosed. 
And streets, are of pure gold composed. 

The gates, adorned with pearls most bright. 

The way to hidden glory show ; 

And thither, by the blessed might 

Of faith in Jesus' merits, go 

All those who are on earth distressed 
Because they have Christ's name pro- 



These stones the workmen dress and beat 
Before they throughly polished are ; 
Then eacli is in his proper seat 
Established by the builder's care — 
In this fair frame to stand for ever. 
So joined that them no force can sever. 

To God, who sits in higliest seat, 

Glory and power given bo I 

To Father, Son, and Paraclete, 

Who reign in equal dignity — 

Whoso boundless power we still adore. 
And sing Their praise for evermore ! 

William Drummond. 



THE PRIEST. 

I WOULD I were an excellent divine 

That had the bible at my fingers' ends ; 
That men might hear out of this mouth of 
mine. 
How God doth make Ilis enemies Ills 
friends ; 
Rather than with a thundering and long 

prayer 
Be led into presumption, or despair. 

This would I be, and would none other be — 
But a religious servant of my God ; 

And know there is none other God but He, 
And willingly to suffer mercy's rod — 

Joy in His grace, and live but in His love, 

And seek my bliss but in the world above. 

And I would frame a kind of faithful prayer. 
For all estates within the state of grace, 

That carefnl love might never know despair. 
Nor servile fear might faithful love deface : 

And this would I both day and night devise 

To make my humble spirit's exercise. 



POEMS OF RELIGION'. 



And I Tvould read the rules of sacred life 
Persuade tlie troubled soul to patience 
The husband care, and comfort to the wife, 

To child and servant due obedience ; 
Faith to the friend, aud to the neighbor 

peace, 
That love might live, and quarrels aU might 
cease. 

Prayer for the health of all that are diseased. 

Confession unto all that are convicted, 
And patience unto all that are displeased, 

And comfort unto aU that are afBicted, 
And mercy unto all that have oflended, 
And grace to all : that all may be amended. 
Nicholas Breton. 



O'S A PKAYEE 



BOOK SENT TO MRS. 
M. R. 



Lo ! here a little volume, but great book, 

(Tear it not, sweet — 

It is no hypocrite ! ) 
Much larger in itself than in its look! 

It is — in one rich handful — heaven, and all 

Heaven's royal hosts encamped — tlius small 

To prove, that true schools use to teU, 

A thousand angels in one point can dwell. 

It is love's great artillery, 

Which here contracts itself, and comes to lie 

Close couched in your white bosom, and from 

thence. 
As from a snowy fortress of defence. 
Against the ghostly foe to take your part, 
And fortify the hold of your chaste heart. 

It is the armory of light — 

Let constant use but keep it bright, 

You '11 fiud it yields 
To holy hands and humble hearts 

More swords and shields 
Than sin hath snares, or hell hath darts. 

Only be sure 

The hands be pure 
That hold these weapons, and the eyes 
Those of turtles — chaste and true, 

Wakeful and wise. 
Here is a friend shall fight for you ; 



Hold but this book before your heai-t — 
Let prayer alone to play his part. 

But oh ! the heart 
That studies this high art 
Must be a sure house-keeper, 
And yet no sleeper. 

Dear soul, be strong — 

Mercy will come ere long. 

And bring her bosom full of blessings — 

Flowers of never-fading graces. 

To make immortal dressings 

For worthy souls, whose wise embraces 

Store up themselves for Him who is alone 

The spouse of virgins, and the ■("irgin's son. 

But if the noble bridegroom, when lie comes, 
Shall find the wandering heart from 

home. 
Leaving her chaste abode 
To gad abroad — 

Amongst the gay mates of the god of flies 
To take her pleasures, and to play, 
And keep the devil's holiday — 

To dance in the sun-shine of some smiling, 
But beguiling 

Spear of sweet and sugared lies — 

Some slippery pair 

Of false, perhaps as fair. 
Flattering but forswearing eyes — 

Doubtless some other heart 

Will get the start. 

And, stepping in before. 
Will take possession of the sacred store 

Of hidden sweets and holy joys — 

Words which are not heard with ears, 
(These tumultuous shops of noise) 

Efl:ectual whispers, whose still voice 
The soul itself more feels than hears — 

Amorous languishments, luminous trances. 
Sights which are not seen with eyes — 

Spiritual and soul-piercing glances. 

Whose pure and subtle lightning flies 

Home to the heart, and sets the house on fire, 

And melts it down in sweet desire ; 
Yet doth not stay 

To ask the windows leave to pass that way- 



THE TRUE USE OP MUSlj. 



773 



Delicious deaths, soft oxbalations 

Of soul, dear and divine annihilations — 

A thousand unknown rites 

Of joys, and raritied delights — 
An hundred thousand loves and graces, 

And many a mystic thing 

Which the divine embraces 
Of the dear Spouse of spirits with them will 
bring. 

For which it is no shame 
That dull mortality must not know a name. 

Of all this hidden store 
Of blessings, and ten thousand more. 

If, when Ho come, 
lie find the heart from home, 

Doubtless He will unload 
Himself some otherwhere, 

And pour abroad 

His precious sweets 
On the fair soul whom first He meets. 

Oh fair! oh fortunate ! oh rich! oh dear! 

Oil happy and tin-ice happy she — 

Dear silver-breasted dove. 

Whoe'er she be — 

Whose early love 

With winged vows 
Makes haste to meet her morning spouse. 
And close with His immortal kisses — 

Happy soul I who never misses 

To improve that precious hour. 

And every day 

Seize her sweet prey — 

All fresh and ft-agrant as He rises. 

Dropping with a balmy shower, 

A delicious dew of spices 1 

Oh ! let that happy soul hold fast 
Her heavenly armfnl; she shall taste 
At once ten thousand paradises — 
She shall have power 
To rifle and deflower 
The rich and roseal spring of those rare sweets 
Which, with a swelling bosom, there she 

meets — 
Boundless and infinite, bottomless treasures 

Of pure inebriating pleasures : 
Happy soul ! she shall discover 
What joy, what bliss. 
How many heavens at once, it is 
To have a God become her lover. 

ElCnAED CEA6UAW. 



THE TRUE USE OF MUSIC. 

Listed into the cause of sin, 

Wliy should a good be evil ? 
Music, alas 1 too long has been 

Pressed to obey the devil — 
Drunken, or lewd, or light, the lay 

Flowed to the soul's undoing — 
Widened, and strewed with flowers, 
way 

Down to eternal ruin. 

Who on the part of God will rise, 

Innocent sound recover. — 
Fly on the prey, and take the prize. 

Plunder tlio carnal lover — • 
Strip him of every moving strain, 

Every melting measure — • 
Music in virtue's cause retain, 

Eescue the holy pleasure ? 

Come let us try if Jesus' love 

Will not as well inspire us ; 
This is the theme of those above — 

This upon earth shall fire us. 
Say, if your hearts are tuned to sing. 

Is there a subject greater ? 
Harmony all its strains may bring; 

Jesus' name is sweeter. 

Jesus the soul of music is — 

His is the noblest p.assion; 
Jesus's name is joy and peace, 

Happiness and salvation ; 
Jesus's name the dead can raise — 

Show us our sins forgiven — 
Fill us with all the life of grace^ 

Carry us up to heaven. 

Who hath a right like us to sing — 

Us whom His mercy raises ? 
Merry our hearts, for Christ is King ; 

Cheerful are all our faces ; 
Who of His love doth once partake 

He evermore rejoices ; 
Melody in our hearts we make — 

Melody with our voices. 

He that a sprinkled conscience hath — 
He that in God is merry — 

Let him sing psalms, the Spirit saith, 
Joyful and never weary ; 



774 POEMS OF 


RELIGION. 


Offer the sacrifice of praise, 


Ye temples, that to God 


Hearty and never ceasing — 


Rise where our fathers' trod, 


Spiritual songs and anthems raise. 


Guard well your trust : 


Honor, and thanks, and blessing. 


The faith that dared the sea; 




The truth that made them free ; 


Then let ns in His praises join — 


Their cherished purity, 


Triumph in His salvation ; 


Their garnered dust. 


Glory ascribe to love divine, 




Worship and adoration ; 


Thou high and holy One, 


Heaven already is begun — 


Whose care for sire and son 


Opened in each believer ; 


All nature fills — 


Only believe, and still sing on : 


While day shall break and close, 


Heaven is ours for ever. 


While night her crescent shows, 


Chakles Wesley. 


Oh, let Thy light repose 




On these our hills ! 

JOBN PlEEPONT. 


CENTENNIAL ODE. 




Beeak forth in song, ye trees. 


THE FIELD OF THE WORLD, 


As, through your tops, the breeze 




Sweeps from the sea ! 


Sow in the morn thy seed. 


For, on its rushing wings, 


At eve hold not thine hand — 


To your cool shades and springs, 


To doubt and fear give thou no heed — 


That breeze a people brings, 


Broad-cast it o'er the land. 


Exiled though free. 






Beside all waters sow. 


Ye sister hDls, lay down 


The highway furrows stock — 


Of ancient oaks your crown. 


Drop it where thorns and thistles grow, 


In homage due ; 


Scatter it on the rock. 


These are the great of earth — 




Great, not by kingly birth, 


The good, the fruitful ground 


Great in their well-proved worth — 


Expect not here nor there ; 


Firm hearts and true. 


O'er hiU and dale by plots 't is found : 




Go forth, then, everywhere. 


These are the living lights, 




That from your bold, green heights 


Thou know'st not which may thrive— 


Shall shine afar. 


The late or early sown ; 


Till they who name the name 


Grace keeps the precious germs alive. 


Of freedom, toward the flame 


When and wherever strown. 


Come, as the magi came 




Toward Bethlehem's star. 


And duly shall appear. 




In verdure, beauty, strength, 


Gone are those great and good 


The tender blade, the stalk, the ear. 


Who here in peril stood 


And the full corn at length. 


And raised their hymn. 




Peace to the reverend dead ! — 


Thou canst not toil in vain — 


The light, that on their head 


Cold, heat, and moist, and dry 


Two hundred years have shed, 


ShaU foster and mature the grain 


Shall ne'er grow dim. 


For garners in the sky. 



WHAT IS 


PRAYER? 776 


Thenoo, when the glorious end, 


And from that scattered dust, 


The day of God is come, 


Around us and abroad, 


The angel-reapers shall descend, 


Shall spring a plenteous seed 


And heaven cry " Harvest home I " 


Of witnesses for God. 


James Montqomeet. 






The Father hath received 
Their latest living breath ; 




TIIE BATTLE-SONG OF GUSTAVDS 


And vain is Satan's boast 


ADOLPHUS. 


Of victory in their death ; 




Still, stiU, though dead, they speak. 


Fear not, little flock, the foe 


And trumpet-tongued, proclaim 


■^lio madly seeks yonr overthrow, 


To many a wakening land. 


Dread not his rage and power ; 


The one ayailing name. 


What though your courage sometimes faints? 


Maetin Ldtheb. 


His seeming triumph o'er God's saints 


Translation of Williaji Jous Fox. 


Lasts but a little hour. 
Be of good cheer ; your cause belongs 






To Him who can avenge your wrongs, 
Leave it to Him, our Lord. 


WHAT IS PRAYER? 


Though hidden from all our eyes. 
He sees the Gideon who shall rise 
To .save us, and His word. 


Prayer is the soul's sincere desire, 

Uttered or unexpressed — 
The motion of a hidden fire 




That trembles in the breast. 


As true as God's own word is true. 




Not earth or hell with all their crew 




Against us shall prevail. 


Prayer is the burthen of a sigh. 


A jest and by-word are they grown ; 


The falling of a tear — 


God is with us, we are His own, 


The upward glancing of an eye, 


Our \ictory cannot fail. 


When none but God is near. 


Amen, Lord Jesus ; grant our prayer ! 
Great Captain, now Thine arm make bare ; 

Fight ^or us once again ! 
So shall the saints and martyrs raise 
A mighty chorus to Thy praise, 


Prayer is the simplest form of speech 

That infant lips can try — 
Prayer the sublimest strains that reach 

The majesty on high. 


World without end ! Amen. 




MicuAEL Altenbceq. (German.) 
Anonymous Translation. 


Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice 
Returning from liis ways. 




While angels in their songs rejoice, 
And cry, "Behold he prays! " 




THE MARTYRS' HYMN. 




Flfng to the heedless winds, 


Prayer is the Christian's vital breath — • 


Or on the waters cast. 


The Christian's native air — 


The martyrs' ashes, watched, 


His watchword at the gates of death — 


Shall gathered be at last ; 


He enters heaven with prayer. 

1 



116 POEMS OF 


RELIGION. 


The saints \a prayer appear as one 




In word, and deed, and mind, 


EXHORTATION TO PRAYER. 


While with tlio Father and the Son 


Not on a prayerless bed, not on a prayerless 


Sweet fellowsliip they find. 


bed 




Compose thy weary limbs to rest ; 


Nor prayer is made by man aloae— 


For they alone are blessed 


The Holy Spirit pleads — 


With balmy sleep 


And Jesus, on the eternal throne, 


Whom angels keep ; 


For sinners intercedes. 


Nor, though by care oppressed, 




Or anxious sorrow. 




Or thought in many a coil perplexed 


Thou by whom we come to God — 


For coming morrow. 


Tlie lite, the truth, the way ! 


Lay not thy head 


The path of prayer Thyself hast trod ; 


On pr.ayerless bed. 


Lord, teach us how to pray ! 




James Montgomeey. 


For who can tell, when sleep thine eyes shall 




close, 




That earthly cares and woes 
To thee may e'er return ? 






Arouse, my soul ! 


"OH, YET WE TRUST." 


Slumber control. 




And let thy lamp burn brightly ; 


On, yet we trust that somehow good 


So shall thine eyes discern 


Will be the final goal of ill. 


Things pure and sightly ; 


To pangs of nature, sins of will, 


Taught by the Spirit, learn 


Defects of doubt and taints of blood ; 


Never on prayerless bed 




To lay thine nnblest head. 


That nothing walks with aimless feet ; 




That not one life sh.all be destroyed. 


Hast thou no pining want, or wish, or care, 


Or cast as rubbish to the void, 


That calls for holy prayer ? 


When God hath made the pile complete ; 


lias thy day been so bright 




That in its flight 




There is no trace of sorrow ? 


That not a worm is cloven in vain ; 


And thou art sure to-morrow 


That not a moth with vain desire 


WiU be like this, and more 


Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire, 


Abundant ? Dost thou yet lay up thy store, 


Or but subserves another's gain. 


And still make plans for more ? 




Thou fool ! this very night 


Behold ! we know not any thing ; 


Thy soul may wing its flight. 


I can but trust that good shall fall 




At last— far off— .it last, to all— 


Hast thou no being than thyself more dear. 


And every winter change to spring. 


That ploughs the ocean deep, 




And when storms sweep 




The wintry, lowering sky. 


So rnns my dream ; but wh.at am I ? 


For whom thou wak'st and weepest? 


An infant crying in the night— 


Oh, when thy pangs arc deepest. 


An infant crying for the light — 


Seek then the covenant ark of prayer; 


And with no language but a cry. 


For lie that slumbereth not is there — 


Alfred Tekxysos. 


His ear is open to thy cry. 



MARY. 



Oh, then, on prayerless bed 
Lay not thy thoughtless head. 

Arouse thee, weary soul, nor yield to slum- 
ber, 
Till in communion blest 

With the elect ye rest — 
Those souls of countless number; 
And with them raise 
The note of praise, 
Reaching fi-om earth to heaven — 
Chosen, redeemed, forgiven ; 
So lay thy happy head, 
Prayer-crowned, on blessed bed. 
Makgabet Merceb. 



HYMN. 



When the angels all are singing 
All of glory ever-springing. 
In the ground of heaven's high graces, 
Where all virtues have their places, 
Ob that my poor soid were near them. 
With an humble faith to hear them ! 



Then should faith, in love's submission. 
Joying but in mercy's blessing. 
Where that sins are in remission 
Sing the joyful soid's confessing — 
Of her comforts high commending, 
All in glory never-ending. 



But, ah wretched sinful creature ! 
Row should the corrupted nature 
Of this wicked heart of mine 
Think upon that love divine, 
That doth tune the angels' voices 
While the host of heaven rejoices? 



No ! the song of deadly sorrow 

In the night that hath no morrow — 

And their pains are never ended 

That have lieavenly powers olfended- 

Is more fitting to the merit 

Of my foul infected spirit. 



Yet while mercy is removing 
All the sorrows of the loving. 
How can faith be full of blindness 
To despair of mercy's kindness — 
AVhile the hand of heaven is giving 
Comfort from the ever-living? 

No, my soul, be no more sorry — 
Look unto that life of glory 
Which the grace of faith regardeth, 
And the tears of love rewardeth — 
Where the soul the comfort getteth 
That the angels' music setteth. 

There — when thou art well conducted, 
And by heavenly grace instructed 
How the faithful thoughts to fashion 
Of a ravished lover's passion — 
Sing with saints, to angels nighest, 
HaUelujali in the highest ! 

Gloria in exceUis Domino ! 

Nicholas Breton. 



MARY. 



Her eyes are homes of silent prayer ; 
Nor other thought her mind admits 
But — he was dead, and there he sits 

And He that brought him back is there. 

Then one deep love doth supersede 
All other, when her ardent gaze 
Roves from the living brother's face. 

And rests upon the life indeed. 

All subtle thought, all curious fears. 

Borne down by gladness so complete, 
She bows, she bathes the Saviour's 
feet 

With costly spikenard and with tears. 

Thrice blest whose lives are fiiitbful prayers. 
Whose loves in higher love endure ; 
What souls possess themselves so 
pure. 
Or is there blessedness like theirs? 

Alfred Tennyson. 



118 POEMS OF 


RELIGION. 




What were such zeal, such power, to me 


JOY AND PEACE IN BELIEVING. 


Without the grace of charity ? 


Sometimes a light surprises 


Coidd I behold with prescient eye 


The Chi-istian while he sings ; 


Things future, as the tilings gone by — 


It is the Lord, who rises 


Could I all earthly knowledge scan, 


With healing ia Ilis wings. 


And mete out heaven with a span — 


When comforts are declining, 


Poor were the chief of gifts to me 


He grants the soul again 


Without the chiefest — cliarity. 


A season of clear shining. 


Charity suffers long, is kind — 


To cheer it after raiu. 


Charity bears a humble mind — 


In holy contemplation. 


Rejoices not when ills befall. 


We sweetly then pursue 


But glories in the weal of all ; 


The theme of God's salvation. 


She hopes, believes, and envies not. 


And find it ever new ; 


Nor vaunts, nor murmurs o'er her lot. 


Set free from present sorrow, 


The tongues of teachers shall be dumb, 


We cheerfully can say, 


Prophets discern not things to come. 


E'en let the unknown to-morrow 


Knowledge shall vanish out of thought, 


Bring with it wliat it may ! 


And miracles no more be wrought; 


It can bring with it nothing 


But charity shall never fail — 


But He will bear us through ; 


Her anchor is witliin the veil. 


Who gives the lilies clothing 


James Montgombet. 


Will clothe His people too. 






Beneath the spreading heavens, 


FOR BELIEVERS. 


No creature but is fed ; 


' 


And He who feeds the ravens 


Tnon hidden source of calm repose, 


Will give His children bread. 


Thou all-sufficient love di\-ine. 


My help and refuge from my foes. 


The vine nor fig-tree neither 


Secure I am if Thou art mine ! 


Their wonted fruit should bear. 


And lo ! from sin, and grief, and shame. 


Though aU the fields should wither, 


I hide me, Jesus, in Thy liame. 


Nor flocks nor herds be there : 




Yet God the same abiding 


Thy mighty name salvation is. 


His praise shall tune my voice, 
For, while in Him confiding. 


And keeps my happy soul above ; 


Comfort it brings, and power, and peace, 


I cannot but rejoice. 


And joy, and everlasting love ; 


William Cowpee. 


To me, with Thy dear name, are given 




Pardon, and holiness, and heaven. 
Jesus, my aU in all Thou art — 




CHARITY. 


My rest in toil, my ease in pain ; 




The medicine of my broken heart ; 


CoTTLB I command, with voice or pen, 


In war my peace ; in loss my gain ; 


The tongues of angels and of men. 


My smile beneath the tyrant's frown ; 


A tinkling cymbal, sounding brass. 


In shame my glory and my crown ; 


My speech and preaching would surpass ; 




Vain were such eloquence to me. 


In want my plentiful supply ; 


Without the grace .of charity. 


In weakness my almighty power ; 




In bonds my perfect liberty ; 


Could I the martyr's flame endure. 


My light in Satan's darkest hour ; 


Give all my goods to feed the poor — 


In grief my joy imspeakable ; 


Had I the faith from Alpine steep 


My life in death, my heaven in hell. 


To burl the mountain to the deep — 


OnAELES Weslet. 



DIVINE LOVE. 



779 



DESIRING TO LOVE. 

LOVE divine, how sweet Thou art ! 
"When shall I find my willing heart 

All taken up by Thee ? 

1 thirst, and faint, and die to prove 
The greatness of redeeming love, — 

The love of Christ to me. 

Stronger Ilis love than death or hell ; 
Its riches are unsearchable ; 

The first-born sons of light 
Desire in vain its depth to see — 
They cannot reach the mystery, 

The length, and breadth, and lieight. 

God only knows the love of God — 
Oh that it now were shed abroad 

In this poor stony heart ! 
For love I sigh, for love I pine ; 
This only portion, Lord, be mine — 

Be mine this better part. 

Oil that I coidd for ever sit 
With Mary at the Master's feet ! 

Be this my happy choice — ■ 
My only care, delight, and bliss. 
My joy, my heaven on earth, be this — ■ 

To hear the bridegroom's voice. 

Oh that, withhumbled Peter, I 
Could weep, believe, and thrice reply, 

My faithfulness to prove ! 
Thou knowest, for all to Thee is known— 
Thou knowest, Lord, and Thou alone— 

Thou knowest that Thee I love. 

Oh that I could, with favored John, 
Recline my weary head upon 

The dear Redeemer's breast ! 
From care, and sin, and sorrow free. 
Give me, Lord, to find in Tliee 

My everlasting rest ! 

Thy only love do I require — 
Nothing in earth beneath desire, 

Nothing in heaven above ; 
Let earth and heaven and all things go— 
Give me Thy only love to know. 

Give me Thy only love ! 

Chaeles Wesley. 



DIVINE LOVE. 

Tnou liidden love of God ! whose height, 
"Whoso depth unfathomed, no man knows — 

I see from far Thy beauteous light. 
Inly I sigh for thy repose. 

My heart is pained ; nor can it be 

At rest till it finds rest in Thee. 

Thy secret voice invites me still 
The sweetness of Thy yoke to prove ; 

And fain I would ; but though my wUl 
Seem fixed, yet wide my passions rove ; 

Yet hindrances strew all the way — 

I aim at Thee, yet from Thee stray. 

'T is mercy all, that Thou hast brought 
My mind to seek her peace in Thee ! 

Yet while I seek, but find Thee not. 
No peace my wandering soul shall see. 

Oh when shall all my wanderings end. 

And all my steps to Theeward tend ? 

Is there a thing beneath the sun 

That strives with Thee my heart to share i 
Ah, tear it thence, and reign alone — 

The Lord of every motion there ! 
Then shall my heart from eartli be free, 
"When it hath found repose in Thee. 

Oh hide this self from me, that I 
No more, but Christ in me, may live ! 

My vUe aflfeotions crucify, 
Nor let one darling lust survive ! 

In aU things nothing may I see. 

Nothing desire or seek, but Thee 

Love, Thy sovereign aid impart 
To save me from low-thoughted care ; 

Chase this self-will through all my heart. 
Through all its latent mazes there ; 

Make me Thy duteous oliild, that I 

Ceaseless may "Abba, Father," cry! 

Ah, no 1 ne'er will I backward turn — 
Thine wholly, Thine alone I am ; 

Thrice happy he who views with scorn 
Earth's toys, for Thee his constant flame. 

Oh help, that I may never move 

From the blest footsteps of Thy love ! 



780 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Each moment draw from earth away 
My heart, that lowly waits Thy call ; 

Speak to my inmost soul, and say 
"I am thy love, thy God, thy aU !" 

To feel Thy power, to hear Thy voice, 

To taste Thy love, be all my choice. 

Geehard Tebsteegen. (German.) 
Translation of Jomi "Wesley. 



LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT. 

In the hour of my distress. 
When temptations me oppress, 
And when I my sins confess. 

Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When I lie within my bed, 
Sick at heart, and sick in head. 
And with doubts discomforted. 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the house doth sigh and weep. 
And the world is drowned in sleep. 
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep. 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the artless doctor sees 
No one hope, but of his fees. 
And his skill runs on the lees. 

Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When his potion and his pill, 
His or none or little skill, 
Meet for nothing, but to kill — 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the passing bell doth toll, 
And the Furies, in a shoal. 
Come to fright a parting soul. 

Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the tapers now burn blue. 
And the comforters are few. 
And that number more than true, 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the priest his last hath prayed. 
And I nod to what is said 
Because my speech is now decayed, 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 



When, God knows, I 'm tost about 
Either with despair or doubt. 
Yet before the glass be out. 

Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the tempter mo pursu'th 
With the sins of all my youth. 
And hah' damns me with untruth, 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me! 

When the flames and hellish cries 
Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes. 
And all terrors me surprise, 

Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the judgment is revealed, 
And that opened which was sealed — 
When to Thee I have appealed. 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

EOBEET HeBKIOK. 



OH! FEAR NOT THOU TO DIE. 

Oh'fearnot thou to die-- 

Far rather fear to live ! — for life 

Has thousand snares thy feet to try. 

By pern, pain, and strife. 

Brief is the work of death ; 

But life — the spirit shrinks to see 

How fuU, ere heaven recalls the breath. 

The cup of woe may be. 

Oh fear not thou to die — 
No more to suffer or to sin — 
No snare without, thy faith to try- 
No traitor heart within ; 
But fear, oh rather fear 
The gay, the light, the changeful scene, 
The flattering smiles that greet thee here. 
From heaven thy heart to wean. 

On fear not thou to die — • 

To die and be that blessed one 

Who in the bright and beauteous sky 

May feel his conflict done — 

May feel that never more 

The tear of grief, of shame, shall come. 

For thousand wanderings from the power 

Who loved and called thee home. 

Anonymous. 



THE VALEDICTION. 



781 



THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. 

Vital spark of heavenly flame, 
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame ! 
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying — 
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying! 
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife. 
And let me languish into life ! 

Hark 1 they whisper : angels say, 
Sister spirit, come away I 
What is this absorbs me quite. 
Steals my senses, shuts my sight. 
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath ? 
Tell me, my soul ! can this be death ? 

The world recedes— it disappears ; 

Heaven opens on my eyes ; my ears 

With sounds seraphic ring : 

Lend, lend your wings ! I mount, I fly ! 

O grave ! where is thy victory ? 

O death I where is thy sting ? 

Alzxaxdee Pope. 



THE VALEDICTION. 

Vain world, what is in thee ? 
What do poor mortals see 
Which should esteemed be 

Worthy their pleasure? 
Is it the mother's womb. 
Or sorrows which soon come, 
Or a dark grave and tomb ; 

Which is their treasure ? 
How dost thou man deceive 

By thy vain glory? 
Why do they still believe 

Thy false history ? 

Is it children's book and rod. 
The laborer's heavy load, 
Poverty undertrod. 

The world desireth ? 
Is it distracting cares. 
Or heart-tormenting fears. 
Or pining grief and te.ars, 

Which man requireth? 



Or is it youthful rage, 

Or childish toying i 
Or is decrepit age 

Worth man's enjoying? 

Is it deceitful wealth. 

Got by care, fraud, or stc.ilth. 

Or short, uncertain health. 

Which thus befool men ? 
Or do the serpent's lies. 
By the world's flatteries 
And tempting vanities. 

Still overrule them? 
Or do they in a dream 

Sleep out their season? 
Or borne down by lust's stream, 

Which conquers reason ? 

The silly lambs to-day 
Pleasantly skip and play, 
Whom butchers mean to slay, 

Perhaps to-morrow ; 
In a more brutish sort 
Do careless sinners sport. 
Or in dead sleep stiU snort. 

As near to sorrow ; 
TiU life, not well begun, 

Be sadly ended. 
And the web they have spun 

Can ne'er be mended. 

What is the time that 's gone, 
And what is that to come ? 
Is it not now as none ? 

The present stays not. 
Time posteth, oh how fast! 
Unwelcome death makes haste ; 
None can call back what 's past — 

Judgment delays not ; 
Though God bring in the light, 

Sinners awake not— 
Because hell 's out of sight, 

They sin forsake not. 

Man walks in a vain show ; 
They know, yet will not know ; 
Sit still when they should go — 

But run for shadows. 
While they might taste and know 
The living streams that flow, 
And crop the flowers that grow. 

In Christ's sweet meadows. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Life 's better slept away 

Thau as they use it ; 
lu sin aud druukea play 

Vaiu men abuse it. 

Malignant world, adieu! 
Where no foul vice is new — 
Only to Satan true, 

God still offended ; 
Tliough taug'ht and warned by God, 
And His chastising rod. 
Keeps still the way that 's broad. 

Never amended. 
Baptismal vows some make. 

But ne'er perform them ; 
If angels from Iieaven spake, 

'T would not reform them. 

They dig for holl beneath, 
They labor bard for death, 
Eun themselves out of breath 

To overtake it. 
Hell is not had for naught. 
Damnation 's dearly bought. 
And with great labor sought — 

They '11 not forsake it. 
Their souls are Satan's fee — 

Ho '11 not abate it. 
Grace is refused that 's free — 

Mad sinners hate it. 

Vile man is so perverse, 

It 's too rough work for verse 

His badness to rehearse, 

And show his folly ; 
He '11 die at any rates — 
He God and conscience hates, 
Yet sin he consecrates, 

And calls it holy. 
The grace he '11 not endure 

Which would renew him — 
Constant to all, and sure. 

Which will undo him. 

His head comes first at birth. 
And takes root in the earth — 
As nature sboototh forth. 

His feet grow highest, 
To kick at all above. 
And spurn at saving love ; 
His God is in his grove. 

Because it 's nighest ; 



He loves this world of strife, 
Hates that would mend it; 

Loves death tliat 's called life, 
Fears what would end it. 

All that is good he 'd crush, 
Blindly on sin doth rush — 
A pricking thorny bush, 

Such Christ was crowned with ; 
Their worship 's like to this — 
The reed, the Judas kiss: 
Such the religion is 

That tlicse abound with ; 
They mock Christ with the knee 

Whene'er they bow it — 
As if God did not see 

Tlio heart, and know it. 

Of good they choose the least, 
Despise that which is best — 
The joyful, heavenly feast 

Which Christ would give them ; 
Heaven hath scarce one cold wish ; 
They live unto the flesh ; 
Like swine they feed on wash — 

Satan dotli drive them. 
Like weeds, tlicy grow in mire 

Which vices nourish — 
Where, warmed by Satan's firs. 

All sins do flourish. 

Is this the world men choose, 
For which they heaven refuse, 
And Christ and grace abuse, 

And not receive it? 
Shall I not guilty be 
Of this in some degree. 
If hence God would me free. 

And I 'd not leave it ? 
My soul, from Sodom fly. 

Lest wrath there find thee; 
Thy refuge-rest is nigh — 

Look not behind thee ! 

There 's none of this ado. 
None of the hellish crew ; 
God's promise is most true — ■ 

Boldly believe it. 
My friends are gone before, 
And I am near the shore ; 
My soul stands at the door — 

O Lord, receive it I 



THOU ART GONE 


TO THE GRAVE, 783 


It trusts Christ and His merits — 


The toilsome way thou 'st travelled o'er, 


The dead He raises ; 


And hast borne the heavy lo.id ; 


Join it with blessed spirits 


But Christ h.ath taught thy w.andering feet 


Who sing Thy praises. 


To reach Ilis blest abode. 


EioHAKD Baxter. 


Thou'rt sleeping now, like Lazarus, 




On his Father's faithful breast, 
Where the wicked cease from troubling, 




HYMN. 


And the weary are at rest. 


When rising from the bed of death, 
O'erwhelmed witli guilt and fear, 

I see my Maker face to face, 
Oh, how shall I appear i 


Sin can never taint thee now. 
Nor can doubt thy faith assail ; 

Nor thy meek trust in Jesus Christ 
And the Holy Spirit fail. 


If yet while pardon may be found. 

And mercy may be sought. 
My heart with inward horror shrinks, 


And there thou 'rt sure to meet the good, 

Whom on earth thou lovest best, 
Where the wicked cease from troubling, 


And trembles at the thought — 


And the weary are at rest. 


When Thou, Lord, shalt stand dis- 
closed 

In majesty severe. 
And sit in judgment on my soul. 

Oh, how shall I appear ? 


" Earth to earth, and dust to dust," 


Thus the solemn priest hath said — 
So we lay the turf above thee now, 

And seal thy narrow bed ; 
But thy spirit, brother, soars away 


But Thou hast told the troubled mind 


Among the faithful blest. 


Who does her sins lament. 


Where the wicked cease from troubling, 


The timely tribute of her tears 


And the weary are at rest. 


Shall endless woe prevent. 




Then see the sorrows of my heart 

Ere yet it be too late. 
And hear my Saviour's dying groans 

To give those sorrows weight. 


And when the Lord shall summon us 
Whom thou now hast left behind, 

May we, untainted by the world, 
As sure a welcome find ; 

May each, like thee, depart in peace. 


For never shall my soul despair 

Her pardon to procure. 
Who knows Thine only Son has died 

To make her pardon sure. 


To be a glorious, happy guest 
Where the wicked cease from troubling, 
And the weary are at rest. 

IIeNKY IIAKT M1LHA2T, 


Joseph Addison. 


• 


HYMN. 


THOU ART GONE TO THE GRAVE. 


BnoTHEn, thou art gone before us. 


Tuou art gone to the grave— we no longer 


And thy saintly soul is flown 


deplore thee. 


Wliero tears are wiped from every eye. 


Though sorrows and darkness encompass 


Ani sorrow is unknown — 


the tomb ; 


From the burden of the flesh. 


The Saviour has passed through its portals 


And from care and sin released. 


before thee. 


Where the wicked cease from troubling. 


And the lamp of His love is thy guide 


And the weary are at rest. 


through the gloom. 



784 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Thou art gone to the grave — we no longer 
behold thee, 
Nor tread the rough path of the Tvorld by 
thy side ; 
But the Tvide arms of mercy are spread to en- 
fold thee, 
And sinners may hope, since the Sinless has 
died. 

Thou art gone to the grave — and, its mansion 
forsaking, 
Perhaps thy tried spirit in doubt lingered 
long, 
But the sunshine of heaven beamed bright on 
thy waking. 
And the song •svhich thou heard'st was the 
seraphim's song. 

Thou art gone to the grave — but 't were wrong 
to deplore thee, 
When God was thy ransom, thy guardian, 
thy guide ; 
He gave thee, and took thee, and soon will 
restore thee, 
"Where death hath no sting, since the Sa- 
viour hath died. 

Beqinald Hebes. 



DEATH. 



An, lovely appearance of death ! 

"What sight upon earth is so fair ? 
Not all the gay pageants that breathe 

Can with a dead body compare ; 
With solemn delight I survey 

The corpse, when the spirit is fled — 
In love with the beautiful clay, 

And longing to lie in its stead. 

How blest is our brother, bereft 

Of all that could burden his mind ! 
How easy the soul that has left 

This wearisome body behind ! 
Of evil incapable, thou, 

"Whose relics with envy I see — 
No longer in misery now, 

No longer a sinner like me. 



This earth is affected no more 

"With sickness, or shaken with pain ; 
The war in the members is o'er, 

And never shall vex him again ; 
No anger henceforward, or sliame, 

Shall redden this innocent clay ; 
Extinct is the animal flame. 

And passion is vanished away. 

This languishing head is at rest — 

Its thinking and aching are o'er ; 
This quiet, immovable breast 

Is heaved by affliction no more ; 
This heart is no longer the seat 

Of trouble, and torturing pain ; 
It ceases to flutter and beat — 

It never shall flutter again. 

The lids he so seldom could close, 

By sorrow forbidden to sleep — 
Sealed up in their mortal repose. 

Have strangely forgotten to weep ; 
The fountains can yield no supplies — 

These hollows from water are free; 
The tears are all wiped from these eyes, 

And evil they never shall see. 

To mourn and to suffer is mine, 

"While bound in a prison I breathe, 
And stiU for deliverance pine, 

And press to the issues of death ; 
"What now with my tears I bedew 

Oh might I tliis moment become ! 
My spirit created anew. 

My flesh be consigned to the tomb ! 

Charles We3lev. 



A DIRGE. 

"Eaeth to earth, and dust to dust ! " 
Here the evil and the just. 
Here the youthful and the old, 
Here the fearful and the bold, 
Here the matron and the maid, 
In one silent bed are laid ; 
Here the vassal and the king 
Side by side lie withering ; 
Here the sword and sceptre rust — 
" Earth to earth, and dust to dust 1 " 



FOR A WIDOWER OR WIDOW. 785 


Age on age shall roll along 




O'er this pale and mighty throng ; 


FOR A WIDOWER OR WIDOW 


Those that wept them, they that weep, 




All shall with these sleepers sleep ; 


DEPRIVED OF A LOVIJJG YOKEFELLOW. 


Brothers, sisters of the worm, 




Summer's sun, or winter's storm, 


How near me came the hand of death, 


Song of peace, or hattle's roar 


When at ray side he struck my dear, 


Ne'er shall break their slumbers more ; 


And took away the precious breath 


Death shall keep his sullen trust — 


Which quickened my beloved peer! 


" Earth to earth, and dust to dust ! " 


How heli)less am I thereby made — 




By day how grieved, by night how sad 




And now my life's delight is gone. 


But a day is coming fast — 


Alas, how am I left alone I 


Earth, thy mightiest and thy last ! 




It shall come in fear and wonder, 
Heralded by trump and thunder ; 
It shall come in strife and toil. 
It shall come in blood and spoil ; 
It shall come in empire's groans, 
Burning temples, ruined thrones ; 
Then, ambition, rue thy lust ! 
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust! " 


The voice which I did more esteem 
Than music in her sweetest key, 
Those eyes which unto me did seem 
More comfortable than the day — 

Those now by me, as they have been, 
Shall never more be heard or seen ; 
But what I once enjoyed in them 
Shall seem hereafter as a dream. 


Then shall come the judgment sign; 


All earthly comforts vanish thus — 


In the east the king shall shine. 


So little hold of them have we 


Flashing from heaven's golden gate — 


That we from them or they from us 


Thousands, thousands, round His state — 


May in a moment ravished be ; 


Spirits with the crown and plume ; 


Yet we are neither just nor wise 


Tremble then, thou sullen tomb ! 


If present mercies we despise, 


Heaven shall open on thy sight. 


Or mind not how there may be made 


Earth be turned to living light — 


A thankful use of what we had. 


Kingdom of the ransomed just — 




"Earth to earth, and dust to dust." 


I therefore do not so bemoan, 




Though these beseeming tears I drop. 


Then thy mount, Jerusalem, 
Shall be gorgeous as a gem ! 


The loss of my beloved one 

As they that are deprived of hope ; 


Then shall in the desert rise 
Fruits of more than Paradise ; 
Earth by angel feet be trod — 
One great garden of her God ! 


But in expressing of my grief 
My heart receiveth some relief. 
And joyeth in the good I had. 
Although my sweets are bitter made. 


Till are dried the martyr's tears, 




Through a thousand glorious years ! 


Lord, keep me faithful to the trust 


Now in hope of Him we trust — 
" Earth to earth, and dust to dust." 


Which my dear spouse reposed in me 1 
To him now dead preserve me just 


George Ceolt. 


In all that should performed be ; 




For though our being man and wife 


^ 


Extendeth only to this life. 






Yet neither life nor death should end 


51 


The being of a faithful friend. 



7Sf. POEMS OF 


RELIGION. 


Those licljis which I through him enjoyed, 


If a star were confined into a tomb, 


Let Thy continual aid snpiily — 

That, though some hopes in him are void, 


Her captive flames must needs burn there ; 
r>ut when the hand that locked her up gives 


I always may on Thee rely ; 
And whether I shall wed again, 


room. 
She '11 shine through all the sphere. 


Or in a single state remain. 
Unto Thine lionor let it be. 


Father of eternal life, and all 


And for a blessing unto me. 


Created glories under Tliee! 


George ■Wither. 


Uosumo thy spirit from this world of thrall 




Into true liberty. 

Either disperse these mists, which blot and 
fiU 


THEY ARE ALL GOKE. 


TnET are all gone into the world of light, 

And I alone sit lingering hero! 
Their very memory is fair and bright. 
And my sad thoughts doth clear; 

It glows and glitters in m^' cloudy breast, 

Like stars upon some gloomy grove — 
Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest 


My perspective still as they pass ; 
Or else remove mo hence unto that hill 
Where I shall need no glass. 

HeNKT VAUGn.\N. 


EACH SORROWFUL MOURNER. 


After the sun's remove. 


Each sorrowful mourner, be silent 1 


I see them walking in an air of glory, 

Whose light doth trample on my days — 
ily days which -are at best but dull and hoary. 


Fond mothers, give over your weeping ! 

Nor grieve for those pledges as perished 
This dying is life's reparation. 


Mere glimmering and decays. 


Now take him, earth, to thy keeping, 


holy hope ! and high humility — 

High as the heavens above I 
These are your walks, and you have showed 


And give him soft rest in thy bosom ; 
I lend thee the frame of a Christian — 
I entrust thee the generous fragments. 


them mo 


Tluni holily guard the deposit — 


To kindle my cold love. 


Ho will well, He will snrel\-, require it, 


Dear, beauteous death —the jewel of the just — 

Shining nowhere but in the dark! 

What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust. 

Could man outlook that mark ! 


Who, forming ir, made its creation 
The tj-pe of His imago and likeness. 

But until the resolvable body 

Thou recallcst, God, and reformest, 


He that hath found some fledged bird's nest 
may know. 
At first sight, if the bird bo llowu ; 
But what fair dell or grove he sings in now. 
That is to him unknown. 


What regions, unknown to the mortal, 
Dost Thou will tlie pure soul to inhabit? 

It shall rest upon Abraham's bosom. 
As the spirit of blest Eleazar, 
Whom, afar in that Paradise, Dives 


And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams 

Call to the soul when man doth sleep. 
So some strange thoughts transcend our 
wonted themes, 
And into glory peep. 


Beholds from the flames of his torments. 

We follow Thy saying, liedeeraer, 
Whereby, as vn death Thou wast trampling, 
The thief. Thy companion, Tliou willedst 
To tre,ad in Thy footsteps and triumph. 



(!0D THE EVERLASTING LIGHT OF THE SAINTS ABOVE. 187 


To tlio laithfiil the bi'ijjlit way is open, 


Beyond the ebbing and the flowing, 


Ilcncftbrwanl, to I'anulisc loading, 


Beyond the coining and the going, 


And to that blessed grovo wo have access 


I shall bo soon. 


Whereof man was bereaved by the serpent. 


Loee, rest, and home ! 




Sweet hope ! 


Thou leader and Ruide of Thy people, 


Lord, tarry not, hut come. 


Give command that the soul of Tliy servant 




May have holy repose in the conntry 
"Whence, exile and erring, ho wandered. 


Beyond tlie parting and the meeting 
I shall be soon ; 




Beyond the farewell and tlie greeting, 


We will honor the place of his resting 


Beyond this ]uilse's fever beating. 


With violets and garlatuls of flowers. 


1 shall bo soon. 


And will sprinkle inscription and marble 


Love, rest, and home! 


With odors of costliest fragrance. 


Sweet hope ! 


AoKEi.ius Pecdentids. (Latin.) 


Lord, tarry not, hut come. 


Translation of .Torn Mason Neale. 






Beyond the frost chain and the fever 
I shall bo soon ; 




A LITTLE WHILE. 


Beyond the rock waste and the river, 
Beyond the ever and the never. 


Betond the smiling and the weeping 


I shall bo soon. 


I shall be soon ; 


Love, rest, and home! 


Beyond the waking and the .sleejiing, 


Sweet Iwpe ! 


Beyond the sowing and the reaping. 


Lord, tarry not, hut come. 


I shall be soon. 


IIoitATinU BOSAE. 


Love, rest, and home ! 
Sweet hope ! 






Lord, tarry not, hut com,e. 


GOD THE EVERLASTING LIGHT OF 


Beyond the blooming and the fading 


THE SAINTS ABOVE. 


I shall be soon ; 


Ye golden lamps of heaven, farewell, 


Beyond the shining and the shading, 


With all your feeble light; 


Beyond the hoping and the dreading, 


Farewell, thou ever-changing moon. 


I sh.iU be soon. 


Pale empi-ess of the night. 


Love, rest, and home! 




Sweet hope ! 


And tho\i, I'cfulgent orb of day, 


Lord, tarry not, hiit come. 


In brighter flames arrayed. 




My soul, that springs beyond thy sphere. 


Beyond the rising and the setting 


No moi-e demands thine aid. 


I shall be soon ; 




Beyond the calming and the fretting. 


Ye stars are but the shining dust 


Beyond remembering and forgetting, 


Of my di\ane abode, 


I shall be soon. 


The pavement of those heavenly courts 


Love, rest, and home ! 


Where I shall reign with God. 


Sweet hope ! 




Lord, tarry not, hut come. 


The Father of eternal light 




- Shall there His beams display, 


Beyond the gathering and the strowing 


Nor shall one moment's darkness mix 


I shall be soon ; 


With that unvaried day. 



V88 POEMS OF 


RELIGION. 


No more tlie drops of piercing grief 




Shall swell into mine eyes, 


THE NE"W JERUSALEM; 


Nor the meridian sun decline 






OR, THE soul's breathing after tue heav- 


Amidst those brighter skies. 


enly COUNTET. 


There all the millions of His saints 


" Since Chrises fair truth needs no raan"s art. 


Shall in one song unite, 


Take this rude song in better part." 


And each the bliss of all shall view 




"With infinite delight. 


MOTHER dear, Jerusalem, 


Philip Doddkii>ge. 


When shall I come to thee ? 




When shall my sorrows have an end — 
Thy joys when shall I see? 




THE HKAVENLT CANAAN. 


liappy harbor of God's saints ! 




sweet and pleasant soil ! 


There is a land of pure delight, 


In thee no sorrows can be found — 


Where saints immortal reign ; 


No grief, no care, no toil. 


Infinite day excludes the night, 


In thee no sickness is at aU, 


And pleasures banish pain. 


No hurt, nor any sore ; 




There is no death nor ugly night. 


There everlasting spring abides. 


But life for evermore. 


And never- withering flowers ; 


No dimming cloud o'ershadows thee. 


Death, like a narrow sea, divides 


No cloud nor darksome night. 


This heavenly land from ours. 


But every soul shines as the sun — 




For God himself gives light. 


Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood 


There lust and lucre cannot dwell. 


Stand dressed in living green ; 


There envy bears no sway ; 


So to the Jews old Canaan stood, 


There is no hunger, thirst, nor heat. 


While Jordan rolled between. 


But pleasures every way. 




Jerusalem ! Jerusalem ! 


But timorous mortals start and shrink 


Would God I were in thee ! 


To cross this narrow sea, 


Oh ! that ray sorrows had an end. 


And linger shivering on the brink. 


Thy joys that I might see ! 


And fear to launch away. 






No pains, no pangs, no grieving grief, 




No woeful night is there ; 


Oh ! could we make our doubts remove, 






No sigh, no sob, no cry is heard — 
No weU-away, no fear. 


Those gloomy doubts that rise, 
And see the Canaan that we love 


"With unbeclouded eyes — 


Jerusalem the city is 
Of God our king alone ; 




The lamb of God, the light thereof, 


Could -we but climb where Moses stood, 


Sits there upon Ills throne. 


And view the landscape o'er. 




Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold 


God ! that I Jerusalem 


flood, 


With speed may go behold ! 


Should fright us from the shore. 


For why ? the pleasures there .ibound 


Isaac Watts. 


Which here cannot be told. 




Thy turrets and thy pinnacles 
With carbuncles do shine — 






With jasper, pearl, and chrysolite, 




Surpassing pure and fine. 



THE NEW JERUSALEM. 



789 



Thy houses are of ivoiy, 

Thy windows crystal clear, 
Thy streets are laid with beaten gold — 

There angels do appear. 
Thy walls are made of precious stone, 

Thy bulwarks diamond square, 
Thy gates are made of orient pearl — 

O God ! if I were there ! 

Within thy gates nothing can come 

That is not passing clean ; 
No spider's web, no dirt, nor dust, 

No filth may there be seen. 
Jehovah, Lord, now come away, 

And end my griefs and plaints — 
Take me to Thy Jerusalem, 

And place me with Thy saints ! 

Who there are crowned with glory great. 

And see God face to face. 
They tritunph still, and aye rejoice — 

Most happy is their case. 
But we that are in banishment. 

Continually do moan ; 
We sign, we mourn, we sob, we weep — 

Perpetually we groan. 

Our sweetness mixed is with gall. 

Our pleasures are but pain. 
Our joys not worth the looking on — 

Our sorrows aye remain. 
But there they live in such delight. 

Such pleasure and such play, 
Tliat unto them a thousand years 

Seems but as yesterday. 

O my sweet home, Jerusalem ! 

Thy joys when sliall I see — 
The king sitting upon His throne, 

And thy felicity ? 
Thy vineyards, and thy orchards. 

So wonderfully rare. 
Are furnished with all kinds of fruit, 

Most beautiftilly fair. 

Tliy gardens and thy goodly walks. 

Continually are green ; 
There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers 

As nowhere else are seen. 
There cinnamon and sugar grow, 

Tliere nard and balm abound ; 
No tongue can tell, no heart can think, 

The pleasures there are found. 



There nectar and ambrosia spring — 

There music 's ever sweet ; 
There many a fair and dainty thing 

Are trod down under feet. 
Quite through the streets, with pleasant 
sound. 

The flood of life doth flow ; 
Upon the banks, on every side, 

The trees of life do grow. 

These trees each month yield ripened 
fruit — 

For evermore they spring ; 
And all the nations of the world 

To thee their honors bring. 
Jerusalem, God's dwelling-place 

Full sore I long to see ; 
Oh ! that my sorrows had an end, 

That I might dwell in thee ! 

There David stands, with Ijarp in hand, 

As master of the choir ; 
A thousand times that man were blest 

That might his music hear. 
There Mary sings '' Magnificat," 

With tunes surpassing sweet ; 
And all the virgins bear their part. 

Singing about her feet. 

" Te Deura " doth St. Ambrose sing, 

St. Austin doth the like ; 
Old Simeon and Zacharie 

Have not their songs to seek. 
There Magdalene hath left ber moan. 

And cheerfully doth sing, 
With all blest saints whose harmony 

Through every street doth ring. 

Jerusalem ! Jerusalem ! 

Thy joys fain would I see; 
Come quickly. Lord, and end my grief. 

And take me home to Thee ; 
Oil ! paint Thy name on my forehead, 

And take me hence away. 
That I may dwell with Thee in bliss, 

And sing Thy praises aye. 

Jerusalem, the happy home — 

Jehovah's throne on high ! 
O sacred city, queen, and wife 

Of Christ eternally ! 



790 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



comely queen with glory claJ, 
"Witli honor and degree, 

All fair thou art, exceeding bright— 
JTo spot there is in thee ! 

1 long to see Jerusalem, 
The comfort of us all ; 

For thou art fail- and beautiful — 

None ill can thee befall. 
In thee, Jerusalem, I s.ny, 

Xo darkness dare appear — 
No night, no ."hade, no winter foul — 

No time doth alter there. 

No candle needs, no moon to shine. 

No glittering star to light; 
For Christ, the king of righteousness, 

For ever shineth bright. 
A lamb unspotted, white and pure, 

To thee doth stand in lieu 
Of light — so great the glory is 

Thine heavenly king to view. 

He is the King of kings, beset 

In midst His servants' sight ; 
And thoy. His happy household all. 

Do serve Him day and night. 
There, there the choir of angels sing — 

There the supernal sort 
Of citizens, which hence are rid 

From dangers deep, do sport. 

There be the prudent prophets all. 

The apostles six and six. 
The glorious martyrs in ,i row, 

And confessors betwixt. 
There doth the crew of righteous men 

And matrons all consist — 
Young men and maids that here on eai'th 

Their pleasures did resist. 

The sheep and lambs, that hardly 'scaped 

The snare of deatli and hell. 
Triumph in joy eternally, 

AVhereof no tongue can tell ; 
And though the glury of each one 

Doth ditfer in degree. 
Yet is the joy of all aUke 

And common, as we see. 

There love and charity do reign. 
And Christ is all in all, 

Wliom they most perfectly behold 
In joy celestial. 



They love, they praise — they praise, they 
love; 

They "Holy, holy," cry ; 
Tliey neither toil, nor faint, nor end, 

But laud continually. 

Oh ! happy thousand times were 1, 

If, after wretched days, 
I might with listening ears conceive 

Those heavenly songs of praise, 
"Wbich to the eternal king are sung 

By happy wights above — 
By saved souls and angels sweet, 

■Who love the God of love. 

Oh ! passing happy were my state, 

Might I be worthy found 
To wait upon my God and king. 

His praises there to sound ; 
And to enjoy my Christ above, 

Ilis fiivor and His grace, 
According to His promise made, 

Which here I interlace : 

"O Father dear,"' quoth he, "let tliem 

Vliich Thou hast put of old 
To me, be there where lo ! I am — 

Thy glory to beliold ; 
\Yliich I with Thee, before the world 

Was made in perfect wise, 
Have had — from whence the fountain great 

Of glory doth arise." 

Again : "If any man will serve 

Thee, let him follow me ; 
For where I am, he there, right sure. 

Then shall my servant be." 
And still : " If any man loves me. 

Him loves my father dear. 
Whom I do love — to him myself 

In glory will appear." 

Lord, take away my misery. 

That then I may be bold 
With Thee, in Thy Jerusalem, 

Thy gloi-y to behold ; 
And so in Zion see ray king. 

My love, my Lord, my all — 
Where now as in a glass I see, 

There face to face I shall. 



THE FUTURE PEACE AND 


GLORY OF THE CHURCH. 791 


Oil ! Ucssed aro the pure in Leart — 




Tlieir sovereign tlicy sliall see ; 


OF HEAVEN. 


yo most Iiappy, heavenly wiglits, 




Wliicli of God's Iiousoliold be ! 


BEAUTEOUS God ! uucircumscribed treasure 


Lord, with speed dissolve my bands, 


Of an eternal pleasure ! 


These gins and fetters strong; 


Thy throne is seated lar 


For I have dwelt within the tents 


Above the highest star. 


Of Kedar over long. 


Where Thou preparest a glorious place. 




Within the Ijrightness of Thy face. 


Yet search ine, Lord, and find mo out ! 


For ei'ery sjiirit 


Fetch me Thy fold unto. 


To inherit 


That all Thy angels may rejoice, 


That Imilds liis hopes upon Thy merit, 


^yllile all Thy will I do. 


And loves Thee with a holy charity. 


mother de.ir ! Jerusalem ! 


What ravished heart, seraphic tongue or eyes 


When shall I come to thee ? 


Clear as the morning rise. 


When shall my sorrows have an end. 


Can speak, or think, or see 


Thy joys when shall I see? 


That bright eternity. 


Yet once ag.nin I pray Thee, Lord, 


Where the great king's transparent throne 


To quit me from all strife. 


Is of an entire jasper stone ? 


That to Thy hill I may attain, 


There the eye 


And dwell there all my life— 


0' the chrysolite, 


With cherubims and seraphims 


And a sky 


And holy souls of men. 


Of diamonds, rubies, chrysoprase — 


To sing Thy praise, God of hosts ! 


And above all. Thy holy face — 


Forever 'ind fimen ' 


Makes an eternal charity. 


AN0NYM0D9. 


When Thou Thy jewels up dost bind, that day 




Remember us, we pray — 
That where the beryl lies, 




PEACE. 


And the crystal 'bove the skies. 




There Thou mayest appoint us place 


My soul, there is a country 


Within the brightness of Thy face — 


Afar beyond the stars. 


And our soul 


Where stands a winged sentry, 


In the scroll 


All skilful in the wars. 


Of life and blissfulness enroll. 


There, above noise and danger. 


That we may praise Thee to eternity. Al- 


Sweet peace sits crowned with smiles. 


lelujah ! 


And One born in a manger 


Jeremy Tatloe. 


Commands the beauteous files. 
He is thy gracious friend. 






And (0 my soul aw.ake !) 




Did in pure lovo descend, 


THE FUTUPvE PEACE AND GLORY OF 


To die here for thy sake. 


THE CHURCH. 


If thou canst get but thither, 




There grows the flower of peace — 


Hear what God the Lord hath spoken : 


Tlie rose that cannot wither — 


" my people, faint and few. 


Thy fortress, and thy case. 


Comfortless, afflicted, broken. 


Leave, then, thy foolish ranges ; 


Fair abodes I build for yon ; 


For none can thee secure, 


Thorns of heartfelt tribulation 


But One who never changes — 


Shall no more perplex your ways; 


Thy God, thy life, thy cure. 


You shall name your walls salvation, 


IlESET VAtrOnAN. 


And your gates shall all he praise. 



V92 POEMS OF 


BELIGION. 


"There, like streams that feed the garden, 


Where the bleak mountain stood 


Pleasures without end shall flow ; 


All bare and disarrayed, 


For the Lord, your faith rewarding, 


See the wide-branching wood 


All Ilis bounty shall bestow. 


Difluse its grateful shade ; 


Still in undisturbed possession 


Tall cedars nod. 


Peace and righteousness shall reign ; 


And oaks and pines, 


Never shall you feel oppression. 


And elms and vines 


Hear the voice of war again. 


Confess the God. 




The tyrants of the plain 


" Ye no more your suns descending, 


Their savage chase give o'er — 


Waning moons, no more shall see ; 


No more they rend the slain. 


But, your griefs for ever ending, 


And thirst for blood no more ; 


Find eternal noon in me. 


But infant hands 


God shall rise, and, shining o'er you. 


Fierce tigers stroke, 


Change to day the gloom of night ; 


And lions yoke 


He, the Lord, shall be your glory. 


In flowery bands. 


God your everlasting light." 




William Cowper. 


Oh when, jUraighty Lord, 




Shall these glad scenes arise, 
To verify Thy word. 






And bless our wondering eyes ! 


THE WILDERNESS TEANSFOPvMED. 


That earth may raise. 




With all its tongues, 


Amazixg, beauteous change ! 


United songs 


A world created new ! 


Of ardent praise. 


My thoughts with transport range, 


PmLIP DODDRIDOH 


The lovely scene to view ; 
In all I trace. 






Saviour divine. 




The work is Thine — 


ALL WELL. 


Be Thine the praise ! 






No seas again shall sever. 




No desert intervene ; 


See crystal fountains play 


No deep, sad-flowing river 


Amidst the burning sands ; 


Shall roll its tide between. 


The river's winding way 




Shines through the thirsty lands ; 


No bleak clifts, upward towering. 


New grass is seen, 


Shall bound our eager sight ; 


And o'er the meads 


No tempest, darkly lowering, 


Its carpet spreads 


Shall wrap us in its night. 


Of living green. 






Love, and unsevered union 


Where pointed brambles grew, 


Of soul with those we love, 


Entwined with horrid thorn, 


Nearness and glad communion. 


Gay flowers, for ever new. 


Shall be our joy above. 


The painted fields adorn — 




The blushing rose 


No dread of wasting sickness, 


And lily there. 


No thought of ache or pain, 


In union fair 


No fretting hours of weakness. 


Their sweets disclose. 


Shall mar our peace again. 



VENI, CREATOR. 



793 



No death, our homos o'ershading, 
Sliall e'er our harps unstring ; 

For all is life unfading 
In presence of our king. 

HORATJTJS BONAE. 



PRAISE TO GOD. 

Peaise to God, immortal praise, 
For the love th.at crowns our days — 
Bounteous source of every joy. 
Let Thy praise our tongues employ 1 

For the blessings of the field. 
For the stores the gardens yield, 
For the vine's exalted juice, 
For the generous olive's use : 

Flocks that whiten .ill the plain. 
Yellow sheaves of ripened grain, 
Clouds that drop their fattening dews, 
Suns that temperate warmth ditfuse — 

r 

All that spring, with bounteous hand. 
Scatters o'er the smiling land ; 
All that liberal autunui pours 
From her rich o'erflowing stores : 

These to Thee, my God, we owe — 
Source whence all our blessings flow ! 
And for these my soul shall raise 
Grateful vows and solemn praise. 

Yet should rising whirlwinds tear 
From its stem the ripening ear — 
Sliould the fig-tree's blasted shoot 
Drop her green untimely fruit — • 

Should the vine put forth no more. 
Nor the olive yield her store — 
Though the sickening flocks should fall, 
And the herds desert the stall — 

Should Thine altered hand restrain 
Tlie early and the latter rain. 
Blast each opening bud of joy. 
And fhe rising year destroy ; 



Yet to Thee my soul should raise 
Grateful vows and solemn praise, 
And, when every blessing 's flown. 
Love Thee — for Thyself alone. 

Anna L,etitia Baubauld. 



VENI, CREATOR! 

Creator Spirit, by whose aid 
The world's foundations first were laid. 
Come, visit every pious mind ; 
Come, pour Thy joys on human kind ; 
Fi'om sin and sorrow set us free, 
And make Thy temples worthy Thee ! 

O source of uncreated light, 
The Father's promised Paraclete ! 
Thi'ico holy fount, thrice holy fire, 
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire, 
Come, and Thy sacred unction bring, 
To sanctify us while we sing ! 

Plenteous of grace, descend ffom high, 
Rich in Thy sevenfold energy ! 
Thou strength of His almighty hand 
Whoso power does heaven and earth com- 
mand ! 
Proceeding Spirit, our defence. 
Who dost the gifts of tongues dispense, 
And crown'st Thy gifts with eloquence! 

Refine and purge our earthly parts ; 
But oh, inflame and flre our hearts ! 
Our frailties help, our vice control — 
Submit the senses to the soul ; 
And when rebellious they are grown, 
Then lay Thy hand, and hold them down. 

Chase from our minds the infernal foe. 
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow ; 
And, lest our feet should step astray, 
Protect and guide us in the way. 

Make us eternal truths receive, 
And practise .all that we believe ; 
Give us Thyself, that we may see 
The Father, and the Son, by Thee. 



794 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Immortal honor, endless fame, 
Attend the almighty Father's name ! 
The Saviour Son he glorified, 
ATlio for lost man's redemption died ! 
And equal adoration be, 
Eternal Paraclete, to Thee! 

St. AiiBROSE. (Latin.) 
Paraphrase of JouK Drydes. 



htm:^ of praise. 

Lo! God is here! let us adore, 
And own how dreadful is this place ; 

Let all within us feel His power, 
And silent how before Ilis face! 

Who know His power, His grace who prove, 

Serve Him with awe, with reverence love. 

Lo ! God is here ! Him day and night 
Til' united choirs of angels sing ; 

To Him, enthroned above all height, 
Heaven's host their noblest praises bring ; 

Disdain not, Lord, our meaner song, 

^Yho praise Thee with a stammering tongue. 

Gladly the toils of earth we leave. 

Wealth, pleasure, fame, for Thee alone ; 

To Thee our will, soul, flesh, wo give — 
Oh talve ! oh seal them for Thine own ! 

Thou art the God, Thou art the Lord — 

Be Thou hy all Thy works adored ! 

Being of beings I may our praise 
Thy courts with grateful fragrance fill ; 

Still may we stand before Thy face. 
Still hear and do Thy sovereign will ; 

To thee may all our thoughts arise — 

Ceaseless, accepted sacrifice. 

In Thee we move; all things of Thee 
Are full, Thou source and life of all; 

Iliou vast unfathomable sea I 
(Fall prostrate, lost in wonder fall, 

To sons of meu ! For God is man !) 

iUl may we lose, so Thee we gain ! 



As flowers their opening leaves display, 
xVnd glad drink in the solar fire. 

So may we catch Th.v every ray, 
So may Thy influence lis insi)ire — 

Thou beam of the eternal beam ! 

Thou purging fire. Thou quickening flame I 

Gerhakd Tersteegen. (German.) 
Translation of JouN Wesley. 



THE LOPvD THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 

The Lord is my shepherd, nor want shall I 
know ; 
I feed in green pastures, safe-folded I rest ; 
He leadeth my soul where the still waters 
flow. 
Restores me when wandering, redeems 
when oppressed. 

Through the valley and shadow of death 
tliough I stray. 
Since Thou art my guardian no evil I fear; 
Thy rod shall defend me, Thy staft' be my 
stay; 
No harm can befall with my comforter 
near. 

In the midst of affliction my table is spread ; 
With blessings unmeasured my cup run- 
neth o'er ; 
With perfume and oil Thou anointest my 
head ; 
Oil ! what shall I ask of Thy Providence 
more ? 

Let goodness and mercy, my bountiful God ! 

StiU follow my steps till I meet Thee above : 
I seek, by the path wliicli my forefathers trod, 

Through the land of their sojourn. Thy 

kingdom of love. 

jAiiES Montgomery. 



SONNET. 

The prayers I make will then be sweet in- 
deed. 
If Thou the spirit give by which I pray ; 
My unassisted heart is barren claj-. 
That of its native self can nothing feed. 



THE POET'S HYMN FOR HIMSELF. 



795 



Of good and pious works Thou art the seed, 

That quickens only where thou say'st it may. 

Unless Thou show to us Thine own true way, 

No man can find it ; Father ! thou must load. 

Do Thou, then, hreatho those thoughts into 

my mind 

By which such virtue may in me he bred 

That in Thy holy footsteps I may tread ; 

The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind, 

That I may have the power to sing of Thee, 

And sound Thy praises everlastingly. 

Michael Angelo. (Italian.) 
Translation of Samuel WoBDSwoRTn. 



PRAISE. 

Comb, oh come ! with sacred lays 
Let us sound the Almighty's praise ! 
Hither bring, in true consent. 
Heart, and voice, and instrument. 
Let the orpharion sweet 
With tlie harp and viol meet ; 
Let your voices tune the lute ; 
Let not tongue nor string be mute ; 
Nor a creature dumb be found 
That hath either voice or sound ! 

Let such things as do not live, 

In stdl music praises give ! 

Lowly pipe, ye worms that creep 

On the earth, or in the deep ; 

Loud aloft your voices strain, 

Beasts, and monsters of the main ; 

Birds, your warbling treble sing; 

Clouds, your peals of thunder ring; 
Sun and moon, exalted higher. 
And you, stars, augment the choir ! 

Come, ye sons of human race, 
In this chorus take your place ! 
And amid this mortal throng 
Be you masters of the song. 
Angels and celestial powers. 
Be the noblest tenor yours ! 
Let, in praise of God, the sound 
Run a never-ending round. 

That our holy hymn may be 

Everlasting as is He. 



From the earth's vast boUow womb 
Music's deepest bass shall come ; 
Sea and floods, from shore to shore. 
Shall the counter-tenor roar ; 
To this concert, when we sing, 
"Whistling winds, your descant bring. 
Which may bear the sound above 
Where the orb of fire doth move. 
And so climb frqm sphere to sphere. 
Till our song the Almighty hear ! 

So shall lie, from heaven's high tower. 
On the earth His blessings shower ; 
All this huge wide orb we see 
Shall one choir, one temple be ; 
There our voices we will rear, 
Till we fill it every where, 
And enforce the fiends, that dwell 
In the air, to sink to hell. 

Then, oh come ! with sacred lays 
Let us sound the Almighty's praise. 
Geobge Wither. 



THE POET'S HYMN FOR HIMSELF. 

Great Almighty, king of heaven. 
And one God in persons three — 
Honor, praise, and thanks be given 
Now and evermore to Thee, 
Who hast more for Thine prepared 
Than by words can be declared ! 

By Thy mercies I was taken 

From the pits of miry clay. 

Wherein, wretched and forsaken. 

Helpless, hopeless too, I lay ; 
And those comforts Thou didst give rne 
Whereof no man can deprive me. 

By Thy grace the passions, troubles. 
And what most my heart oppressed, 
Have appeared as airy bubbles. 
Dreams, or suflerings but in jest; 
And with profit that hath ended 
Which my foes for harm intended. 

Those afflictions and those terrors, 
Which did plagues at first appear, 
Did but show me what mine errors 
And mine hnperfeotions were ; 



796 POEMS OF 


KELIGION. 


But tliey wretched could not make me, 


III. 


Xor from Tliy affection shake me. 


Hear, Lord and God, my cries ! 


Therefore as Thy blessed Psalmist, 


Mark my foes' unjust abusing; 
And illuminate mine eyes, 


■When his warfares had an end, 
And his days ivere at the calmest, 
Psalms and hymns of praises penned — 


Heavenly beams in them infasing — 
Lest my woes, too great to bear, 
And too infinite to number. 


So my rest, by Thee enjoj'cd. 


Rock me soon, 'twixt hope and fear. 


To Thy praise I have employed. 


Into death's eternal slumber — 


Lord ! accept my poor endeavor, 


IV. 


And assist Thy servant so. 


Lest my foes their boasting make : 


In well doing to persever. 


Spite of right, on him we trample ; 


That more jierfect I may grow — 


And a pride in mischief take. 


Every day more prudent, meeker, 


Hastened by my sad example. 


And of Thee a faithful seeker. 


V. 


Let no passed sin or folly. 


As for me, I '11 ride secure 


Nor a future fault in me. 


At Thy mercy's sacred anchor; 


Make unfruitful or unholy 


And, undaunted, will endure 


■What I otfer now to Thee; 


Fiercest storms of wrong and rancour. 


But with favor and compassion 


VI. 

These black clouds will overblow — 


Cure and cover each transgression. 


And with Israel's royal singer 
Teach me so faith's hymns to sing — 
So Thy ten-stringed law to finger. 
And such music thence to bring — 

That by grace I may aspire 

To Thy blessed angel choir ! 

Geokge Wituee. 


Sunshine shall have his returning ; 
And my grief-duUed heart, I know. 
Into mirth shall change his mourning. 
Therefore I '11 rejoice, and sing 
Hymns to God, in sacred measure, 
"Who to happy pass will bring 
My just hopes, at His good pleasure. 


^ 


Fkancb Datmoh. 


PSALM xin. 


PSALM XVIIL 


I. 

LoED, how long, how long wilt Thou 


PAHT FIRST. 


Quite forget, and quite neglect me ? 


God, my strength' and fortitude, of force 1 


How long, with a frowning brow. 


must love Thee ! 


Wilt Thou from Thy sight reject me ? 


Thou art my castle and defence in my neces- 




sity — 


II. 


My God, my rock in whom I trust, the 


How long shall I seek a way 


worker of my wealth 


Forth this maze of thoughts perplexed. 


My refuge, buckler, and my shield, the horn 


Where my grieved mind, night and day. 


of all ui}- health. 


Is with thinking tired and vexed? 




How long shall ray scornful foe, 


When I sing laud unto the Lord most worthy 


On my fall his greatness placing. 


to be served. 


Build upon my overthrow, 


Then from my foes I am riglit sure that I 


And be graced by my disgracing ? 


shall be preserved. 



PSALM XXIII. 



797 



The pangs of death did coiupasg me, and 

bouud me everywhere ; 
The flowing waves of wickedness did put me 

in great fear. 

The sly and subtle snai'ea of hell were round 

about lue set ; 
And for my death there was prepared a deadly 

trapping net. 
I, thus beset with pain and grief, did pray to 

God for grace ; 
And he forthwith did hear my plaint out of 

Ilis holy place. 

Such is His power that in His wrath He made 

the earth to quake — 
Yea, the foundation of the mount of Basan 

for to shake. 
And from His nostrils came a smoke, when 

kindled was His ire ; 
And from His mouth came kindled coals of 

hot consuming fire. 

The Lord descended from above, and bowed 
the heavens high ; 

And underneath His feet He cast the darkness 
of the sky. 

On cherubs and on cherubims full royally He 
rode ; 

And on the wings of all the winds came fly- 
ing all abroad. 

TnoMAS Sternhold. 



PSALM XIX. 

The heavens declare Thy glory, Lord ! 

In every star Thy wisdom shines ; 
But when our eyes behold Thy word, 

We read Thy name in fairer lines. 

Tlie rolling sun, the changing light. 

And nights and days Thy power confess ; 

But the blest volume Thou hast writ 
Reveals Thy justice and Thy grace. 

Sun, moon, and stars convey Thy praise 
Round the whole earth, and never stand ; 

So, when Thy truth begun its race 
It touched and glanced on every land. 



Nor shall Thy spreading gospel rest 

Till through the world Thy truth has run ; 

Till Christ has all the nations blest 
That see the light or foel the sun. 

Great sun of righteousness, ai-ise ! 

Bless the dark world with heavenly light ! 
Thy gospel makes the simple wise — 

Thy laws are pure. Thy judgments right. 

Thy noblest wonders here we view. 
In souls renewed, and sins forgiven ; 

Lord, cleanse my sins, my soul renew, 

And make Thy word my guide to heaven ! 
I3AA0 Watts. 



PSALM SXIII. 



God, who the universe doth hold 

In His fold. 
Is my shepherd, kind and heedful — 
Is my shepherd, and doth keeji 

Me, His sheep, 
StiU supplied with aU things needful. 



He feeds me in His fields, which been 

Fresh and green. 
Mottled with spring's flowery painting — 
Thro' which creep, with murmuring crooks, 

Crystal brooks. 
To refresh my spirit's fainting. 

in. 
When my soul from heaven's way 

Went astray. 
With earth's vanities seduced. 
For His name's sake, kindly. He 

Wandering me 
To His holy fold reduced. 



Yea, though I stray through death's vale, 

Where His pale 
Shades did on each side enfold me, 
Dreadless, having Thee for guide, 

Should I bide ; 
For Thy rod and staff uphold me. 



798 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Thou my board witli messes large 

Dost surcharge ; 
My bowls full of wiue Thou pourest ; 
Aud before mine enemies' 

Envious eyes 
Balm upon my head Thou showerest. 



Neither dures Thy bounteous grace 

For a space ; 
But it knows no bound nor measure ; 
So my days, to my life's end, 

I shall spend 
In Thy courts with heavenly pleasure. 
Francis Davison. 



PSALM XXIII. 

Lo, my Shepherd's hand divine ! 
Want shall never more be mine. 
In a pasture fair and largo 
He shall feed His happy charge, 
And my couch with tenderest care 
'Midst the springing grass prepare. 

When I faint with summer's heat, 
He shall lead ray weary feet 
To the streams that, still and slow, 
Through the verdant meadows flow. 
He my soul anew shall frame ; 
And, His mercy to proclaim. 
When through devious paths I stray, 
Teach my steps the better way. 

Tliough the dreary vale I tread 
By the shades of death o'erspread ; 
There I walk from terror free. 
While my every wish I see 
By Tliy rod and staff supplied — 
This ray guard, and that my guide. 

While my foes are gazing on. 
Thou Thy favoring care hast shown ; 
Thou my plenteous board hast spread ; 
Thou with oil refreshed my head ; 
Filled by Thee, my cup o'erflows ; 
For Thy love no limit knows. 
Constant, to my latest end. 
This ray footsteps shall attend. 
And shall bid Thy hallowed dome 
Yield me an eternal home. 

James Merrick. 



PSALM XXX. 



Lord, to Thee, while I am living. 
Will I sing hymns of thanksgiving ; 
For Thou hast drawn me from a gulf of woes, 
So that ray foes 
Do not deride me. 

n. 

When Thine aid. Lord, I implored. 
Then by Tliee was I restored ; 
My mournful heart with joy thou straight 
didst fill. 

So that none ill 
Doth now betide me. 

ni. 

My soul, grievously distressed, 
And with death well-nigh oppressed. 
From death's devouring jaws. Lord, Thou 
didst save. 

And from the grave 
My soul deliver. 

IV. 

Oh, aU ye that e'er had savor 
Of God's everlasting favor, 
Come ! come and help me grateful praises 
sing 

To the world's king. 
And my life's giver. 

T. 

For His anger never lasteth. 
And His favor never wastcth. 
Though sadness be thy guest in sullen niglit, 
The chcerfid light 
Will cheerful make thee. 

VI. 

Lulled asleep with charming pleasures, 
And base, earthly, fading treasures. 
Rest, peaceful soul, said I, in happy state — 
No storms of fate 
Shall ever shake thee ! 

VII. 

For Jehovah's grace unbounded 
llath my greatness snrely founded ; 
And hath my state as strongly fortified, 

On every side. 

As rocky mountains. 



PSALM 


XLVI. 199 


vni. 


Loud may the troubled ocean roar ; 


But away His face God turned — 


In sacred peace our souls abide, 


I was troubled then, and mourned ; 


While every nation, every shore. 


Then thus I poured forth prayers and doleful 


Trembles and dreads the swelling tide. 


cries. 


There is a stream whose gentle flow 


With weeping eyes 


Supplies the city of our God — 


Like watery fountains : 


Life, love, and joy still gliding through. 




And watering our divine abode ; 


IS. 

In my blo(5d there is no profit ; 


That sacred stream Thine holy word. 


If I die what good comes of it ? 


That all our raging fear controls ; 


Shall rotten bones or senseless dust express 


Sweet peace Thy promises afford, 


Thy thankfulness, 


And give new strength to fainting souls. 


And works of wonder ? 


Sion enjoys her monarch's love. 




Secure against a threat'ning hour ; 


X. 


Nor can her fii'm foundations move. 


Oh then hear me, prayers forthpouring. 


Built on His truth, and armed with power. 


Drowned in tears, from moist eyes show- 
ering ; 
Have mercy, Lord, on me ; my burden ease, 


Isaac Watts. 




If Thee it please, 


PSALM XLVI. 


Which I groan under ! 






A SAFE stronghold our God is .still, 


xr. 


A trusty shield and weapon ; 




He '11 help us clear from all the ill 


Thus prayed I, and God, soon after, 


mi 1 T i T ^ 1 1 




That hath us now o ertaken. 


Changed my mourning into laughter; 


The ancient prince of hell 
Hath risen with purpose fell; 
Strong mail of craft and power 


Mine ashy sackcloth, mark of mine annoy, 
To robes of joy 


Eftsoons lie turned. 




He weareth in this hour— 


XII. 


On earth is not his fellow. 


Therefore, harp and voice, cease never. 


By force of arms we nothing can — 


But sing sacred lays for ever 


Full soon were we down-ridden ; 


To great Jehovah mounted on the skies. 


But for us fights the proper man. 


Who dried mine eyes 


Whom God himself hath bidden. 


When as I mourned. 


Ask ye, Who is this same ? 


Francis Davison. 


Christ Jesus is His name. 




The Lord Zebaoth's son — 
lie and no other one 




PSALM XLVI. 


Shall conquer in the battle. 


God is the refuge of His saints, 


And were this world all devils o'er, 


When storms of sharp distress invade ; 


And watching to devour us. 


Ere we can offer onr complaints. 


We lay it not to heart so sore — 


Behold Him present with His aid. 


Not they can overpower us. 




And let the prince of ill 


Let mountains from their seats be hurled 


Look grim as e'er he will, 


Down to the deep, and buried there- 


He harms us not a whit ; 


Convulsions shake the solid world ; 


For why ? His doom is writ— 


Our faith shall never yield to fear. 


A word shall quickly slay him. 



800 POEMS OF 


RELIGION. 


God's woi-d, for all their craft and force, 


Say : How wonderful Thy deeds 1 


One moment will not linger ; 


Lord, Thy power all power exceeds 1 


But, spite of hell, shall have its course — 


Conquest on Thy sword doth sit — 


'T is written by His finger. 


Trembling foes through fear submit. 


And though they take our life, 


Let the many-peopled eai'th. 


Goods, honor, children, wife. 


All of high and humble birth. 


Yet is their profit small ; 


Wor.-!hip our eternal king — 


These things shall vanish all — 


Hymns unto His honor sing. 


The city of God remaineth. 


Come, and see what God hath wrought — 


Martin Lcthee. (German.) 


Terrible to human thought ! 


Translation of Thomas Caeltle. 


He the billows did divide. 




Walled with waves on either side, 
Wliile we passed safe and dry ; 




PSALM LXV. 


Then our souls were rapt with joy. 




Endless His dominion — 


SECOND PAET. 


All beholding from His throne. 


' T IS by Thy strength the mountains stand, 


Let not those who hate us most, 


God of eternal power ! 


Let not the rebellious, boast. 


The sea grows calm at Thy command. 


Bless the Lord ! His praise be sung 


And tempests cease to roar. 


While an ear can hear a tongue ! 




He our feet establisheth ; 


Thy morning light and evening shade 


He our souls redeems from death. 


Successive comforts bring ; 


Lord, as silver purified. 


Thy plenteous fruits make harvest glad — 


Thou hast with affliction tried ; 


Thy fiowers adorn the spring. 


Thou hast driven into the net. 




Burdens on our shoulders set. 


Seasons and times, and moons and hours. 


Trod on by their horse's hooves — 


Heaven, earth, and air, are Thine ; 


Theirs whom pity never moves — 


When clouds distil in fruitful showers, 


We through fire, with flames embraced, 


The author is divine. 


We through raging floods have passed ; 


Those wandering cisterns in the sky, 


Tet by Thy conducting hand 


Borne by the winds around. 


Brought into a wealthy land. 


With watery treasures well supply 


I will to Thy house repair. 


The furrows of the ground. 


Worship, and Thy power declare — 




Ofi'erings on Thy altar lay, 


The thirsty ridges drink their fill, 


All my vows devoutly pay, 


And ranks of corn appear ; 


Uttered with my heart and tongue. 


Thy ways abound with Messings still — 


AVhen oppressed with powerful wrong. 


Thy goodness crowns the year. 


Fatlings I will sacrifice ; 


Isaac Watts. 


Incense in perfume shall rise — 




Bullocks, shaggy goats, and rams. 




Ofifered up in sacred flames. 


PSALM LXVL 


You who great Jehovah fear, 




Come, oh come, you blest ! and hear 


Happy sons of Israel, 


What for me the Lord hath wrought. 


Who in pleasant Canaan dwell, 


Then when near to ruin bi'ought. 


Fill the air with shouts of joy — 


Fervently to Him I cried ; 


Shouts redoubled from the sky. 


I His goodness magnified. 


Sing the great Jehovah's praise, 


If I vices should affect. 


Trophies to His glory raise ; 


Would not He my prayers reject? 



PSALM C. 801 


But the Lord my prayers liatli heard 


When the morning paints the skies, 


"Which my tongue with tears preferred. 


When the sparkling stars arise, 


Source of mercy be Thou blest, 


Thy high favors to rehearse, 


That hast granted my request ! 


Thy firm faith in grateful verse 1 


George Sandts. 


Take the lute and violin ; 




Let the solemn harp begin — 
Instruments strung with ten strings — 




PSALM LXXII. 


While the silver cymbal rings. 

From Thy works my joy proceeds ; 


FIRST PABT. 


How I triumph in Thy deeds ! 


Great God, whose universal sway 
The known and unknown worlds obey. 
Now give the kingdom to Thy Son — 
Extend His power, exalt His throne! «i 


Who Thy wonders can express? 
All Thy thoughts are fathomless — 
Hid from men, in knowledge blind — 
Hid from fools to vice iuclined. 
Who that tyrant sin obey. 


Thy sceptre well becomes His hands — 
All heaven submits to his commands ; 


Though they spring like flowers in May, 
Parched with heat, and nipped with frost, 
Soon shall ttide, forever lost. 


His justice shall avenge the poor, 
And pride and rage prevail no more. 


Lord, Thou art most great, most high — 
Such from all eternity. 


With power he vindicates the just, 
And treads the oppressor in the dust ; 
His worship and His fear shall last 
Till hours and years, and time, be past. 


Perish shall Thy enemies — 
Rebels that against Thee rise. 
All who in their sins delight 
Shall be scattered by Thy might ; 
But Thou shalt exalt my horn, 


As rain on meadows newly mown, 
So shall he send His influence down ; 
His grace on fainting souls distils. 
Like heavenly dew on thirsty hills. 


Like a youthful unicorn : 
Fresh and fragrant odors shed 
On Thy crowned prophet's head. 

I shall see my foe's defeat. 
Shortly hear of their retreat ; 


The heathen lands that lie beneath 
The shades of overspreading deatli, 
Re\-ive at His first dawning light. 
And deserts blossom at the sight. 


But the just, like palms, shall flourish 
Which the plains of Judah nourish — 
Like tall cedars mounted on 
Clond-ascending Lebanon. 
Plants set in Thy court, below 


The saints shall flourish in His days. 
Dressed in the robes of joy and praise; 
Peace, like a river, from his throne. 
Shall flow to nations yet unknown. 

Isaac Watts. 

1 


Spread their roots and upwards grow ; 
Fruit in their old age shall bring — 
Ever fat and flourishing. 
This God's justice celebrates — 
He, ray rock, injustice hates. 

Geoeqe Sandys. 


PSALM xcn. 


' 


Tiiou who art enthroned above — 


PSALM 0. 


Thou by whom we live and move ! 




Oh how sweet, how excellent. 


With one consent let all the earth 


Is 't, with tongue and heart's consent, 


To God their cheerful voices raise- 


Thankful hearts, and joyful tongues, 


Glad homage pay with awful mirth, 


To renown Thy name in songs — 


And sing before Him songs of praise — 


52 


\ 



802 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Conviuccd that He is God alone, 
From whom both we and all proceed — 

We whom He chooses for His own, 
The flock which He vouchsafes to feed. 

Oh enter then His temple gate, 
Thence to his courts devoutly press ; 

And still your grateful hymns repeat, 
And still His name with praises bless. 

For He 's the Lord supremely good, 

His mercy is forever sure ; 
His truth, which all times firmly stood, 

To endless ages sliaU endure. 

Tate and Beadt. 



PSALM oxvn. 

From all that dwell below the skies 
Let the Creator's praise arise ; 
Let the Redeemer's name bo sung 
Through every land, by every tongue. 

Eternal are Thy mercies. Lord — 
Eternal truth attends Thy word ; 
Thy praise shall sound ft'ora shore to shore. 
Till suns shall rise and set no more. 

Isaac Watts. 



PSALM CXXX. 

From the deeps of grief and fear, 
O Lord ! to Thee my soul repairs ; 
From Thy heaven bow down Thine ear- 
Let Thy Tuercy meet my prayers : 
Oh ! if Thou mark'st 
What's done amiss, 
TVhat soul so pure 
Can see Thy bliss? 

But with Thee sweet mercy stands, 
Sealing pardons, working fear; 
"Wait, ray soul, wait on His hands — 
"Wait, miue eye ; oh ! wait, mine ear ! 
If Ho His eye 

Or tongue aftbrds, 
Watch all His looks. 
Catch all His words ! 



As a watchman waits for day. 
And looks for light, and looks-again, 
"When the night grows old and gray. 
To be relieved he calls amain ; 
So look, so wait, 

So long mine eyes, 
To see my Lord, 
My sun, ai'ise. 

Wait, ye saints, wait on our Lord — 
For from His tongue sweet mercy flows. 
Wait on His cross, wait on His word — 
Upon that true redemption grows ; 
He will redeem 

His Israel 
From sin and wrath. 
From death and hell. 

PiriMEAS Fletciiek. 



HYMN, FROM PSALM CXLVIII. 

Begin, my soul, the exalted lay. 
Let each enraptured thought obey. 

And praise the Almighty's name ; 
Lo ! heaven and earth, and seas and skies. 
In one melodious concert rise, 

Ti) swell the inspiring theme. 

Ye fields of light, celestial plains, 
Where gay transporting beauty reigns. 

Ye scenes divinely fair! 
Your maker's wondrous power proclaim — 
Tell how He formed your shining frame. 

And breathed the fluid air. 

Ye angels, catch the thrilling sound I 
While all the adoring thrones around 

His boundless mercy sing : 
Let every listening saint .above 
Wake all the tuneful soul of love, 

And touch the sweetest string. 

Join, ye loud spheres, the vocal choir ; 
Thou dazzling orb of liquid fire. 

The mighty chorus aid ; 
Soon as gray evening gilds the plain. 
Thou, moon, protract the melting strain. 

And praise Him in the shade. 



PSALM GXLVIII. 



803 



Thou heaven of lieavens, His vast abode, 
Yo clouds proclaim your forming God ! 

Who called yon worlds from night ; 
" Ye shades, dispel 1 " — the Eternal said, 
At once the involviiig darkness fled, 

And nature .sprung to light. 

Whato'er a blooming world contains 

That wings the air, that skims the plains, ' 

United praise bestow ; 
Ye dragons, sound His awful name 
To heaven aloud ; and roar acclaim. 

Ye swelling deeps below ! 

Let every element rejoice ; 

Ye thunders, burst with awful voice 

To Him who bids you roll ; 
His praise in softer notes declare. 
Each whispering breeze of yielding air. 

And breathe it to the soul ! 

To Him, ye graceful cedars, bow ; 
Ye towering mountains, bending low. 

Your great Creator own ! 
Tell, when atfriglited nature shook. 
How Sinai kindled at Tlis look. 

And trembled at His frown. 

Ye flocks that haunt the humble vale, 
Yo insects fluttering on the gale. 

In mutual concourse rise; 
Crop the gay rose's vermeil bloom, 
And waft its spoils, a sweet perfume, 

In incense to the skies ! 

Wake, all ye moimtain tribes, and sing — 
Ye plumy warblers of the spring. 

Harmonious anthems raise 
To Ilim who shaped your liner mould. 
Who tipped your glittering wings with 
gold. 

And tuned your voice to praise ! 

Let man — by nobler passions swayed — 
The feeling heart, the judging head. 

In heavenly praise employ ; 
Spread His tremendous name around. 
Till heaven's broad arch rings back the 
sound. 

The general burst of joy. 



Ye, whom the charms of grandeur please. 
Nursed on the downy lap of ease, 

Fall prostrate at His throne ; 
Ye princes, rulers, all, adore — 
Praise Ilim, yo kings, who make your 
power 

An imago of His own ! 

Ye fair, by nature formed to move. 
Oh praise the eternal so\irco of love. 

With youth's enlivening fire ; 
Let age take up the tuneful lay. 
Sigh His blessed name — then soar away, 

And ask an angel's lyre I 

Jonn OoiLviE. 



PSALM CXLVIII. 

YoTT who dwell above the skies, 

Free from hura.an miseries — 

You whom highest heaven embowers. 

Praise the Lord with all your powers I 

Angels, your clear voices raise — 

Him your heavenly armies praise ; 

Sun and moon, with borrowed light ; 

All you sparkling eyes of night ; 

Waters hanging in the air ; 

Heaven of heavens — His praise declare, 

His deserved praise record. 

He who made you by His word — 

Made you evermore to last. 

Set you bounds not to be passed ! 

Let the earth His praise resound ; 

Monstrous whales, and seas profound ; 

Vapors, lightnings, hail, and snow ; 

Stoi-ms which, when He bids them, blow; 

Flowery hills and mountains high ; 

Cedar.s, neighbors to the sky ; 

Trees that fruit in season yield ; 

All the cattle of the field ; 

Savage beasts, all creeping things ; 

All that cut the air with wings ; 

You who awful sceptres sway, 

You inured to obey — 

Princes, judges of the earth. 

All of high and humble birth ; 

Youths and virgins flourishing 

In the beauty of yom- spring ; 

You who bow with age's weight. 

You who were but born of late ; 



804 POEMS OF RELIGION. 


Praise His name with one consent. 


When worn with sickness oft hast Thou 


Oil, how great ! how excellent ! 


With health renewed my face, 


Tlian the earth profounJer far, 


And when iu sins and sorrows sunk 


Higher than the highest star, 


Revived my soul with grace. 


He will U3 to honor raise ; 




You, His saints, resound His praise— 


Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss 


You who are of Jacob's race. 


Has made my cup run o'er, 


And united to His grace ! 


And in a kind and faithful friend 


Geoboe Sandts. 


Has doubled all my st;)re. 
Ten thousand thousand precious gifts 






My daily thanks employ. 


M^MN. 


Nor is the least a cheerful heart, 




That tastes those gifts with joy. 


WnEX all Thy mercies, my God, 


My rising soul surveys. 




Transported with the \iew, I'm lost 


Through every period of my life 


In wonder, love, and praise. 


Thy goodness I '11 pursue. 




And after death in distant worlds 




The glorious theme renew. 


how shall words with equal warmth 




The gratitnde doolave, 




That glows within my ravished heart? — 


When nature fails, and day and night 


But Thou canst read it there 1 


Divide Thy works no more. 




My ever-grateful heart, Lord, 




Thy mercy sh;dl adore. 


Thy providence my life sustained, 




And all my wants redrest. 


Through all eternity to Thee 


When in the silent womb I lay, 


A joyfnl song I '11 raise ; 


And hung upon the breast. 


For oh ! eternity 's too short 




To utter all Thy praise. 


To all my weak complaints and cries 


Joseph Addison. 


Thy mercy lent an ear. 
Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learnt 






To form themselves in prayer. 






HTMN. 


Unnumbered comforts to my soul 


How are Thy serviints blest, Lord 1 


Thy tender care bestowed, 


How sure is their defence 1 


Before my infiiut heai-t conceived 


Eternid wisdom is their guide, 


From whom those comforts flowed. 


Their help omnipotence. 


"When in the slippery paths of youth 


In foreign realms, and linids remote. 


With heedless steps I ran, 


Supported by Thy care. 


Thine arm unseeu conveyed me safe, 


Through burning climes I passed unhurt, 


And led me up to man. 


iVnd breathed in tainted air. 


Through hidden dangers, toils, and deaths. 


Thy mercy sweetened every soil, 


It gently cleared my way. 


Made every region please; 


And throuirh tlie pleiusing snares of vice. 


The hiiary Alpine hills it warmed. 


More to be feared than tljey. 


And smoothed the Tyrrhene seas. 



LIGHT SniNING OUT OF DARKNESS. 



806 



Tliiiik, O my soul, devoutly think, 

IIow -n-itli aftViglited eyes 
Tliou saw'.st the wiile-cxtcnded deep 

In all its horrors rise 1 

Confusion dwelt in every face, 

And fear in every heart, 
When waves on waves, and gulfs in gulfs, 

O'ercame tlio pilot's art. 

Yet then from all ray griefs, O Lord, 

Thy mercy set me free ; 
"Whilst in the confidence of prayer 

JI3' soul took hold on Thee. 

For though in dreadful whirls we hung, 

High on the broken wave ; 
I know Thou wert not slow to hear, 

Nor impotent to save. 

The storm was laid, tlie winds retired, 

Obedient to Thy will ; 
The sea, that roared at Thy command, 

At Thy command was still. 

In midst of dangers, fears, and deaths. 

Thy goodness I '11 adore — 
And praise Thee for Thy mercies past, 

And humbly hope for more. 

My life, if Thou prcserv'st my life, 

Thy sacrifice shall be ; 
And death, if death must be my doom, 

Shall join my soul to Thee. 

Joseph Addibon. 



THE CREATOR AND CREATURES. 

God is a name my soul adores — 

The almighty Three, the eternal One ! 

Nature and grace, with all their powers, 
Confess the infinite Unknown. 

From Thy great self Thy being springs — 

Thou art Thy own original. 
Made up of uncreated things ; 

And self-sufficience bears them all. 



Thy voice produced the seas and spheres. 
Rid the waves roar, and planets shine ; 

But nothing like Thyself appears 

Through all tlieso spacious works of Thine. 

Still restless nature dies and grows — 
From change to change the creatures run-. 

Thy being no succession knows, 
And all Thy vast designs are one. 

A glance of Thine runs through the globes. 
Rules the bright worlds, and moves their 
frame ; 

Broad sheets of light compose Thy robes ; 
Thy guards are formed of living flame. 

Thrones and dominions round Thee fall, 
And worship in submissive forms : 

Thy presence shakes this lower ball, 
This little dwelling-place of worms. 

How shall aftrighted mortals dare 

To sing Thy glory or Thy grace- 
Beneath Thy feet we lie so far. 
And see but shadows of Thy face.' 

Who can behold the blazing light — 
Who can ajii>roach consuming flame ? 

None but Thy wisdom knows Thy might — 

None but Thy word can speak Thy name. 

Ibaao Watts. 



LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS. 

God moves in a mysterious way 

His wonders to perform; 
He plants His footsteps in the sea, 

And rides upon the storm. 

Deep in unfathomable mines 

Of never-failing skill, 
He treasures up His bright designs, 

And works His sovereign will. 

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take ! 

The clouds ye so much dread 
Are big with mercy, and shall break 

In blessings on your head. 



806 



POEJIS OF RELIGIOX. 



Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, 
But trust Him for His grace : 

Behind a frowning providence 
He bides a smiling foce. 

His purposes will ripen fast, 

Unfolding every hour ; 
The bud may have a bitter taste, 

But sweet will be the tiower. 

Blind unbelief is sure to err, 
And scan His work in vam : 

God is His own interpreter. 
And He will make it plain. 

William Cowpee, 



SEARCH AFTER GOD. 

I SOUGHT Thee round about, O Thou my God ! 

In thine abode. 
r said unto the earth : " Speak ! art thou he ? " 

She answered me : 
" I am not."— I enquired of creatures all. 

In general, 

Contained therein — they with one voice pro- 
claim 

That none amongst them challenged such a 
name. 

I asked the seas and all the deeps below. 

My God to know ; 
I asked the reptiles, and whatever is 

In the abyss — 
Even from the shrimp to the leviathan 

Enquiry ran ; 
But in those deserts which no line can sound, 
The God I sought for was not to be found. 

I asked the air, if that were he ; but 

It told me no. 
I from the towering eagle to the wren 

Demanded then 
If any feathered fowl 'mongst them were 
such ; 

But they all, much 
Offended with my question, in full choir 
Answered : " To find thy God thou must look 
higher." 



I asked the heavens, sun, moon, and stars— 
but they 

Said: "We obey 
The God thou seekest." I asked, what eye 
or ear 

Could see or hear — 
What in the world I might descry or know. 

Above, below; 
— "With an unanimous voice, all these things 

said: 
"We are not God, but we by Him were 
made." 

I asked the world's great universal mass. 

If that God was ; 
Which with a mighty and strong voice re- 
plied, 

As stupefied : 
" I am not He, O man ! for know that I 

By Him on high 
Was fashioned first of nothing; thus instated 
And swayed by Him, by whom I was created." 

I sought the court ; but smooth-tongued flat- 
tery there 

Deceived each ear ; 
In the thronged city there was selling, buy- 
ing, 

Swearing and lying ; 
r the country, craft in simpleness ai-rayed— 

And then I said : 
" Vain is my search, although my pains be 

great — 
Where my God is there can be no deceit." 

A scrutiny within myself I, then. 

Even thus, began : 
" O man, what art thou ? "—What more could 
I say 

Than dust and clay — 
Frail, mortal, fading, a mere puff, a blast. 

That cannot last — 
Enthroned to-day, to-morrow in an urn. 
Formed from that earth to whicli I must re- 
turn ? 

I asked myself, what this great God might 
be 

That fashioned me; 
I answered : The all-potent, solely immense, 

Surpassing sense — 



ON ANOTHER'S SORROW. 807 


Unspeakable, inscrutable, eternal. 


Wbat peaceful hours I once enjoyed — 


Lord over all ; 


How sweet their memory still ! 


Tlie only terrible, strong, just, and true, 


But thoy have left an aching void 


Wbo hath no end, and no beginning knew. 


The world can never fill. 


He is the well of life, for He dotb give 


Return, holy Dove, return ! 


To all that live 


Sweet messenger of rest : 


Both breath and being. He ia the creator 


I hate the sins that made Thee mourn, 


Both of the water. 


And drove Thee from ray breast. 


Earth, air, and fire. Of all things that sub- 




sist 


The dearest idol I have known, 


He hath the list— 


Whato'er that idol be. 


Of all the heavenly host, or what earth claims, 


Help me to tear it from Thy throne. 


He keeps the scroll, and calls them by their 


A lid worship only Thee. 


names. 


William Cowpke. 


And now, my God, by Thine illumining grace, 






Thy glorious face 




(So far forth as it may discovered be) 


ON ANOTHER'S SORROW. 


Methinks I see; 




And though invisible and infinite. 


Can I see another's woe. 


To human sight 


And not bo in sorrow too ? 


Thou, in Thy mercy, justice, truth, appear- 


Can I see another's grief. 


est — 


And not seek for kind relief? 


In which to our weak sense Thou comest 




nearest. 






Can I see a falling tear. 


Oh make us apt to seek, and quick to find. 


And not feel my sorrow's share ? 


Thou God, most kind! 


Can a father see his child 


Give U3 love, hope, and faith in Thee to trust. 


Weep, nor be with sorrow filled ? 


Thou God, most just 1 




Remit all our ofl'ences, we entreat — 


Can a mother sit and hear 


Most good, most great! 


An infant groan, an infant fear? 


Grant that our willing, though unworthy 


No ! no ! never can it be — 


quest 


Never, never can it be ! 


May, through Thy grace, admit us 'mongst 




the blest. 




Thomas IIetwood. 


And can He who smiles on all, 




Hear the wren with sorrows small, 
Hear the small bird's grief and care. 






Hear the woes that infants bear, — 


"WALKING WITH GOD. 




Oh ! for a closer walk with God, 


And not sit beside the nest, 


A calm and heavenly frame, 


Pouring pity in their breast ? 


A light to shine upon the road 


And not sit the cradle near. 


That leads me to the Lamb ! 


Weeping tear on infant's tear ? 


Where is the blessedness I knew 


And not sit both night and day, 


When first I saw the Lord 2 


Wiping all our tears away ? 


Where is the soul-refreshing view 


Oh, no ! never can it be — 


Of Jesus and His word ? 


Never, never can it bo 1 



808 POEMS OF 


RELIGION. 


lie (loth give His joy to all ; 




lie becomes an infant small, 


GOD IS LOVE. 


lie becomes a man of woe, 




He doth feel the sorrow too. 


All I feel, and hear, and see. 




God of love, is full of Thee. 


Think not thou canst sigh a sigh, 


Eaeth, with her ten thousand flowers; 


And thy maker is not nigh ; 


Air, with all its beams and showers ; 


Think not thou canst weep a tear, 


Ocean's infinite expanse ; 


And thy maker is not near. 


Heaven's resplendent countenance- 




All around, and all above, 


Oh ! He gives to us His joy, 


Hath this record : God is love. 


That our griefs He may destroy. 
Till our grief is fled and gone 
He doth sit by us and moan. 

William Blakr 


Sounds among the vales and hills, 
In the woods, and by the rUls, 
Of the breeze, and of the bird. 
By the gentle murmur stirred — 




All these songs, beneath, above. 
Have one burden : God is love. 




" HOW GRACIOUS AKD HOW WISE." 


All the hopes and fears that start 




From the fountain of the heart ; 


How gracious and how wise 


All the quiet bliss that lies, 


Is our chastising God ! 


All our human sympathies — 


And oh ! how rich the blessings are 


These are voices from above, 


Which blossom from His rod I 


Sweetly whispering : God is love. 




Anonymous. 


He lifts it up on high 
With pity in His heart. 




' * 


That every stroke His children feel 




May grace and peace impai-t. 


THE RESIGNATION. 


Instructed thus, they bow. 


God ! whoso thunder shakes the sky. 


And own His sovereign sway— 


Whose eye this atom-globe surveys. 


They turn their erring footsteps back 


To Thee, my only rock, I fly, — 


To His forsaken way. 


Thy mercy in Thy justice praise. 


His covenant love they seek, 
And seek the happy bands 

That closer stiU engage their hearts 
To honor His commands. 


The mystic mazes of Thy will. 
The shadows of celestial night. 

Are past the power of human skill ; 
But what the Eternal acts is right. 




teach me, in the trying hour — 


Dear Father, we consent 


When anguish swells the dewy tear- 


To discipline divine ; 


To still my sorrows, own Thy power. 


And bless the pams that make our souls 
StiU more completely Thine. 


Thy goodness love. Thy justice fear. 


Philip Doddridge. 


If in this bosom aught but Thee, 




Encroaching, sought a boundless sw.ty 
Omniscience could the d.inger see, 






And mercy look the cause away. 



CHORUS. 



809 



Then why, my soul, dost thou compUiiu— 
"Why drooping seek the dark recess i 

Shake off the melancholy chain ; 
For God created all to bless. 

But all ! my breast is human still ; 

The rising sigh, the falling tear. 
My languid vitals' feeble rill, 

The sickness of my soul declare. 

But yet, with fortitude resigned, 
I '11 thank the inflictor of the blow — 

Forbid the sigh, compose my mind, 
Nor let the gush of misery flow. 

The gloomy mantle of the night, 
"Which on my sinking spu-it steals. 

Will vanish at the morning light, 
Which God, my east, my sun, reveals. 
Thouas Chattebton. 



CHORUS. 

King of kings ! and Lord of lords ! 
Thus we move, our sad steps timing 
To our cymbals' feeblest chiming. 
Where Thy house its rest accords. 
Chased and wounded birds are we. 
Through the dark air fled to Thee — 
To the shadow of Thy wings. 
Lord of lords ! and king of kings ! 

Behold, O Lord ! the heathen tread 
The branches of Thy fruitful vine; 
That its luxurious tendrils spread 

O'er all the hills of Palestine. 
And now the wild boar comes to wasto 
Even us — the greenest boughs and last, 
That, drinking of Thy choicest dew, 
On Zion's hiU in beauty grew. 

No I by the marvels of Thine hand. 
Thou wUt save Thy chosen land ! 
By all Thine ancient mercies shown, 
By all our fathers' foes o'erthrown ; 
By the Egyptian's car-borne host, 
Scattered on the Red Sea coast — 
By that wide and bloodless slaughter 
Underneath the drowning water. 

Like US, in utter helplessness. 
In their last and worst distress — 



On the sand and sea-weed lying — 
Israel poured her doleful sighing ; 
While before the deep sea flowed. 
And belaud fierce Egypt rode — 
To their fathers' God they prayed, 
To the Lord of hosts for aid. 

On the margin of the flood 

With lifted rod the prophet stood ; 

And the summoned east wind blew. 

And aside it sternly threw 

The gathered waves that took their stand, 

Like crystal rocks, on either hand, 

Or walls of sea-green marble piled 

Round some irregular city wild. 

Then the light of morning lay 
On the wonder-paved way. 
Where the treasures of the deep 
In their caves of coral sleep. 
The profound abysses, where 
Was never sound from upper air, 
Rang with Israel's chanted words : 
King of kings ! and Lord of lords ! 

Then with bow and banner glancing, 

On exulting Egypt came ; 
With her chosen horsemen prancing, 

And her cars on wheels of flame, 
In a rich and boastful ring. 
All around her furious king. 

But the Lord from out His cloud. 
The Lord looked down upon the proud ; 
And the host drave heavily 
Down the deep bosom of the sea. 

I With a quick and sudden swell 
Prone the liquid ramparts fell ; 
Over horse, and over car, 
Over every man of war, 
Over Pharaoh's crown of gold. 
The loud thundering bUlows rolled. 
As the level waters spread, 
Down they sank — they sank like lead — 
Down sank without a cry or groan. 
And the morning sun, that shone 
On myriads of bright-armed men. 
Its meridian radiance then 
Cast on a wide sea, heaving, as of yore, 
Against a silent, solitary shore. 

Henry Hart Milhak. 



810 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



THE mnVEESAL PRAYER. 

DEO OPT. MAS. 

Father of all ! in every age, 

In every clime adored — 
By saint, by savage, and by sage — 

Jehovah, Jove, or Lord 1 

Thou great first cause, least understood, 

Who all my sense confined 
To know hut this : that Thou art good, 

And that myself am blind ; 

Yet gave me, in this dark estate, 

To see the good from ill ; 
And, binding nature fiist in fate. 

Left free the human will. 

What conscience dictates to be done, 

Or warns me not to do. 
This teach me more than hell to shun. 

That more than heaven pursue. 

What blessings Thy free bounty gives 

Let me not cast away — 
For God is paid when man receives : 

To enjoy is to obey. 

Yet not to earth's contracted span 

Thy goodness let me bound. 
Or think Thee Lord alone of man. 

When thousand worlds are round. 

Let not this weak, unknowing hand 
Presume Thy bolts to throw, 

And deal damnation roimd the land 
On each I judge Thy foe. 

If I am right, Thy grace impart 

Still in the right to stay ; 
If I am wrong, oh teach my heart 

To find that better w.ay. 

Save me alike from foolish pride 

Or impious discontent, 
At aught Thy wisdom has denied, 

Or aught Thy goodness lent. 



Teach me to feel another's woe. 

To hide the fiwlt I see — 
That mercy I to others show. 

That mercy show to me. 

Mean though I am, not wliolly so, 
Since quickened by Thy breath ; 

Oh lead me, whercsoe'er I go. 
Through this day's life or death. 

This day be broad and peace my lot — 

All else beneath the sun 
Thou know'st if best bestowed or not, 

And let Thy will be done. 

To Thee, whose temple is all space, 
. Whoso altar, earth, sea, skies — 
One chorus let all being raise ! 
All nature's incense rise ! 

Alexandeb rorB. 



DIVINE EJACULATION. 



Geeat God ! whoso sceptre rules the earth, 
Distil Thy fear into my heart. 
That, being rapt with holy mirth, 
I may proclaim how good Thou art ; 
Open my lips, that I may sing 
Full praises to my God, my king. 



Great God ! Thy garden is defaced. 
The weeds thrive there, Thy flowers decay ; 
Oh call to mind Thy j)romise past — 
Restore Thou them, cut these away ; 
Till then let not the weeds have power 
To starve or stint the poorest flower. 



In all extremes. Lord, Thou art still 
The mount whereto my hopes do flee ; 
Oh make my soul detest all ill. 
Because so much abhorred by Thee ; 
Lord, let Thy gracious trials show 
That I am just — or make me so. 



THOU, GOD, SEEST ME. 



8U 



Shall mountain, desert, beast, and tree. 
Yield to that heavenly voice of Thine, 
And shall that voice not startle rao. 
Nor stir this stone, this heart of mine ? 
No, Lord, till Thou new-bore mine ear. 
Thy voice is lost, I cannot hear. 



Fountain of light and living breath, 
Whose mercies never fail nor fade, 
Fill me with life that hath no death, 
Fill mo with light that hath no shade ; 
Appoint the roninant of my days 
To see Thy power and sing Thy praise. 



Lord God of gods ! before whoso throne 
Stand storms and fire, oliwhat shall we 
Return to heaven, that is our own, 
ATIicn all the world belongs to Thee ? 
We have no ofterings to impart. 
But praises, and a wounded heart. 



Thou that sitt'st in heaven and seo'st 
My deeds without, my thoughts within, 
r>o Thou my prince, bo Thou my priest— 
Connnand my soul, and cure my sin ; 
IIow bitter my afflictions be 

1 care not, so I rise to Thee. 

VIII. 

What I possess, or what I crave, 
Brings no content, great God, to me. 
If what I would, or what I have. 
Bo not possessed and blest in Thee: 
AVhat I enjoy, oh make it mine. 
In making me — that have it — Thine. 



AVhon winter fortunes cloud the brows 

Of summer friends — when eyes grow strange— 

AVhen plighted faith forgets its vows, 

AVhen earth and all things in it change — 

Lord, Thy mercies fail me never ; 

Where once Thou lov'st. Thou lov'st for ever. 



Great God I whose kingdom hath no end. 
Into whoso secrets none can dive. 
Whose mercy none can apprehend, 
Whose justice none can feel — and live, 
AVhat my dull heart cannot aspiro 
To know. Lord, teach me to admire. 

JOUN QUAltLBa. 



"THOU, GOD, SEEST ME." 

God, unseen but not unknown, 
Thine eye is ever fixed on me ; 

1 dwell beneath Tliy secret throne. 

Encompassed by Thy deity. 

Throughout this universe of space 

To notliing am I long allied ; 
For flight of time, and change of place. 

My strongest, dearest bonds divide. 

Parents I h.id, but where are they ? 

Friends whom I knew I know no more ; 
Companions, once that cheered my way. 

Have dropped behind or gone before. 

Now I am one amidst a crowd 
Of life and action hurrying round ; 

Now loft alone — for, like a cloud, 

They came, they went, and are not found. 

Even from myself sometimes I part — 
Unconscious sleep is nightly doatli — 

Yet surely by my couch Thou art. 

To prompt my pulse, inspire my breath. 

Of all that I have done and said 

IIow little can I now recall ! 
Forgotten things to me are dead ; 

With Thee they live, — Thou know'st them 
all. 

Thou hast been with me from the womb, 

AVitness to every conflict here ; 
Nor wilt Thou leave me at the tomb — 

Before Thy bar I must appear. 

The moment comes, — the only one 

Of all my time to be foretold ; 
Yet when, and how, and where, can none 

Among the race of man unfold : — • 



812 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



The moment comes wheu strength shall fail, 
When — healtli, and hope, and conrage 
flown — 

I must go down into the vale 

And shade of death with Tliee alone. 

Alone with Thee ! — in that dread strife 
Uphold me through mine agony; 

And gently be this dying life 
Exchanged for immortality. 

Then, when the ui\bodied spirit lands 
Where flesh and blood have never trod, 

And in the nnveiled presence stands. 
Of Thee, my Saviour and my God — 

Be mine eternal portion this — 
Since Thou wert always here with me : 

That I may view Thy tace in bliss, 
And bo for evermore with Thee. 

Jauss Montoomeky. 



DELIGHT IN GOD OlSTLT. 

I LOVE, and have some cause to lovo, the 
earth — 
She is my maker's creature, therefore good. 
She is my mother, for she gave me birth ; 
She is my tender nurse, she gives me 

food : 
But what's a creature. Lord, compared 

with Thee? 
Or what 's my mother or my nurse to me 1 

I love the air — her dainty sweets refresh 

My drooping soul, and to new sweets in- 
vito me; 
Her shrill-mouthed choir sustain me with 
their flesh. 

And with their polyphonian notes delight 
mo : 

But what 's the air, or all the sweets that 
she 

Can bless my soul withal, compared to 
Tliee ? ' 



I love the sea — she is my fellow-creature. 
My careful purveyor ; she provides me 
store ; 
She walls me round ; she makes my diet 
greater ; 
She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore : 
But, Lord of oceans, when compared with 

Thee, 
What is the ocean or her wealth to me ? 

To heaven's high city I direct my journey, 
Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine 

eye — 
Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney. 
Transcends the crystal pavement of the 

sky : 
But what is heaven, great God, compared 

to Thee ? 
Without Thy presence, heaven 's no heaven 

to me. 

Without Thy presence, earth gives no refec- 
tion; 
Without Thy presence, sea aflbrds no treas- 
ure ; 
Without Thj' presence, air 's a rank infection ; 
Without Thy presence, heaven 's itself nc 

pleasure : 
If not possessed, if not enjoyed in Tliee, 
AVhat 's earth, or sea, or air, or heaven to 
me? 

The highest honors that the world can boast 

Are subjects far too low for my desire ; 
The brightest beams of glory are, at most, 
But dying sparkles of Tliy living fire ; 
The loudest flames that earth can kindle, 

be 
But nightly glow-worms if compared to 
Thee. 

Without Thy presence, wealth is bags of 

cares ; 
Wisdom but folly ; joy, disquiet, sadness; 
Friendship is treason, and delights are snares; 
Pleasures but pain, and mirth but pleasing 

madness — 
Without Thee, Lord, things be not what 

they be, 
Nor have their being, when compared with 

Thee. 



GOD'S GREATNESS. 813 


In luiviiig all things, and not Tlioo, what 




havo I ? 


"THOU GOD UNSEAEOnABLE." 


Not havhig Theo, wliat liavo my labors 




got? 


Tnou God unsearchable, uidcnown, 


Lot ino oiijoy but Thee, what further crave I ? 


Who still conceal'st Thyself from mo, 


And having Thee alone, what havo I not ? 


Hear an apostate spirit groan — 


I wish nor sea, nor land, nor would I be 


Broke off and banished far from Thee : 


Possessed of heaven, heaven unpossessed 


But conscious of my fall I mourn. 


of Theo! 


And fain I would to Tlico return. 


Fkanois Quakles. 






Send forth one ray of heavenly light. 
Of gospel hope, of humblo fear, 


' 




To guide nie tlirough the gulf of night — 


TIME PAST, TIME PASSING, TIME TO 


My poor desponding soul to clieer, 


COME. 


Till Thou my unbelief remove. 




And show me all Thy glorious love. 


LoitD, Thou hast been Thy people's rest. 






A hidden God indeed Thou art — 


Tln-ough all their generations — 




Tlieir refuge when by troubles pressed, 


Thy absence I tliis moment feel ; 


Their hope in tribidations : 
Thou, ere the mountains sjirang to birth. 


Yet must I own it from my heart — 


Concealed, Thou art a Saviour still ; 


Or over Tliou liadst formed the earth. 


And tliough Thy face I cannot see, 


Art God from everlasting. 


I know Thine eye is fixed on me. 




My Saviour Tliou, not yet revealed ; 


Our lil'o is like the transient breath, 


Yet will I Thee ray Saviom- call. 


Tliat tells a mournful story — 


Adoi'o Tliy hand — from sin witlilicUl — 


Early or late stopped short by death — 


Tliy hand shall save me from iny fall : 


And where is all our glory ? 


Now Lord, throughout my darkness shine. 


Our days are threescore years and ten, 


And show Thyself for over mine. 


And if tho span bo lengthened then, 


Chables Wl»IJt». 


Their strength is toil and sorrow. 
Lo! Thou hast set before Thine eyes 






GOD'S GKEATNESS. 


All our misdeeds and errors ; 




Our secret sins from darkness rise 


GOD, Tliou bottomless abyss ! 


At Tliine awakening terrors : 


TIioo to perfection who can know ? 


Who shall abide the trying Ijour? 


heiglit immense ! what words suffice 


Wlio knows tlie tliunder of Tliy power? 


Thy countless attributes to show? 


Wo flee unto Tliy mercy. 


Unfathomable depths Thou art ! 




plunge me in Thy mercy's seal- 


Lord, teach us so to mark our days 


Void of true wisdom is my heart — 


That wo may jn-ize them duly; 


With love embrace and cover me I 


So guide our feet in wisdom's ways 


While Thee, all infinite, I set 


Tliat wo may lovo Tlice truly ; 


By faith before my ravished eye. 


Keturn, Lord ! our griefs behold, 


My weakness bends beneath the weight— 


. And with Thy goodness, as of old, 


O'orpowered, I sink, I fixint, I die 1 


Oh satisfy us early ! 




James Montqomert. 


Eternity Thy fountain was, 




Which, like Thee, no beginning knew : 




Thou wast ere time began his race. 




Ere glowed with stars th' ethereal blue. 



814 rOEMS. OF 


RELIGION. 


Greatness vinspoakablo is Thine — 


Tliino, Lord, is wisdom. Thine alone I 


Greatness whoso nmliniinislioil ray, 


Justice and truth before Tliee stand ; 


AVlien short-lived -vvorlils are lost, slinll 


Yet, nearer to Thy sacred throne, 


sliiuo, — 


Mercy withholds Thy lifted hand. 


■When earth ami heaven are tied away. 


Each evening shows Thy tender love, 


Uiu'hani;eal)le, all-perfoet Lord, 


Each rising morn Thy plenteous grace; 


Kssential life's unbounded sea! 


Thy wakened wrath doth slowly move, 


What lives and moves, lives by Thy word ; 


Thy willing mercy flies apace ! 


It lives, and moves, and is, from Tliee. 


To Thy benign, indulgent care. 




Father, this light, this breatli we owe ; 




.\nd all we have, and all we are. 


Tliy i)aront-hand, Tl>y tbrniini? skill. 


From Thee, great source of being, How. 


Firm (ixod this universal ehain ; 




Else empty, barren darkness still 


Parent of good. Thy bounteous band 


Had held his nninolesled reign. 


Incessant blessings down distils. 


M'liate'er in earth, or sea, or sky, 


.\nd all in air, or sea, or land. 


Or shuns or u\eets the wanderini; thoniilit, 


With plenteous food and gladness fills. 


Eseapes or strikes the searoliini; eye. 


All things in Thee live, move, and are — 


Ky Thee was to perfection brought ! 


Thy power infused doth all sustain ; 


High is Tliy power above all height; 


Even those Thy daily favm's share 


Wliate'er Thy will decrees is done ; 


Who thankless spurn Thy easy reign. 


Tliy wisdom, equal to Thy might, 


Thy sun Thou bidd'.-it his genial ray 


Oidy to Thee, God, is known I 


-Mike on all impartial pour ; 




To all, who hate or bless Thy sway. 


Heaven's glory is Thy awful throne. 


Thou bidd'.st descend the fruitful shower. 




Yet earth partakes Tliy gracious sway; 


Yet while, at length, who seorncd Thy niiglil 


Vain man ! thy ■wisdom folly own — 


Shall feel Thee a ciyisuming tire. 


Lost is thy reason's feeble ray. 


How sweet the joys, the crown how bright, 


Wliat our dim eye could never see 


Of those who to Thy love aspire ! 


Is plain and naked to Thy sight ; 


All creatures praise th' eternal name ! 


■\Vhat thickest darkness veils, to Thee 


Ye hosts that to Ilis court belong — 


!>hines clearly as the morning light. 


Chernbio choirs, seraphic llames — 


In light Thou dwoll'st, light that no shade. 


.Vwake the everlasting song! 


No variation, ever knew ; 


Thrice holy I Thine the kingdom is — 


Heaven, earth, and hell stand all displayed, 


The power omnipotent is Thine ; 


And open to Thy piercing view. 


And when created nature dies, 




Thy never-ceasing glories shine. 


Thou, true and only God, Icad'st I'orth 


.loACiiiM Ji'STis liRKmiArPT. (Ooriuaii.) 


Th' iniinortal armies of the sky ; 


Tiiinslnllon of John ■Wkslky. 


Thou laugb'st. to scorn the gods of earth ; 
Thou tliunderest, and annized they tly ! 






With downcast eye th' angelic choir 




Appeal- before Thy awful face ; 


GOD. 


Trembling they strike the golden lyre, 




And through heaven's vault resound Tliy 


O i-uov eternal One! whoso presence bright 


praise. 


All space doth occupy, all motion guide — 


In earth, in heaven, in all Thou art; 


Unehangod through time's all-devastating 


The conscious creature feels Thy nod, 


flight ! 


Whoso forming hand on ovory part 


Thou only God— there is no God beside! 


Impressed the imago of its God. 


Being above all beings! Mighty One, 



OOD. 



815 



Whom iioiio can coinprolicnd and noiio ex- 
plore 1 
AVlio fill'st- cxisteiioo witli Thyself ahmo — 
Einbracint; all, siipportiMf;, nilinp; oVr, — 
Being whom wo call (iud, ami l<iio\v no 
more ! 

In its sublime research, philosophy 

May measure out the oecan-dcep — may count 

The sands or the sun's rays — but, God 1 Ibr 

Thoo 
There is no weight nor measure ; none can 

mount 
Up to Thy mysteries ; Reason's brightest 

spark, 
Thou^'h kindled by Thy light, in vain would 

try 
To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark ; 
And tlioiight is lost ere thought can soar so 

high. 
Even like past moments in eternity. 

Thou fnini iiriinoval nothingness didst call 

First cliuos, then existence — Lord ! in Tlieo 

Eternity had its foundation ; all 

Sprung forth from Thee — of light, joy, har- 
mony, 

Sole Origin — all life, all beauty Thine ; 

Thy word created all, and doth create ; 

Thy splendor fills all sjiaco with rays divine ; 

Thou art, and wert, and shalt bo 1 Glorious ! 
Great I 

Light-giving, life-sustaining potentate I 

Thy chains the unmeasured universe sm-- 

round — ■ 
Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with 

breath ! 
'i'liou the beginning with the end hast bound, 
And beautifully mingled life and death ! 
As sparks mount upwards from the fiery 

blaze. 
So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from 

Thee ; 
And as the spangles in the sunny rays 
Sliino round the silver snow, the pageantry 
Of heaven's bright army glitters in Thy 

praise. 

A million torches lighted by Tliy hand 
Wander unwearied through the blue abyss — 



They own Thy power, acconi|)lish Thy com- 
mand. 
All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. 
Wliat shall wo call them ? Piles of crystal 

light- 
A glorious company of golden streams- 
Lamps of celestial ether burning bright — 
Suns lighting systems with thtir joyous 

beams? 
But Thou to these art as the noon to lught. 

Yes I as a drop of water in the sea. 
All this magnificence in Thoo is lost : — 
What are ten thousand worlds compared to 

Thee? 
And what am I then? — Heaven's nnriuin- 

bered host. 
Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed 
In all the glory of sublimest thought, 
Is but an atom in the balance, weighed 
Against Thy greatness — is a ciphei' brought 
Against infinity ! AVliat am I thou? Naught! 

Naught! But the effluence of Thy light di- 
vine, 
Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom 

too; 
Yes! in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine. 
As shines the sun-beam in a drop of dew. 
Naught! but I live, and on hope's pinions fiy 
Eager towards Thy presence — for in Thee 
I live, and breathe, and dwell ; aspiring high. 
Even to the throne of Thy divinity. 
I am, O God 1 and surely Thou must be ! 

Thou art! — directing, guiding all — Thou art! 
Direct my understanding then to Tlice ; 
Control my spirit, guide my wandering 

heart ; 
Though but an atom midst immensity, 
Still I am something, fashioned by Thy 

hand! 
I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and 

earth — 
On the last verge of mortal being stand. 
Close to the realms where angels have their 

birth. 
Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land ! 

The chain of being is complete in me — 
In me is matter's last gradation lost, 



816 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



And the next step is spirit — ileity ! 

I can command the lightning, and am dnst ! 

A monarch and a slave — a worm, a god! 

Whence came I here, and how ? so marvel- 
lously- 
Constructed and conceived ? unknown ! this 
clod 

Lives surely through some higher energy ; 

For from itself alone it could not he ! 

Creator, yes ! Thy wisdom and Thy word 
Created me ! Thou source of life and good ! 
Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord ! 
Thy light. Thy love, in their hright plenitude 
Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring 
Over the ahyss of death ; and bade it wear 
The garments of eternal day, and wing 



Its heavenly fliglit beyond this little sphere, 
Even to its source — to Thee — its author 
there. 

Oh thoughts ineffable ! oh -iisions blest 1 
Though worthless our conceptions all of Thee, 
Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breast. 
And waft its homage to Thy deity. 
God! thus alone my lowly thoughts can 

soar. 
Thus seek Thy presence — Being wise and 

good! 

Midst Thy vast works admire, obey, adore; 

And when the tongue is eloquent no more 

The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude. 

Gabeiel Eomanowitch Deezhavin. (Russian.) 
Translation of John Bowkino 



su 




